#MidWeekTease... nail-bite, squee, jump for joy...

Why? 

Because Darling Doc is out today...

And as it's my first foray in writing from the first person point of view, I'm wondering what people will think.
I had a ball writing it, so hope readers will enjoy it as much as me.

blurb

This stuff only happens in romance novels….

After a chance meeting on a crowded tram, Sandy has cause to re-evaluate several things.

1, It is perfectly possible to lust after a stranger.

2, It isn’t only fictional heroines who need to carry spare panties.

3, A man’s voice really can almost make you climax in public.

4, Great sex does exist.

5, Being a doctor can complicate things.

When her chance encounter turns up in her surgery, there is only one thing for it. Grab said hunk and the sex on offer with both hands and don’t let go. Alistair isn’t a patient after all… and what two consenting adults get up to in their spare time can’t be love, or can it?

so I give you #MidWeekTease

I thought I'd do something a bit differently and show you some of the bits I took out...

"I don't care if he's sex on a stick, he's not having me that easily. I'm not going to roll over and beg."

"You're contradicting yourself."

So was my mind, but I wasn't going to share that.

If he moved just an inch, and I bent my knees and...(I then lost track of what I wanted to happen)

I've always wanted to make love on a beach at midnight, but the thought of the sand everywhere puts me off.

If you fancy reading Darling Doc, it's out, and on Evernight Publishing's website 

here

And on Amazon under Raven McAllan.

Catch all the other 

#MidWeekTease posts

here

Happy reading,

love Raven x

Hey hey hey, It's Cat's release day... Cat with the Blue Eyes is out today. Let's sneak a peek

Take one red-haired blue-eyed Cat.
That's Catlin.
She can't shift.
Add Dylan—who can.
Stir in melodrama, malice, and mischief and watch the fur fly.
Literally.

Am I all over happy? You bet I am.

and here's a sneak peek from the beginning...

Chapter One
Catlin Creamer looked with a certain degree of sympathy as the group of young, Scottish wildcat shifters slunk—there was no other word for it—out of the room. One or two of them snuck glaring resentful glances at the tall, tawny-haired cat, who stood next to her, every sinew in him taut, and every sense alert.
Talk about an alpha male. Catlin mentally shook her head. Nope, don’t go there. Much too much testosterone for comfort.
“They can’t help it you know,” she murmured as the last cat left the room and she shut the door behind them, leaned back on the wood and considered him thoughtfully. “They look at you, who shifts like it’s as easy as drinking a cup of coffee, think they can do it and then get pissed off when it’s not as simple as they imagined. Smile complacently and roll their eyes when you try to tell them about the dangers of straying from our lands when they’ve shifted, because of course they know it all and we’re the oldies.” She sniggered. “Over the hill at twenty-eight, I ask you, it’s enough to make me beg for a pension and retire to Skye and learn to weave.”
She pushed off from the door. “Except I have no inclination to weave.” Or move away from him, but he didn’t need to know that. Restless, out of sorts, and no idea why, except it had to involve the cat in front of her, who contemplated every move she made though watchful eyes. It was bloody irritating. Her long multi-colored skirts swished round her legs and she kicked out at them impatiently. Maybe it was time to change the habits of a lifetime. She caught the

speculative expression on her companion’s face—even shifted it was as apt as that stupid phrase went—like the cat that had got the cream. If he said one word, just one word about names, or designated partners, she’d throw something. It was a pity there wasn’t much throwable around. To teach young shifters everything they might need to know, the room was of necessity large and free of obstacles. Even then, after each session some interesting scuff-marks would show in the most unlikely of places.
“You bawl them out for being arsy or cocky and they mutter and moan about you,” she went on. “Unfortunately after that, I’m the poor sod who has to calm it all down. How to Deal With Your Elders and Betters 101. What I wouldn’t give for a quiet life.”
The cat next to her smiled—if that’s what you called the baring of canines—shook and morphed into a hot as hades male. One she’d sworn off ages ago.
He was bad enough as a cat. As a human, a naked human, he was ten times worse.
Dylan MacSween stretched and her mouth went dry.
God, he was magnificent. Long tawny tresses with those gold and dark streaks in them, just like his fur when he’d shifted. A torso sprinkled with short strands of gold and black, which arrowed downward to where dark, wiry, hair made a nest for his, she had to admit, rather magnificent cock. To say she drooled was an understatement.
Her mouth went dry as she thought of what he could do with that appendage...if she agreed to mate with him.
Unfortunately for her, he was her designated mate and she was having none of it. No way would she be told to mate, or subjugate herself to anyone. Even if it did mean she stayed single forever.
“You’d hate it.” Dylan shook his head and let his hair spin around and settle on his shoulders. “Being single for ever.”
“Dammit, keep out of my thoughts. It’s rude to listen in,” she said indignantly. “Mine all mine.”
“You forget as my life partner to be, I can read you without consciously trying. Hear you automatically,” Dylan said as he finger combed his hair and plaited it loosely. “Sod it, this needs cutting. Have you got an elastic handy? Nowhere to hide one like this.” He regarded his naked body unselfconsciously.
Catlin rummaged in her pocket and brought out a pink

scrunchy. “Only this.” She waited to see what he’d say as she dangled it from one finger and whirled it around in a circle.
“Thanks, that’s fine.” Dylan took it from her mid-swing, and secured the end of his plait. “Right, any clues where my jeans are?”
“Where you left them maybe?” Catlin said sweetly. Something in his tone annoyed her. “I’m not your servant. I have no idea where you dump stuff, because I have no need to.”
Dylan gave her a black look. His eyes glowed yellow and dangerous before he blinked and sheathed his inner cat. She shivered. Why, oh why did she insist on challenging him?
Because he’s too big for his paws that’s why. But was he? Or was he merely fulfilling his role in the Dowt—their group of Scottish Wild Cats that lived and worked as humans part of the time and shifted into their wild forms at others.
“Never said you were my servant, sweet Cat. I don’t want a servant. I want a partner.” He walked across the room to a tall cupboard and pulled out a black t-shirt and a pair of well-worn, white at the seams, denims. “Now how did these get in here?” he mused as he zipped up the fly. “Never mind, don’t answer. I don’t much care as long as I can get dressed. Naked in Scotland in the winter is not a good idea. Bits might freeze and drop off.” He slanted her a glance and smiled. “Pity not to let you have the chance to experience what I can do with one of them eh?”
“In your dreams.” And mine darn it, oh and in mine. Hot, wet, erotic, skin tingling, clit clenching, need my bullet dreams.
Dylan nodded. “Yep, all too frequently, my love. So, all joking apart, when are you going to see sense and agree to our life ceremony? Belong to me.”
She harrumphed all her ideas about meeting him halfway dissipated by that insensitive statement. “That’s not me. My life is mine. I’m never going to be someone else’s. Belong to you? Sheesh. Not gonna happen. I’m my own person, not yours, the Dowt’s or the man in the moon’s. Watch my lips. Mine.” Why couldn’t he say something different? Use sweeter, softer words? Accept her for what she was, not what he wanted her to be?
He growled, shook his head and his pink bobbled plait jumped around his neck and shoulders before it settled again, as he flicked Catlin’s cheek. As ever his touch seared her skin. One day she was sure she’d see a tattoo or something where he’d touched her.

“What am I going to do with you?” he mused as he stroked her face and sent goose bumps skittering over her skin. “You know it’s going to happen. How else will the Dowt survive and grow.” It wasn’t a question. “Why don’t you believe me?”
She shrugged and did her best to ignore that frisson of something indefinable that slithered and darted over her skin. “I can’t shift.” To her mind, that said it all. How could she partner the head of the Dowt when she could only ever be human? “I can’t shift,” she repeated vehemently. “No good for you.”
Dylan raised one imperious brow. “I heard you the first time. That’s not a problem. I can. I’m head of the Dowt. You, my love, are mine, you just need to accept it.” He made it sound so simple. 

And if that's made you wonder, what next, click here to buy it from Evernight Publishing

Happy Reading,

love Raven x

#MidWeekTease and a touch of shifting in the Trossachs #blastfromthepast

Hi again... inhales the coffee it's #MidWeekTease time again.

I had a book out yesterday, but I'm not going to hit you with that one again. Instead I'm giving you a blast from the past.

Why?

Well I was sorting through my eReader last night, and came across The Author's Challenge, one of my paranormal BDSM stories set in the Trossachs in Scotland.

I don't think I've read it since just after it came out, so it was like a new story to me. And I so enjoyed it.

So I'm sharing from there today.

blurb...

Jenissa Wolfe is in love with her best friend’s brother. A man who seems to live in the books he writes. Even if he was to notice her, how do you explain that you’re a Domme. Needing to be in charge is as important to Jenissa as breathing, not to mention the small fact that she is also a wolf shifter, and has mind reading abilities, among other things.

Rob Mackintosh yearns to give up control to the right person.  When Jenissa, the very woman inhabiting his erotic dreams, admits she is a Domme and interested in him, he cannot believe his luck.

As they explore their dynamics Rob falls hard for his ma’am.

His love is put to the test however, when he learns of the secrets Jenissa has been keeping from him.

Can he forgive his ma’am and move on, or is that the true challenge?

And your #MidWeekTease

"I think you want a sub who is happy to experiment," he said. Where the hell did that come from? Nevertheless, he was certain it was true. "But one who will be open and honest with you. I don't know if it is me. How can I, when I'm so bloody clueless?"

He gripped her hand tightly. Did she know what he meant? For a writer, he was crap at explaining things that were important. "But, well, I want to see what you want."

"Take the pain?"

"Er…" Tingles ran up his spine. Why the hell was his mouth dry, his skin tight, and his mind open and eager? Pain? What the…? He fucking hated pain. When he'd hit his nail with a hammer, Rob had cried like a baby. "Pain? As in, how?"

He stared as she stood up and faced him. "Shall I show you?" Her demeanor was somber, but somehow he could see the excitement that radiated from her. How, he had no idea, but he was sure that was what it was. So, to her, pain was more than, well…he searched his mind, and all he could come up with was—pain.  Pathetic. You're supposed to be a writer for fuck's sake.

It was mind-making-up time.

"Show me." This time, his voice was strong, and he was certain she'd understand he meant it. His mouth might be dry and his skin prickly. However, Rob recognized the signs as excitement. So did his prick, which was throbbing with the need to come. Oh, he was apprehensive. Who wouldn't be, at the thought of what the next few minutes might bring? But he was certain he needed to find out. "Jen, I really do want and need to know. I want to discover who and what I am." All of a sudden, he realized just how true his words were. "What we are," he added firmly. "Pain and all, if you think it's what we need."

Jenissa's eyes flashed. He was sure sparks jumped and then danced over her head, and settled in her eyes once more. She nodded. "I really think you mean that. Hold out your hand."

He obeyed with alacrity, his body throbbing with anticipation.

She picked up the crop and brought it down over his palm. It stung like hell and he yelped like a kid. "Fuck, that stings."

"Stings, yes. No more. Now imagine it harder on your ass."

 Rob moaned. It was erotic and cum-inducing.

"Sting after sting that morphs from pain, into pleasure, into sweet pleasure."

She swished the crop in the air. Rob flinched as it missed his ear by an inch. She smiled.

"I'm considered to be master with a crop and a whip. If I intend to miss, be assured I will. Mind you, if I intend to hit"—she hit the bench between them—"I will. The sensation will ensure you'll fly and soar and float with it. One day. Maybe."

"Definitely." He was so sure of it. "But what about you? What will you get from it?"

"The perfect knowledge I've given my sub what he or she needs and craves. The chance to just be. To be able to give up everything and let me care for them. Once you hit sub space, you'll realize how perfect it is, and how much you need it."

"But you," Rob persisted. "You don't get sub space? How does it help you? It seems a bit one-sided."

"I can only talk for myself, you know? I don't know what it does for other Dominants, but for me? I get a high, a tingle, a rush of adrenaline and anticipation of what I'm doing for my sub. I call it Domme space. It's my need."

Rob didn't think he'd ask her if it made sex even better. Hopefully, one day, he’d find out.

"I now have a need to learn what pleasure-pain is."

 "As I said, maybe." Jenissa leaned sideways and touched her tongue to his lips. He opened them and she kissed him deeply, but briefly, before drawing back and tracing the outline of his mouth with one blood-red nail.

"I am a Domme. Like I hope I've explained, that means for me, I need to direct, to be in charge and say what will be. I like to flog, to see my marks on my sub’s skin, knowing we both wanted them to be there. To use my gift—because to me, what I am is a gift—to make my subs quiver and fly."

Never mind the “fly” bit, Rob was quivering. The way she spoke, her voice husky and commanding, was the biggest fucking turn-on ever. All of a sudden, he understood what his gut feeling meant. He wanted to do as she demanded. To serve her and make her happy.

 "I'm told I am a Master," she continued, "or maybe that should be Mistress, of wax play. To watch the wax collect and hesitate at the tip of the candle, and then to slowly fall where I choose. To savor the moment and the mewls and sighs of my chosen one as I create sweet patterns on their skin, watch his or her eyes dilate and their skin shimmer and ripple with ecstasy, well, it's beautiful."

Rob nigh on salivated. The pictures she painted in his mind were both arousing and amazing.

"And"—she sighed—"I very much think my pussy might have closed up from lack of use."

What?

How could he answer that?

"Er." What should he call her? "Jenissa, Mistress? No, that sounds too Regency romance for me." Dammit, I hope she accepts that I mean no offence. This “I want to sub” is fraught with difficulties.

She smiled, and this time it did reach her eyes. To Rob, it was as if someone had removed a veil from between them and once more he could see her clearly.

"I know you mean no offence. But, really? There's no difficulty. You're thinking it through. That's as it should be." Jenissa took his hand and tugged him to his feet. "You know what you want, what you are. You just have to own up to it."

you can get hold of this from Bookstrand  here

or Amazon, Kobo etc.

And catch the other #SexySnippets here

Happy reading,

love Raven x