Sunday, April 28, 2013

Warlock’s Pawn by Tara Quan

Literary Nymphs Interview

Title: Warlock’s Pawn
Author: Tara Quan
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Genre: Fantasy Erotic Romance
Release Date: March 18, 2013

Do you write in more than one genre?

Yes and no. I only write romance. Thus far, everything I’ve written is considered erotic since I invariably incorporate light BDSM. But within the erotic romance genre, I’m not tied to any particular subgenre. My first novella, Tower in the Woods, was described by one reviewer as a paranormal that reads like urban fantasy. Warlock’s Pawn is pure fantasy, replete with magic, fey, and a desert setting.
I’m in the process of finishing up my first contemporary romance. Since I’m prone to mapping out series, these three subgenres are all I can handle for now (no matter what the evil plot bunnies say).

What if any, is the hardest part of writing for you?

Hammering out the first draft. I have a habit of editing as I write, so getting from start to finish takes forever. This is probably why I got my start writing fanfiction—the more episodic set-up forces me to keep moving forward instead of fixating on a specific section.

What inspired the story?

When I was young, I was a huge fan of Frank Herbert’s Dune. I also own multiple copies of The Arabian Nights and lived in the Middle East for two years. I’d planned on writing a romance set in the desert for a long time, but the right story never came to me.
When my editor gave Tower in the Woods a 4 out of 5 heat rating, I became curious about what a 5 out of 5 entailed. I read the description on my publisher’s website and had a Barney Stinson “Challenge Accepted!” moment. Because a fantasy setting lends itself to the adjustment of societal norms, the idea of combining an erotic journey, political intrigue, and a desert world congealed. I had the fastest writing experience in memory.


Silky hair the color of midnight framed features that had haunted Duncan’s dreams. The thick skein hung straight and heavy down to the fey’s waist, and her pointed ears poked out to tease him through the dark cascade. Her lips were without color, but they were full and made for kissing. Now that her cheeks had lost some fullness, he could make out up-tilted cheekbones that matched her sharp pointed chin. Combined with those amethyst eyes, the female revealed before him looked every inch the fey of lore. He had dreamed of her every night for the past five years, and all those dreams paled in comparison to the reality of having her within reach.
He wanted to shake her for daring to place the welfare of others above her own. He wanted to demand her promise that she would never put her life in danger again. His arms ached to circle her frail shoulders and pull her against his chest. His hands yearned to trace the circles under her eyes and wipe away the exhaustion on her face. But all he could do was meet her gaze with his. He filled his lungs with her crisp scent and savored the invisible ebb and flow of magic that pulsed between their bodies. For now, this was all he would allow himself.
The Raven let out a low whistle, clearly impressed that such a big secret had been kept from him. “No wonder you shared the fey queen with the rest of us. This little one will bear the child of prophecy just as well.”
Spanning her small waist with his hands, Duncan’s smile was a dark promise.
“And so she shall. While I prefer Anora’s body, I can be certain any child born of this fey will be mine. Only my cock will ever breach her tight little channel.”
Alia’s affronted gaze met his directly, the intriguing depths of her eyes swirling with confusion and ire. But when she spoke, her words were measured and without emotion, and he could not help but be impressed by her ability to keep a clear head.
“There is a price for my fidelity. I will abide by your wishes, but you must give me your word that my friends will be safe.”
“They are highborn women,” the Raven interjected, “spoils of war, the same as her.”
Her gaze still locked with his, Alia countered with more bite to her tone. “That may be the case, but they are under my protection. You do not wish me to fight your claim, nor do you want to watch every move I make for fear that I will defy you. All I want is for Shay and Mira to stay by my side if that is their choice. You will not force upon them a fate not of their choosing. That curse is mine to bear.”
A primal part of Duncan wanted to crush his lips against hers and hold her captive until she gave her word to never seek another man’s bed. But his voice was cold and without emotion when he asked, “If I agree to your request, you will obey me without question, whatever comes?”
“To that I vow,” she replied. “The war is over. You are my lord, whether I wish it or not.”
The flare of hope in her vulnerable gaze was what swayed him, not her empty threat. While he feared Alia’s propensity to stir his protectiveness, he found himself unable to refuse such a small request. “I will grant your wish. Your companions will enter the palace as handmaidens. You may be surprised to find your concern misplaced. Those close to you are neither defenseless nor innocent. They will be allowed to choose their own lovers, but you are mine and mine alone.”

Where can we find your website?
Consolidated Buy Links & Reviews for Warlock’s Pawn:

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A Little Bite of Magic by MJ O'Shea

Literary Nymphs Interview

Title: A Little Bite of Magic
Author: MJ O'Shea
Publisher: LooseId Publishers
Genre: M/M Rom-Com with paranormal themes...and lots of cooking:)
Release Date:  April 30th



Do you write in more than one genre?

Right now, I'm in M/M only but all over the place within that genre — contemporary, paranormal, rock stars, etc. I have written some mainstream YA books, but none of them are published yet. Still working on that!

What if any, is the hardest part of writing for you?

The hardest part is having the time to write all the stories I have ideas for! I have a huge backlist of books I'd love to write but haven't gotten to yet. Someday, though. Someday.

What inspired the story?

I've always loved the bumbling black sheep of the family comedic witch character.  I also love cooking stories and cooking in general. I thought it would be fun to combine them. And then I decided that the perfect foil for this character would be an uptight restaurant critic. From there it pretty much happened naturally!

I can’t. I shouldn’t be here. That much was obvious. Addison really hadn’t planned on doing anything. Really. He was just going to talk to the beautiful man in the wine bar, then go home and fantasize about what could’ve been. What could never have been, actually, since he wasn’t going to do anything about it. So why was he here, then, with said beautiful man in a deserted restaurant kitchen about to do what was definitely something?
Because I want to. More than anything I’ve ever wanted before.
Frankie was dancing around the kitchen, clearly in his element, taking out ingredients and cookware.
“What are you making?”
He grinned, that sweet flashy smile that made Addison’s belly weak. I want to touch him again. It had been heaven simply holding hands. Who would’ve thought his routine day would end in such an amazing way? He had expected to have a glass of wine and walk himself home. Alone. Instead he was with a gorgeous chef in an old-restaurant kitchen that should’ve been creepy but was instead atmospheric and wonderful. Addison didn’t want to wake up from whatever dream he’d landed in. Telling the truth would result in a short ride back to reality.
 It’s okay. Just for tonight. I don’t have to tell him who I am if I never see him again.
Frankie poured cream and cracked eggs into a glass bowl. He made the motions look graceful. Effortless. Even when he whisked it all with a big metal thing that looked like a torture device.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re cooking?” Addison couldn’t believe he wanted to know so badly. Even though there was nothing really happening yet, he smelled magic on the breeze. Wait, there was a breeze? There was. It was subtle and warm and sweet but didn’t seem to have an origin. “Where’s that wind coming from?”
“It’s a surprise, nosy, and what wind? The door is closed.” Frankie cocked his head to the side and listened. Addison didn’t feel anything.
Frankie put the bowl of cream and eggs over a pot of water that he set to boil. Then he started splitting black stalks that looked like beans over the bowl and scraping out the tiny bits of seeds until they were swirling in the cream before dropping the pods in whole. The vanilla smell was instant and intense. He then added a cascade of sparkling sugar and began to stir with an old wooden spoon.
“I get the vanilla from Madagascar and Tahiti. The flavor is gorgeous. It’s sexy and rich.”
Addison’s mouth watered. He wanted sexy and rich. He wanted to feel it on his tongue. Frankie sprinkled in a spoon of white powder.
“What’s that?” Addison asked. He sat on a stool opposite Frankie’s cooktop. He couldn’t stop staring.
“A bit of cornstarch. It helps everything to get nice and thick.”
Why does everything he say sound so damn hot?
Frankie kept stirring. He concentrated hard for a moment, eyes closed.
“What are you doing now?” Addison had never seen anything like Frankie cooking.
Frankie grinned at him. “Just adding the magic touch. My relatives are…very French. I got some odd customs from my mother’s side of the family.”
Addison nodded. Ahh. Frankie poured a small measure of liquid into the warming mixture. It was amber-dark and rich and caught the light as it trickled from his measuring cup.
“Rum.” Frankie grinned wickedly. “Can you handle it?”
Addison’s head swam. The steam coming from the pot was enthralling, stirring his belly and settling in his chest. He felt warm and melty, like he could close his eyes and float. Frankie leaned his head over the bowl and inhaled. Addison wanted to lean closer too, to the bowl and to Frankie. He wanted to inhale and kiss and taste and…ohhh. How much wine had he had?
“Needs some caramel, I think,” Frankie murmured. He took a jar from the ancient monster of a refrigerator, stirring and murmuring until the golden ribbon of gooey sugar was all gone, dissolved into the swirling creamy white.
“Are you talking to the food?”
Frankie smiled. “I think all chefs do. Here, taste.” He took another spoon and dipped it into the warm mixture.
Addison leaned across the island before he could think and let the spoon slip into his mouth. The flavors melted across his tongue, filling him until he was tasting and inhaling and reaching out to cup Frankie’s jaw in his hand.
“Good?” Frankie’s voice was a rough whisper.
“Here.” Another spoonful found its way into Addison’s mouth, even more intoxicating than the first. He savored the exotic flavor, licked the sweet warmth off the spoon. Frankie moaned.
“What?” Addison asked. He felt even looser than he’d been at the wine bar, although he knew it was impossible from just that small taste of rum. His body was heating up and opening, and he wanted to touch.
Frankie sucked the rest of the custard from the spoon. “You,” he answered. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
“Can I have more?” Addison asked.
They shared another spoonful, then another, then a third. The haze got thicker in Addison’s head. Frankie slowly drifted his way around the island, the custard spoon in his hand. He wriggled his way in between Addison's thighs. Then he dipped the spoon again and brought it to Addison’s lips.
 I need to kiss him.
Addison licked rich rum-scented caramel cream from the spoon again, savoring his odd high, and leaned forward. Frankie’s hips nudged closer. Addison wanted to get closer still.
“Can I…?” Frankie whispered.
Addison nodded. Yes. Please…
Their lips touched, just barely at first, and Addison inhaled Frankie’s sugar-scented breath. More. He had to taste. Addison’s fingers found their way behind Frankie’s neck; his tongue swiped along a lush lower lip. The taste, oh the taste, it crawled down his spine with sweetly stinging claws of pleasure. Addison shivered.
Then Frankie slipped his tongue out and tasted Addison's lips, just like he'd been tasted. The moment was excruciating and perfect, sweet and a little wild.
"Is this okay?" Frankie asked.
"God, yes," Addison breathed. He barely recognized his own voice.
"Good, ’cause I need more." Frankie lifted his arm and threaded a long-fingered hand through Addison's hair. He pulled him close until their mouths collided in a kiss so intense, Addison wondered if he'd be able to breathe once it was over. Frankie moaned against his mouth, or maybe it was Addison who moaned. It didn't matter. The result was pleasure. Hotter and sweeter than any he'd ever thought possible. He tasted dessert and something more that he knew had to be Frankie—warm, rich, and sexy as hell. He heard the distant clang of a spoon on flagstones, but it barely registered. The only thing he was aware of was the swirling, consuming, gorgeous flavor that bloomed between them, and the heavy sexual haze that he couldn’t surface from. He didn’t want to surface anyway. Ever. Frankie pressed closer. Addison couldn’t drag him close enough.
“I want to keep kissing you all night,” Frankie murmured, his voice breathless.
“Yes,” Addison answered. “All night.”
And just like he’d always hoped, the rest of the world disappeared.

Where can we find your website?
There are a few other places you can usually find me hanging about:)

Monday, April 22, 2013

My Wicked Nanny by Ann Mayburn

Literary Nymphs Interview

Title: My Wicked Nanny, (Club Wicked, #2)
Author: Ann Mayburn                  
Publisher: Loose Id
Genre: Contemporary BDSM Romance
Release Date: April 2nd, 2013

What inspired the story?

My Wicked Nanny, book 2 in my Club Wicked series, is a fun and steamy story that plays with one of my favorite tropes, the older man/younger woman and boss/employee stories. You know, that fun and forbidden love between two people that shouldn’t be attracted to each other, but are helpless to resist. In My Wicked Nanny we get to meet Jesse, a widowed father of two young boys, and Anya, his young nanny. Anya gets a part time job at Club Wicked, an exclusive BDSM club outside of Washington DC, as a server, not knowing that her boss is also a member of the club. When she runs into him while working at Wicked, wearing a mask and scandalous outfit that is her work uniform, she is torn between throwing herself into his arms and running the other way as fast as she can.


  Anya took a deep breath, forcing air into her oxygen-starved lungs. Dressed in her scandalous outfit, complete now with an ultrathin, beaded mask that obscured the upper portion of her face, she at least looked the part of a server. And hopefully the mask helped to obscure the no doubt stunned expression as the first glimpse of the interior of the public bar left her overwhelmed.
Anya bumped into Sunny’s back, totally not paying attention to where she was going. The other woman turned around and caught her before she stumbled. “Oh, that’s right. This is your first time seeing it.”
Anya could only nod, speech beyond her. They were in a replica of The Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles. Arched ceilings painted with amazing frescos towered a story above them. The images were rather erotic. Rubenesque women cavorted in all manners of sexual play amid a beautiful sky. Anya took a step forward, and more of the room came into view. Immense windows looked out into an artfully lit garden, and enormous chandeliers dripped from overhead like frozen waterfalls of diamonds.
Sunny moved behind her and whispered into her ear, “Isn’t it amazing? All this lush decadence, but you’re missing the most marvelous thing of all. Look down and take a peek at how the top one percent likes to play.”
Anya kept her gaze on the ceiling, tracing the contours of the arches, the perfection of the design. “You don’t understand. I want to go spend a summer in France more than anything in the world. My grandmother is from Paris, and I grew up with stories of all the wonderful things over there, including this room. I take some of the inspiration for my costumes from the architecture and—”
Sunny laughed, her warm breath blowing across Anya’s ear. “Dove, look down.”
She did, and when she got an eyeful of what was happening right in front of her, she gasped. While half of Anya’s face was covered by some amazing silver foam that conformed to her every expression like it was painted on, she was sure from the chest up her skin was a nice tomato red.
Sunny sauntered in front of her and leaned against the edge of the black marble bar top separating them from the crowd. She rested on her elbow, looking elegant and sophisticated. She wore a golden mask fashioned like the sun and set with thousands of tiny golden crystals covering the surface. “And this is the public bar. The bars further into the club are more worse…and much better.”
Forcing a breath into her frozen lungs, Anya took a hesitant step forward, the silver bells around each of her ankles tinkling. Her gaze remained fastened on a totally nude man approaching them. “But he’s naked.”
She didn’t like how her voice sounded breathless, but for the love of all things holy, a man with a very large erection was being led past them with a leash attached to a ring around his cock. Some pretty brunette was walking a man, like a dog, by his dick.
Anya couldn’t believe she’d seen that, even as she followed his progress through the room. No one else seemed to be shocked, and when the woman stopped to talk to an older lady with her hair in a tight bun, the older woman fondled his butt like she had every right. Even more confusing, the man with a leash on his dick looked pleased.
“Hmm? Oh yes. Earlier tonight the club Dommes had their monthly meeting. We’ll have a nice amount of male eye candy to drool over.”
Anya didn’t want to sound like a fool—well, any more than she already did—so she didn’t tell Sunny she’d only had sex once with the lights on and even then hadn’t really gotten a good look at her partner. Most of her sexual encounters had taken place in the shadows, where she didn’t have to show her body. While in the dark, men seemed to prefer soft and squishy like herself, in the light they wanted the stick-thin supermodel. Now she could see all she’d felt, and it was mind-blowing. No pictures or Web sites could have prepared her for the overwhelming experience of being here.
Her brief training in BDSM provided by Wicked certainly hadn’t.
Then again, how the heck could you prepare anyone for something like this?
The atmosphere was raw, filled with an undercurrent of sex. Before entering this room, she would have found that idea silly, but here, with the energy humming against her, she couldn’t deny the sensual appeal of so many people enjoying themselves carnally.

Where can we find your website?
You can find me at:

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Bound (The Holiday Doms Collection) by Bonnie Bliss

Literary Nymphs Interview

Title: Bound (The Holiday Doms Collection)
Author: Bonnie Bliss
Publisher: Irish Wolf Publishing
Genre: BDSM Erotic Romance
Release Date: March 13, 2012


First, I would like to thank the Literary Nymphs for having us on our blog today. I say us because recently we have made it very public that Bonnie Bliss is the combined talents of myself, Mrs. Bliss and Mr. Bliss my husband. I decided to bring him a long for the interview because two are better than one

Do you write in more than one genre?

Mr. Bliss: “Oh, boy!”

Mrs. Bliss: Smiles and looks over at her husband. That was code for 'Yes' I think I am the worst culprit personally. I want to dip my finger in every genre possible. I even brought up Young adult the other day and I think my husband nearly passed out. Did you, love?”

Mr. Bliss: “Passed out, not quite. I just wondered how you and I could do a story with little sex in it.”

Mrs. Bliss: “I think we will get on with it just fine. We just open the proverbial sex door, and slam it shut just when a hand creeps up a shirt like all the other young adult fiction out there.”

Mr. Bliss: “Well I will have to pull back that proverbial foreskin I guess,” winks over at his wife. “It’s not me I'm worried about.”

Mrs. Bliss: “Oh really!” Crosses her arms and looks over at her husband. “To answer the question we write and will be writing in multiple genres. We are currently working on an urban fantasy/paranormal romance series that will spin off into young adult and into different worlds with the same characters all combining for the same common good.”

Mr. Bliss: “We are?”

What if any, is the hardest part of writing for you?

Mrs. Bliss: Tosses back her head laughing. “Oh, please you take the lead on this one, love. What is the hardest part of us writing together oh love of my life?”

Mr. Bliss: “Finding common ground between two writers is difficult. The hardest part of writing for me is coming up with a good story and plot, one my better half likes. After the story is fixed and the characters are ready and waiting, writing is easy for me. Writing together for me isn’t hard, just finding quality writing time in a hectic family life is. We compliment each others writing. I think she writes better than me and she thinks I write better than her, and I think in a way that’s a strength for us.”

Mrs. Bliss: “Easy for him, not so easy for me. I like to over stress about what the characters are doing. They are very real in my mind, and when we 'invade' one another’s turf so to speak, that is when things tend to get ugly. But at the end of the day, when we work--we work damned well. His men combined with my women just feels like magic sometimes.”

Mr. Bliss: “We don’t compete, we compromise.”

Mrs. Bliss: “Sometimes we compete.”

Mr. Bliss: “Yes if we cross the 50/50 line I tend to get locked out of the house for a few hours.”

What inspired the story?

Mrs. Bliss: “Bound is a collection of three BDSM erotic romance short stories. When I came up for the idea of the first story it was a one off. I never intended for anything more than this cute, fun, silly 4th of July themed story. It just seemed fun to write about getting tied up while fireworks go off. I mean--really, its fun!”

Mr. Bliss: “Yes it was as easy as that, a holiday themed bondage bang in the back yard.”

Mrs. Bliss: “Then the characters didn't want to be quiet in my head. I got attached to each one--Especially, Tom. Oh, Master Tom is just dreamy to me, his vulnerability just tugged at me and his breakdown made me feel more confident as a woman. It wasn't just the woman having the insecure breakdown but the male was doing it this time. I think it got a bit of criticism because of it but at the end of the day we wrote the story that pulled us in.”

Mr. Bliss: “Yes we had a few comments on his breakdown at the end but men are vulnerable and weak too sometimes. It was good for me to see Tom experience a moment like that, it gave him the clarity to see what he really wanted, and he went after it and it made the relationship stronger.”

Mrs. Bliss: “The stories and characters took on a mind of their own. And have no fear we are working on a spin off story that will be full length, feature a couple getting married, and Robert will take center stage, and BOY I can't wait to play with Robert--well, have Robert play with me...I mean HIS submissive.”

Mr. Bliss: “Oh and I already have many new tricks to have Robert mess with her new sub, after all our written experience often include our real life experiences.”

Mrs. Bliss: “But that is so another interview for another day.”

Mr. Bliss: Laughs, “It sure is.”


Tom took hold of her soft hand, her fingers wrapped gently in his palm. He flicked the light on and carefully led her down the stairs. There was warmth about her. Something made him feel good inside as he reached the bottom. The room lights flickered on. Tom couldn’t help but grin at the dungeon. The black couch rested against the back wall. A large fridge stood a couple of feet to its left.
“Shall we sit a while?” Tom asked her.
“Yes, I need to rest a little.”
“Make yourself comfortable, can I get you another drink of water?”
“Call me Sir.”
“Please, Sir.” Tom walked to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle and twisted the cap. He returned to the couch. His heart started to pump faster. The sight of his new kitten friend aroused him. She was gorgeous. The scent flowing from her body seemed to target his nostrils. He felt almost faint as he sat beside her. She had a spell on him.
“Sit on my lap, kitty cat.” He patted his thigh and watched as she shuffled across. Her body was light, her flesh warm. He rested his hand on her back and looked at her. There was a distinct sense that he had met her before. She knew him. That was certain. The bottle came up and he put it to her lips.
“Sip. You’ve just downed a whole bottle.” She emptied a quarter of the bottle in a few seconds, sipping it. “Good girl.”
“Thank you, Sir.” The smile almost melted his heart. Then she lowered her eyes, taking the submissive pose.
“Have you and I done a scene before?”
“Not that I’m aware, Sir.”
Her ass pressed down on his groin, Tom could feel himself stiffening against her buttocks.
“So, do you always get distracted when a Dom spanks you?”
“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t understand.”
“All the time the Dom spanked you, you looked at me. Or at least you kept looking my way.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Is your ass sore?”
“A little. Yes, Sir.”
Tom smiled as she took another sip. It was obvious she had plenty of expertise at being a submissive. It came naturally. The way she called him ‘Sir’ after every sentence; the way she sat with her submissive posture. Tom glanced over at the far wall, completely mirrored. He watched her, watched her responses.
“Stand up, bend over, place your hands on your knees, and face the mirror.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Tom took the bottle from her and placed it on the floor. She got up. He admired her figure, the sexy cat costume. Stockings turned him on and she made him wet. The strain was intense. His cock felt imprisoned in the tight leather.
Leaning forward, following exactly the orders he gave, she presented herself to him. Tom sat a moment, looking, not touching.
“You have a pretty ass, kitty cat. It’s nice and rosy.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Tom sat up and leaned, reaching out. Slowly he slipped his fingers under the rim of her shorts and pulled them. Her soft smooth buttocks were exposed. The red tinge clearly ached as she flinched slightly. Tom pulled the shorts down all the way to her shoes, leaving them puddled at her feet.
“Step out of your shorts and spread your feet for me.”
“Yes, Sir.” No sooner had he said it and it was done.
“Have you got limits?”
“What do you mean?”
“Pain thresholds. Do you like pain?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How about anal?”
“Yes, Sir. I love anal.” The more she spoke, the more he dripped pre-cum. He would have to move soon.
“Would you like my cock in your anus, kitty cat?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Would you like my cock in your pussy?”
“Yes, Sir.”

Author Bio:

Bonnie Bliss is not just a willing submissive, but she is a wife and a mother. By day, she is a busy, stay at home mother. At night, she is a sultry storyteller. Her tastes go towards the dark and the extreme. She loves to twist up fairy tales and sweet stories we all know and love. Her lust for Dominance and submission has taken her into the dark inner workings of Sadomasochism.

Bonnie is a native of Southern California, and says that everything in the Katy Perry song, California Girls is totally accurate. She has done everything from waitressing, customer service phone rep., Corporate Real Estate, and spent a pretty impressive part of her life working for the Disney Corporation—including as a Disney Princess. When she’s not writing, she is ordering too many custom bows for her daughter, baking the best cupcakes in the world, going to Disneyland, laying on a beach, and sometimes playing hockey for release.

The second half:-

Mr. Bliss is a Yorkshireman who loves nothing more than to sit and think up hard tough male characters for Bonnie to dribble over. Working hard during the day, at night he likes to rest his body and let his mind wander to the dark corners of the Universe. Evil and Good fight for supremacy. Dom’s strive to entertain their submissive kitten’s. There are no rules in his mind, anything can happen.

Born in Leeds Yorkshire and proud of his county’s heritage, Mr. Bliss loves English history. Working over twenty years in the same job, writing has given him a new freedom in which he can create whole worlds. When not writing he loves to read, listen to Nine Inch Nails and play on his PS3. His world has changed since releasing the first book and his outlook on writing is simple. If we don’t write it, someone else will.

Buy Links:

Bonnie Links:

Twitter: @bonnie_bliss

Monday, April 8, 2013

The Gifted One by Jacob Z. Flores

Literary Nymphs Interview


Title: The Gifted One
Author: Jacob Z. Flores
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: paranormal m/m romance
Release Date: April 5, 2013


Do you write in more than one genre?

The Gifted One is my first dabble in paranormal romance, but prior to that I published 3, which is a contemporary m/m/m romance. I don’t know if I’ll write in any other genre of gay fiction. I truly enjoy what I currently write a great deal, so I’m not in any hurry to write anything different. In fact, I have so many ideas for stories; I lack the time to tackle them all!

What if any, is the hardest part of writing for you?

The writer’s block that inevitably strikes. It can be quite crippling, and I never know when it’s going to hit. Sometimes, it’s in the middle of the book, either right before or after the climax. I either don’t like how I’ve outlined the rest of the book or the story has taken a turn I didn’t anticipate and have to find some way to fix the rest of the narrative. Still, despite the writer’s block, I love writing. It’s what I most enjoy doing.

What inspired the story?

This is quite an interesting answer, at least to me. Haha! The Gifted One came from a plot bunny.

I had a nightmare about being confined in a dark room with only a lone door in front of me. Something was on the other side trying to get in while I was trying to keep the door shut. The door turned to paper and then caught on fire. I had no choice but to back away, and when the door was gone I knew whatever was on the other side was going to get me. Luckily, this blinding light appeared and when I turned around to see who brought the light, I woke up.

I wrote the dream down, wondering what was on the other side of that door and who brought the light. My answer became The Gifted One.

If you read the novel, and I hope you do, you will gain some insight into my truly weird dreams. They are pretty funky and scary, and I love them! I know that sounds terribly strange, but they provide some excellent fodder for novels.

As his birthday approaches, Matthew Westlake fears more than just growing a year older. He fears never seeing another year at all. Each birthday brings a close call with death, leaving holes in his memory, recurring nightmares, and one more glimpse of his guardian angel. This birthday Matt must stand against ancient evils that have hounded him since birth, because he is a Gifted One—a seventh son of a seventh son.

Within Matt rests the unlocked potential of a force for good, but it also makes him a target. Being the Gifted One and dodging demonic attacks aren’t Matt’s only problems, though. He’s fallen in love with his protector, the Archangel Gabriel, and Heaven will condemn that love to save Matt’s soul. But Heaven doesn’t count on Gabriel loving Matt in return, defying divine law, and placing them in danger from demons and angels alike.


“You won’t get anything more from me than money,” Matt challenged as he tried to stand.
Blade kicked Matt back onto the asphalt before pulling a switchblade out of his pocket. “Oh yes, I will,” he snarled before lunging at Matt.
A wall of denim and leather suddenly appeared before Matt, blocking Blade’s path. When he looked up, his savior stood between him and his assailant. They scuffled for a few seconds before Blade flew backwards and landed hard against the green dumpster sitting outside the restaurant’s rear exit.
His savior pulled the knife jutting from his stomach out of his body and tossed it onto the pavement without a second glance. Matt instinctively knew the wound wasn’t serious. In fact, as hard as it was for him to believe about a stab wound to the abdomen, Matt suspected the knife didn’t do much, if any, damage at all.
And before Matt had time to register how he could possibly know that, the man then leaped toward Blade, who was scurrying to get to his feet.
“Matt!” a voice from behind him called.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Dee, Shane, and Craig turning the corner of the building. When they saw the two men fighting, Dee and Shane stopped in their tracks. Without thinking, Craig rushed into the fray.
“Stop!” Craig cried, while trying to pull his savior off Blade. “Police.”
Neither man took notice of the warning.
Craig raised his fist to punch the man who had twice saved his life, and Matt immediately sprung to his feet. He rammed into Craig, knocking him over. Dee and Shane shrieked in response.
“What the hell?” Craig asked, when he hit the pavement with Matt on top of him.
“Don’t hurt him,” he replied. “He saved me.”
Suddenly, Matt found himself lifted from Craig and safely scooped within the arms of his savior.
“Don’t touch him,” his savior warned Craig.
“He’s getting away,” Dee shouted!
They all turned to watch Blade jump on top of a car and then bound over the wooden fence to safety beyond.
After he was gone, everyone stared at Matt, who was still safely cradled in his savior’s protective arms. Matt gazed deeply into the man’s blue eyes. Where once a storm of rage blew, they were again as calm as a windless day.
“Are you hurt?” he asked Matt.
Unable to speak, Matt shook his head no.
His savior then, reluctantly, set him back onto the pavement with great care as if he were the most fragile, special person on the planet. And though his friends and Craig stared at the two of them in bewilderment, Matt wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of the arms that seem destined to protect him from harm.
I hope readers will enjoy The Gifted One. I know I enjoyed writing it. It combines two of my favorite genres—romance and horror. It will get your blood pumping from the demon attacks to the tender, yet hot moments that occur in between.

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Jacob Z. Flores lives a double life. During the day, he is a respected college English professor and mid-level administrator. At night and during his summer vacation, he loosens the tie and tosses aside the trendy sports coat to write man on man fiction, where the hard ass assessor of freshmen level composition turns his attention to the firm posteriors and other rigid appendages of the characters in his fictional world.

Summers in Provincetown, Massachusetts, provide Jacob with inspiration for his fiction. The abundance of barely clothed man flesh and daily debauchery stimulates his personal muse. When he isn’t stroking the keyboard, Jacob spends time with his husband, Bruce, their three children, and two dogs, who represent a bright blue blip in an otherwise predominantly red swath in south Texas.

You can follow Jacob’s musings on his blog at or become a part of his social media network by visiting,!/JacobZFlores, or