Watch This Space–Erinn Ellender Quinn

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00071]I’m so excited to introduce you to Erinn Ellender Quinn, author of paranormal historical romance.  Her debut romance novel, Ride the Wind, is available now.  One of the things I love most about this book is the red-haired heroine.  You know that I’m all about #MoreGingersInErotica.  Here’s the blurb:

Captain Ian O’Manion is a man with three names and a perilous past….

As Ian O’Malley, he’s wanted by the English.  He’s wanted by the French as Jean Delacorte.  When he wins The Oaks, a Maryland horse farm, he takes a new name for his new life…until the past catches up to him, with a vengeance.

Ian returns to The Oaks with a festering gunshot wound, fractured bones, and a broken spirit.  Haunted by abuses suffered in a Jamaican prison, devoid of hope after his botched escape, he believes that he’s come home to die.

Elsbeth Gordon is an indentured servant with dangerous secrets of her own ….

A young woman of power, Beth talks to trees, communicates with animals, and practices magick alone. When healing the Captain means sharing her secrets, Beth has no choice but to risk being burned as a witch. The psychically gifted beekeeper sees the promise of their future in his eyes…if they can survive an old enemy and an ancient evil that threaten to destroy them both.

A paranormal historical romance, written for ages 18+.

Blank white book w/path

The story sounds fantastic!  Now, how about a nice, spicy little tease from Ride the Wind?

At the stables, they found that the Marshall men and O’Flaherty boys and Theo had everything under control.  Ian still didn’t know why Red Beth had to drag him from his sickbed and make him walk all the way down here, feeling uncomfortably weak as a kitten, when she could just as easily have told him a bedtime story about it.  But she’d insisted.  Mindful of his indebtedness, he had humored her, and so it was that they had come to this, poised in the role of passive observers in an empty stall, until the mare was brought in.  Red Beth excused herself and went over to talk to the chestnut, rubbing her head and whispering in her ear and adjusting the leather cover that would protect her neck from an overzealous stallion’s bites.

Zephyr smelled the mare, even before Thomas brought him into the stable.  Outside, he whinnied his pleasure, and he came in dancing with an erection that hung to his hocks.  Ian almost called out to beg her not to when Beth dared to approach his horse.

Zephyr reared up, and Ian swore that his heart stopped.  It would have been too late; there was no way he would have reached her in time to save her, but the prancing, padded hooves miraculously cleared Beth as they came down.  Ian exhaled sharply and released the breath that he’d been holding.

Thomas had his hands full, controlling the stallion and keeping an eye on Beth, who was talking to the beast, no doubt sharing a bit of breeding etiquette, warning him not to play too roughly.  Zephyr whinnied, and Thomas waited until Beth was free and clear.  She rejoined Ian in the empty stall, closing the short door behind her.  Zephyr pranced up to the pretty chestnut mare, who had twitched her tail to the side to ease his way.  She was good enough to welcome the stallion’s weight as he reared up and covered her, shoving his massive member inside her and thrusting home like the magnificent stud that he was.

And all the while, Beth stood, almost breathless, watching spellbound, wincing when Zephyr bit at the leather-covered neck.  She gripped the door of the empty stall that was their viewing room, and Ian knew she was not unaffected.  Forget Zephyr.  He watched Beth watching the horses.  He listened to her telling breath, and felt the hum in her body that sang to him as surely as the fiddle’s phantom tune.

And because they were in a place where they could see without being seen, Ian stepped behind her and slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her back against him.  She shivered, and inhaled sharply, then forgot to breathe altogether.  He leaned down, bending until his teeth found the base of her neck.  “Red,” he whispered against her petal-soft skin just before he tasted it, tasted her, and asked her to take him home.

“Please,” the Captain begged when she stayed rooted, transfixed, watching his stallion cover the chestnut mare as he wanted to cover her.  “Have mercy.  Don’t do this to me.  You don’t know what it’s been like.”

But she did.  She did.  She knew exactly what he’d felt.  It was her gift.  Her curse.  Like now, feeling the blood pump in old haunts, the word made flesh, the promise of resurrection fulfilled.  The Captain wanted her, and she wanted him to want her, and Herne would just have to understand.

The stallion finished and disengaged, dropping onto all four feet, with his penis tamed and near normal size already, while the Captain’s was just coming to life.  She wished he could have taken her right then and there, amidst the sharp scents of the stable as they tumbled in the straw and hay.

They headed for the house, each one priding themselves on moving at a reasonable pace, when every step brought them closer to the bedroom upstairs, with its urn full of dead honeybees and a plate of herbs and sliced ginger root and an odd number of pinch-necked glass cups.  Back in the day, Ian could have swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.  Now it was all he could do to navigate under his own power and pray the feeling wouldn’t go away once they’d gotten to where he could do something about it.

When they reached the front door, he took her hand and pulled her through the house he’d won on a turn of the cards, gotten by chance and kept by pretense, until he could clear his real name.  At least his Christian name was the same, and the subtle change from O’Malley to O’Manion was still a damn sight better than the years he’d played Jean Delacorte.

He counted the steps on the sweeping entrance stairs, marked the feet from the landing to his bedroom door, and numbered the eyelets on the back of her bodice as he put his fingers to the task of unlacing them.  While he was busy in the back, she unpinned her apron front, reaching around and pulling one tie so that the thing fell free, landing in a puddle on the wide board floor.  He opened his mouth on the back of her neck, and he knew she remembered his stallion, covering the chestnut mare, giving her that enormous member of his in a mating that was as intense as it was brief.  A stallion did his business in a minute; it took three hundred forty days, give or take, for a mare to finish hers.

Beth felt the Captain’s breath on her skin, like dragon’s fire.  No sooner did she wonder if he intended to consume her than he put an arm around her waist, pulled her back against him, and opened his mouth on the base of her neck.  He scored it with his teeth, not quite biting, and then he did bite her, inhaling sharply with his mouth fastened on a spot that made her knees go weak.  His hands skimmed up her sides and pulled down her bodice; he splayed his calloused fingers and lay claim to her breasts.

Ian wanted it to be good for her.  He wanted it to last, but he couldn’t wait for layers of clothes and shoes and stockings, no matter how much he enjoyed a leisurely disrobing.  For the first time in months, there was life in every part of him.

“Red,” he whispered against her hair.  “I’m sorry, I can’t wait.  Forgive me.”

He kept one arm wrapped around her, kept her backside pressed tight against him when he turned her and guided her onto the edge of the bed, bending her so that her face nestled where he’d lain.  She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his scent.  He spread her legs with his knees, fumbling at his buttons and praying he didn’t go off too soon.  This had been such a long time coming, he didn’t know what to expect.

 Hello, old friend.

Ian felt a full-body smile come over him.  Red felt it too, or had read his damned mind again.

Beth purred and buried her face in his bedsheets, pressing her hips back against him, waiting for him to enter her.  There was no finesse left by the time he opened his breeches and threw up her skirts.  Finding her wet enough, he drove himself inside her, sheathing himself to the hilt.

 Ah, God.  Sweet Jaysus.

A stallion finished in a minute and he did too, thrilled that he’d accomplished that much, at least, but hating himself for her sake, for giving such a disappointing performance when she deserved so much better.  Red Beth, in whose body the source of pleasures lay, whose clever hands and kind heart had saved him from himself.

 How can I thank you?  I wanted to die.  I would have, if not for you.

She heard him.  He could tell, because when she turned her head to smile softly at him, he saw that her pink lips were quivering and her brilliant blue eyes were filled with tears.  She deserved so much better than this, than him, and he told her so.

He told her with words.  He told her without words.  He told her with his hands, his mouth, his touch, his breath as he pulled her into his arms and unwrapped her like the treasure she was.  Her dress went first, then the single petticoat she wore to flaunt convention—but then, she’d been working.  Working to cleanse him.  Working to heal him.  Freeing him from the laudanum and restoring his manhood.

The stays were a surprise.  “They’re for my back,” she told him, eavesdropping again.  “I hate them, but they help.”  Her chemise was utilitarian and well constructed, with generous gussets under the arms that suited someone who tamed foxes and gathered honey and could have the most vicious horse eating out of her hand like a child’s pet pony.  And under the chemise, there was what he remembered, what he dreamed of, with and without laudanum: the trim waist and pomegranate breasts and just the slightest swell of a woman’s belly above nether curls that were as wild and red as those that crowned her head.

He pulled her onto the bed with him, his own clothes be damned.  This was for her, the least he could do after all she’d done for him.

He dried her tears with his thumbs and bent his head and kissed her.  Every fiber of his being, every breath, he owed her more than he could say, more than he could ever repay.  Darlin’ girl,do you know what you’ve done to me?

Of course she didn’t.  He didn’t know himself, so there was nothing for her to pull from the whispers of his mind.  Quieting himself, he focused on the woman in his arms, with her trim ankles and pretty feet.  He undid her buckled shoes and pulled them off, dropping them beside the bed.  He ran his fingers on the inside of her thighs and smelled the musk of their joining.  He untied her garters and pushed her stockings to her ankles, taking care to pull them off as she’d put them on, figuring it was the least he could do.  Attention to details in lovemaking counted; even something as small as right-turned hose could never be underestimated.

The cheeky thing laughed, delighted with his philosophical approach to coitus.

Ian smiled.  She had no idea.

Really?

Now who was reading whose mind?

It didn’t matter.  She’d seen too much of him to hide, and he’d learned more of her than he had any woman in his life, even the one he’d left with child.  Someday he would tell her, but not now.  Now he wanted to think of Beth.  Only Beth, who slept with foxes and talked to bees and communicated with horses and whispered to trees and made a man dare to dream again.

He kissed her feet, those pretty, pretty feet, and worshipped her ankles.  Like a sculptor’s apprentice, he explored the masterpiece that was her body so closely he could have copied it, had he a block of marble and the tools and the skill to breathe life into stone.  She could.  She had.  He was proof.  He said nothing, in case it came to naught, but he swore he felt himself thickening even as he thought about it.

He refocused his attention on Beth, lying breathless in his bed, at his mercy after he’d been dependent upon hers since the new moon.  He wondered, what would she do tonight, when the full moon—the Buck Moon—rose over the wooded hills and called to her pagan blood?

Where can you get Ride the Wind?  Right here–http://mybook.to/TW2

ee-quinn-pub-photo

Now for a little surprise.  Erinn Ellender Quinn is another pen name for one of my most favorite people on the planet, author Nia Farrell.  She’s a gifted and talented writer of erotic romance, and besides, precious few people are as understanding as she is of my giraffe fetish, bless her!

Erinn Ellender Quinn is the softer side of erotic author Nia Farrell, one of Mr. Blackthorne’s Wicked Pen Writers and a multi-genre author who is published in nonfiction, poetry, music, articles, and children’s books, with one documentary screenplay under her literary belt.  She’s an old soul and a period reenactor who’s been into corsets for centuries, although she wears them more to Civil War events these days.

Erinn has been involved in the metaphysical community for over twenty-five years.  She is a Reiki Master and crystal healer whose work encompasses this and other lifetimes.  Erinn was fortunate enough to meet her soul mate early on. She married her high school sweetheart, raised two children, and began writing at her husband’s suggestion. She has been published as Nia Farrell in erotic romance since 2015.  Ride the Wind is her debut romance novel.

Want to follow Erinn Ellender Quinn?

CONTACT INFORMATION AND LINKS:

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s webpage http://niafarrell.wordpress.com

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s newsletter signup http://eepurl.com/b1PtzD

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Amazon author page http://viewAuthor.at/EEQuinn

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Goodreads author page https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15812179.Erinn_Ellender_Quinn

Erinn Ellender Quinn’s Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/ErinnEllenderQuinn/

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Tumblr http://authorniafarrell.tumblr.com

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Twitter https://twitter.com/AuthrNiaFarrell

Erinn Ellender Quinn/Nia Farrell on Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/authrniafarrell

There’s more where this came from:

Nia Farrell Titles:

 The Three Graces Series

SOMETHING ELSE August 25, 2015 e-book  http://myBook.to/TG1 or  https://www.amzn.com/dp/B014FV1TUE

SOMETHING DIFFERENT September 29, 2015 e-book http://myBook.to/TG2 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B015Y9JEHG

SOMETHING MORE October 15, 2015 e-book http://myBook.to/TG3 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B016OULX8C

THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY paperback April 2, 2016 http://myBook.to/TGr or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1530858194

SOMETHING SPECIAL May 5, 2016 ebook http://myBook.to/TG6 or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01F6FOQ0S; paperback http://myBook.to/TG6p or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1533146217

 DARK MOONS RISING e-book March 10, 2016 http://myBook.to/DMR or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01CRX1O70; paperback April 2, 2016 http://myBook.to/DMRp or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1530828759

REPLAY BOOK 1: VIKING RAID July 1, 2016 ebook http://mybook.to/RB1; paperback http://mybook.to/RB1p

AS WICKED AS YOU WANT (Forever Ours Book 1) August 1, 2016 ebook http://mybook.to/FO1

By Nia Farrell and Jane Austen

PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT—AN EROTIC RETELLING OF JANE AUSTEN’S BELOVED CLASSIC June 1, 2016 ebook http://myBook.to/Punish or https://www.amzn.com/dp/B01FJ612HY; paperback http://myBook.to/Punishp or https://www.amzn.com/dp/1533228477; Large Print https://www.amazon.com/dp/1533235244 or http://myBook.to/Punishlg

Coming soon:

REPLAY BOOK 3: HONOUR BOUND November 1, 2016

TOUCH THE WIND (w/a Erinn Ellender Quinn) December 1, 2016

 

 

What's on your mind?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s