Winner of Repo Chick Blues Download
Email me at tm-sharp@hotmail.com to let me know an email addy to send it to :)
Thanks to everyone who commented today. I had a great time!
Take care, all!
Welcome to the erotic world of Liquid Silver Books. From sexy vampires, bad-ass heroines, and seductive aliens to the passionate heart of a Regency or the titillating worlds of the future, Liquid Silver Books presents stimulating characters and the impassioned authors who create them. *Please note, this blog contains adult material. Restricted to 18 years of age and older.*

Vin!
No, I'm not talking about Friday the 13th, although for me that was involved.
(And because I just can't seem to help myself, here's some eye candy. How-deeee! I'll take that six-shooter. Either one of 'em!! LOL)Zodiac: Pisces available now!
Sherrill Quinn
Romance With An Edge Website | Blog
Indulge Authors - Website | Blog

In the spirit of my new book, I offer a recipe.
From the official United States Senate website, here is the recipe for Senate Bean Soup, served in the Senate cafeteria every day since 1903:
The Famous Senate Restaurant Bean Soup Recipe
four quarts hot water
1 1/2 pounds smoked ham hocks
1 onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
salt and pepper to taste
Now, for those of you who don’t have three hours to stand over a covered pot, I adapted it for my crockpot. Takes a little more time up front, but you could do the prep work anytime.
2 quarts hot water
1 ½ pounds smoked ham hocks
1 onion, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
Salt and pepper to taste
significantly he’s so open and fearless. I’ve seen him do dark and ominous, I’ve seen the sexy fuddy duddy, and I’ve seen him at fifty-one years old run around in a black leather thong without batting an eye. That kind of bravery is incredibly sexy to me.
It’s the same with the women. I like curvy women, I like strong women.
Katharine Hepburn and Rita Hayworth are my favorites from film, and now I adore Lucy Lawless. And again it’s the fearless factor. Yes, she’s built like a brick outhouse. But she can do drama, comedy, angst and
everything in between with grace and style and a joy that just comes through in her work.
So, here I am for my first day of blogging for Liquid Silver. For those of you who don't know me (which is pretty much everyone!), I'm Philippa Grey-Gerou, a new writer with Liquid Silver. You can just call me Grey. I'll be doing a couple of different things today, including a rant and a recipe, but I've tweaked my plan a little bit as I just found out that my first book with LSB, The Halls of Power, is coming out next week, so I'm going to be doing this *again* come March 7th! So you'll have to wait until then for the excerpts and goodies. It'll be worth the wait, I promise!
I’m really pretty excited about joining the blog team here. Hard to believe that it wasn’t that long ago I was listening to an article on NPR about the rise of these new “weblogs” and thinking how self-important these people must be to think anyone would care enough about them to read their private journal online. Little did I realize that the following year I’d be getting my own. And two years after that I’d pay good money to make it a permanent one.
Crow doesn’t taste too bad, if you use enough salt.
I really like blogging. Each one is different. I have two of my own, my private one and then my author one, plus playing here at Sex and a couple of other places. I love being able to mention that my dishwasher broke down and have two people who I have never met come together to get me a used one in good condition that I never would have found otherwise. I love getting to share experiences, like TV shows or movies or games. I like having a place to occasionally rant. Cuz I can get a rant on like nobody’s business. I like being able to tell everyone who cares to look how much certain people mean to me. I like being able to ask a question and get a whole bunch of answers in no time for stuff that I couldn’t find on the internet. ::kicks Google:: And like I said, it’s different for everyone. For some people, it’s a substitute for their pen and paper journal where they put their innermost thoughts. For some it’s a forum to discuss politics or religion or fandom or whatever rocks their socks. For some it’s a game. And it’s all good.
So, how about you? If you’re here, you obviously aren’t a newbie to the blogging community. What’s your favorite thing to do or see in someone’s journal? What drives you the most crazy? What kind of things just make you go “Huh?”


The bdsm lifestyle is something that intrigues many of us. Sometimes we may write hot and heavy bdsm-themed stories without truly understanding what the lifestyle entails. We're curious observers, not actual participants. I recently gathered some information on what it is to actually live the life--not just play in the bedroom. The following is a Q&A session with a practicing submissive, explaining what the BDSM life means to her.
What happens when you’re in an argument and you’re confident you’re right about something and really want to be heard?
Argument... that implies anger, temper or ire, to me. i don't like having discussions or debates when i'm angry, because then feelings can be hurt, or something can be said that isn't meant. If either of U/us does get angry about something, W/we wait to talk about it, until W/we're calm and level-headed. Submission doesn't mean i checked my brain and opinions at the door, LOL. And i try to be respectful when i'm voicing my opinions.
Also when with Him in the car(or any other place He deems it appropriate), my bare ass is on the seat, and my legs are spread for Him.
At home(His, but it feels like home to me too now), when i get in, unless otherwise directed, i get undressed, and assume my position(on my knees, with them spread, my ankles crossed behind me, back straight, eyes forward, my hands clasped behind me).i must always wear my cuff(it's black, leather, with a kitty face on it and pat prints... Bought at Hot Topic, LOL, but it's comfy and nice), unless i take it off to keep it from getting wet or lotiony, or for medical reasons, like a nurse needs to take my pulse or something.
i must keep a daily submissive journal. And have a very good reason if i miss a day. i must also write down any disobedience and the punishment, if i know the latter. Or put punishment pending, if i don't. Additions to this rule: i must put another "i am" sentence at the end of every day.
Abby started to leave, but turned back as a thought occurred to her. “You seem so familiar. Have we met?” Familiar as if her very soul recognized him. The throbbing in her pussy seemed to agree. Not, she thought with sadness, that anything would ever happen.
A full-blown smile crossed his face, turning it from interestingly craggy to heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her nipples tightened in interest and her heart beat a hard rhythm against her ribs.
“No, ma’am,” he said, and the smile still tugging at his lips caused dimples to groove his chiseled cheeks. “We’ve never met before.”
“Oh. Well, now we have.” She grimaced at how inane she sounded.
“Would you like to have a cup of coffee?” he asked. A look flitted across his face, suggesting that he instantly regretted the impetuous words.
“Oh, no, I can’t.” Her instinctive reaction was prompted by his obvious wish to retract the invitation, and she fought to maintain her composure. She wasn’t a charity case for some stranger to pity. Her body drooped, while inbred politeness prompted her to murmur, “But thank you.”
She turned and walked away from him, more aware of her scarred and crippled legs than ever before. The physical therapist kept assuring her that she would eventually walk without a limp, but she was impatient. She’d been in therapy for three and a half months already. How eventual was eventually?
She was aware of his gaze following her as she crossed the street to walk the rest of the block to her apartment. When she stepped up on the curb she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. Disappointed to see he was gone, she heaved a sigh. “Oh, well, Abs. You aren’t his type, anyway.”
Damon frowned when he heard her muttered comment. He walked a few paces behind her in his Protector form, watching her pert fanny swing with her uneven gait. If anything, the limp made her even sexier. It made him want to strip those pants from her and slide into her sweet, wet pussy with a cock that now was rock-solid.
His frown deepened. Even in corporeal form, this had never happened on assignment. He hadn’t thought it was possible for it to happen when he was in spirit form, yet here he was with an erection throbbing along his thigh like a third leg.
He didn’t know what it was about her, but his body reacted with wild need in her presence. Maybe it was that she was exactly his type: elegant, independent and determined, with a gut-wrenching beauty that threatened to double him over with need.
Incredible that she couldn’t see how sexy she was. But he knew every man she came into contact with saw it. And he tensed with jealousy.
She was his.
He curled his fingers into his palms. What the hel... heck was he thinking? He was a specter, sent to protect this woman and thereby assure himself a place in Heaven. He had no business lusting after her. That emotion definitely wouldn’t get him past the pearly gates. “Get hold of yourself, man,” he muttered, in his distraction forgetting to mask his words.
When her head turned sharply, he realized he’d spoken aloud. She looked around, her eyes searching. After a slight hesitation, she entered the building.
Following her into her apartment, Damon watched. Stooping slowly and painfully to pick up an orange tabby that nattered around her feet, she rubbed her face into the soft fur, her eyes closed as she straightened.
He shook his head. Damned if they both didn’t have the same expression on their faces, woman and feline. Closed-eyed contentment. How long had it been since he’d felt that?
Dammit, dammit, dammit! He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Perhaps he’d better ask for re-assignment before his emotions got him into trouble. But he didn’t think he could leave Abby to another Protector. After the first one’s abysmal failure, he didn’t trust anyone else to keep her safe.
“You know, Jericho, it’s the oddest thing, but for the last several weeks I’ve had the feeling that I’m never alone. I’ve never felt such ... peace, such a sense of security.” She rubbed her face against the cat’s head. “Between that and the dreams, I think maybe I’m finally losing it. What d’ya think?”
The cat meowed and butted his head against her chin. She laughed and placed him on the back of the sofa. “I know, you glutton. You want to be fed again. My horoscope warned me about you. ‘Today someone you love will be focused on their own needs. Don’t feel bad. They’ll come around.’”
She scratched the big tabby on his jaw, laughing again when he stretched his neck and tilted his head to give her better access. “And I do love you, fat cat. You’re my baby, aren’t you?”
Damon felt almost a sense of domesticity, watching her putter around the small apartment, talking to the cat and laughing at herself. If nothing else, her encounter with him seemed to have lightened her mood. For that he was glad. If only...
He deliberately closed his mind to further thought. He was here to do a job. He was to make sure she was protected from the man who sought to harm her, a man who had very nearly succeeded when her former Protector had been distracted.
Damon had been given very strict instructions to assure her safety; he’d sat beside her as she lay in the hospital bed, both legs in casts, face bruised and swollen. She had been stubbornly determined to get well, and he’d fallen a little bit in love with her then.
Abby had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had unwittingly witnessed a vicious crime. Not that she was even aware of it. But the man thought she was, and sought to silence her forever. Which was where Damon came in. He was her Protector, and he’d be damned if he’d let the villain succeed.
He stilled, realizing the import of his words. The veracity they represented. Never mind that she was his hope for redemption, another successfully completed assignment. He would accept the damnation of his eternal soul if it ensured that Abigail McNeil would be safe.
She was more than just a job to him, had been from the moment he’d materialized in her hospital room and had seen her lying so still against the sheets. Now, after having protected her for these many months, he knew he would risk everything to ensure she lived.
When she went into the bathroom and readied for bed, he stayed in the living room. Hearing the water in the shower running, he clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and had no problem picturing what she looked like. Her hair, wet and sleek down her back, curled slightly at the ends just above the rounded curve of her buttocks. Long, slender legs, once strong, now weaker and scarred.
In his mind’s eye, he moved around to her front. Her breasts rode high and firm above her ribcage. Each mound was tipped with a hard, pink nipple, begging for his mouth. Her stomach was slightly rounded, womanly. Soft, light red hair covered her mons and sheltered her secrets from his gaze. He could see her soaping her hands, running them over her soft skin, between her legs...
His cock rose and he stared in disbelief. Again he had an erection. What the hel...heck was going on?
The water shut off and he snapped open his eyes. He heard the shower curtain jangle open, and imagined her stepping out of the tub and toweling off. He wished it were his hands drying her. No, not his hands. His lips, his tongue. He would trace every drop of water, licking it off her silken skin.
If you haven't yet read Rae's excerpt, scroll down. You don't want to miss it!











In honor of our trip, I'm giving away a copy of It's Only Physical; part of which takes place at this very plantation, Oak Alley and the French Quarter of New Orleans. Just post on the blog, tell us about your favorite vacation and I'll pick the winner later tonight.“I’m not gonna drop it, I’m not gonna drop it, I’m not gonna drop it,” became Katarina’s personal mantra as she simultaneously held six very full, plastic grocery bags and fished in her purse for the keys to her apartment.
“Hey, you want some help with that?” a voice asked her from behind, sending shivers down her spine and heat pooling in her groin. She recognized the voice instantly. It belonged to Mr. Alexander “call me Alex” Chase, the stud from two doors down. They had talked once or twice, but except for their first meeting, they’d never exchanged more than common courtesies. She’d been deliberately avoiding him since she’d moved in, originally because she got very nervous around strangers, then because of her growing attraction to him. Since the fiasco a few months ago with Jake, she had become very leery of men she was physically attracted to, as she invariably seemed to have bad taste in men. They just couldn’t be trusted, but they did make good pack mules.
“Um, yeah, sure, if you could just grab the bag with the spaghetti sauce in it, that would be a big help,” Rina said while trying to extricate her hand from the aforementioned bag. She wiggled her hands furiously to get them out of the bag straps, trying to keep the physical contact with Alex to a minimum. When she’d first met him and shook his hand, it had been like a jolt of electricity going up her arm, and she wanted desperately to avoid having that happen again. Instead of taking just the one, Alex took all the bags.
With her hands now free Rina finally managed to find her keys and unlocked the door. She absolutely loved her apartment and the way it was set up. She’d looked for months before finding it. Some people might not like the way everything was more or less open, but she liked being able to see from the kitchen into the living room or den. Only her bedroom and the bathroom had actual doors on them; the rest of the rooms didn’t even have so much as an arch or doorway separating them. They just flowed smoothly from one room into another.
“Where would you like me to put these?” asked Alex, following her into the kitchen.
“Hmm? Oh, just put the bags on the counter. I’ll get to them in a sec. Uh, would you like a cup of tea or something?” Rina tried to avoid looking at him while she rummaged in her pantry for the tea. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. Something about a man with black hair and ocean-blue eyes just made her want to melt.
Even if he didn’t want a cup of tea, she needed one. Her mom had always said a good cup of tea settled the nerves, and hers certainly needed settling.
“Sure, that’d be great.” Alex started taking her groceries out of the bags and putting them on the counter.
“Why don’t you have a seat in the living room while I put up the groceries and make the tea,” she said.
Why did I invite him to stay for a cup of tea? she asked herself. Granted, it was the polite thing to do, but still, she’d been avoiding him for months and now she was inviting him to stick around in her living room and have a cup of tea. She decided her self-inflicted isolation had to be messing with her head; there was no other explanation. Maybe she should invite her best friend Leona over again.
“Wow, that’s a really nice setup. Do you know you’ve got one of the best computer systems on the market?” He sounded impressed. Trust a man to be more impressed with a toy than with the six bookshelves surrounding her computer desk.
“Yes. Actually, a friend of mine told me what to get, although it’s mostly wasted on me,” she said. “I use it mainly as a word processor and for playing video games. You can have a look at it if you like.” As the teakettle started whistling, she walked over to the cabinet to grab two mugs, still trying not to look at him.
“Really? You don’t mind?” He sounded just like kid in a candy store who had just been told to pick ten of whatever he wanted. Rina didn’t really mind, though. Whenever Leona, who had told her what to get, came over for a visit, she would play on the computer for hours. Her manuscripts, working titles and her business related files were all password protected anyway.
“Really, go ahead,” she said. “Do you take milk and sugar?”
“Huh? Oh, for the tea? No milk, but a scoop of sugar, please. You play Shadow Dagger?”
“Yeah, it’s my favorite game. I love it. I spend more time on that than actually working.” She looked at her computer screen as she handed him his tea, still keeping her eyes on anything but him.
“Me, too. You heard about the new beta, Naughty Dagger? It just came out a few days ago.”
“Yeah, I’m one of the testers, just downloaded it yesterday. I don’t really see that much of a difference yet, but I only played it for about half an hour earlier today, before I had to go out and get stuff,” she said.
“Really? Cool, me, too. How weird is that? Hey, maybe we could play together sometime,” he suggested, as he finished his tea.
“That’s an idea. If you see me on, I’m Morgan68. Just IM me, and we can join up,” she said.
“Anyway, not to be rude or anything, but I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight...”
“Oh, yeah, sure. So, I guess I’ll see you in the Dagger,”
Rina let out a sigh of relief as he carefully put his teacup on the coffee table, got up and left. She hadn’t realized he was a computer nerd, not that that was a bad thing, just a bit strange. Most men she’d met in the past that looked as good as he did only knew enough about computers to send email and surf the web, unless their jobs actually required them to use computers. At least that’s how her ex-boyfriend, Jake, had been. Then again, Jake was an ass anyway. You wouldn’t expect Alex Chase, the stud muffin with the wavy, shoulder length, black hair, rugged good looks and athletic build to be a computer nerd; no one with that kind of muscle tone could possibly be stuck behind a desk all day. Well, not unless he worked out, and the apartment complex did have an impressive fitness center.
Well, after racking my brain for a couple of days in an attempt to come up with a topic for this blog and another hour spent in front of a blank screen trying to figure out how to even start this, I think I finally figured it out.
I’m gonna start out by giving ya’ll a little background on me so you’ll know where I’m coming from.
I’ve been a voracious reader for as long as I can remember, sneaking my mom’s books from the time I was eight. To start with her collection of Andre Norton and eventually her romance novels as well. I don’t think she realized I was reading her “racier” or “smut” books until I asked her what one of the more flowery euphemisms for a vagina meant.
To this day I still dislike reading a book where they use expressions like “He slowly thrust his sword into her sheath” or something similar. Worse yet is when they do the “fade out”. You’re all like, Yeah, they’re finally gonna get it on, then before anything really happens the chapter or paragraph breaks and it goes straight to the waking up in each others arms bit.
Although I’ve been writing for a long time, everything from poetry to romance to children’s stories (I did actually manage to get two of those published) to erotic/sensual romance, I didn’t consider myself a writer until I actually finished my first full length story.
Becoming a writer has definitely been an experience to remember for me. I never realized just how much work was involved after selling the manuscript. I did a crapload of promo work all over the place including joining a couple of Yahoo loops, which is where I got the idea for today’s blog.
A fellow member of one of the loops I belong to recently posted about something that happened with her seventeen year old son.
She’d bought a copy of a friends book (I’ve read it and it’s definitely erotic) and had been reading it in her car while she waited to pick her other kids up from school.
She put it in her glove box for safekeeping. Her son borrowed her car for something and found the book. He walked into their house a few hours later, book in hand, and said something to the effect of: “Mom, she totally did the delivery guy!”
My friend freaked a bit (those of you that are parents will understand this), seeing, instead of a seventeen year old, a two year old toddler walking around in a cute outfit.
Personally I when my son is older (say 15/16) I plan on giving him a couple of erotic stories to read (nothing I wrote because that would just be weird on so many different levels).
Well, maybe I shouldn’t say we’re going to give him the books to read, more along the lines of we’ll let him “accidentally” discover them on the comp or maybe have them accidentally downloaded to whatever form of media (i.e. laptop, Alphasmart, Palm Pilot, or whatever the equivalent is at that time) he’s using.
I’m hoping that by reading stuff like that instead of porn mags he might pick up some ideas and pointers on how to treat a woman the right way, in and out of the bedroom.
Of course this brings up another, smaller, issue. Should I include one or two books with bondage or multiple partners? Although my DH and I have already decided that he’s gonna be the one doing most of the sex talk with Drake (my currently four year old son) and I’ll be doing most of the talking with Sorcha (my currently two and a half week old daughter) should we talk about what he read afterwards?
The real question for you guys is this: Would you want your teenager reading the same type of book you read? This isn’t so much a question for you as a parent but for you as a member of today’s society. With the current lack of good sex ed in many schools do we want the next generation of men to grow up not having the faintest idea of how to actually please a woman?
I will admit that most of what I know and practice in the bedroom today was learned from books. Much like the heroine of my book “The Naughty Dagger”, my personal experiences with sex in my younger days was disappointing to say the least, with my partner generally more interested in his own gratification than in making it good for me.
Of course there were exceptions (and no offense to anyone) to that, mainly men that had been raised by a single mother or a mother that was actively involved in their lives. Those that had been left to their own devises generally didn’t have a clue. So is this what we want to wish on the women of tomorrow?
Post your thoughts and comments and you’re automatically entered to win a copy of “The Naughty Dagger”
Have fun ya’ll, I'll be popping in throughout the day to chat but right now I've gotta go back upstairs and feed a screaming infant. I swear some days I feel like a walking vending machine
Feather Marosek



Hey y'all
I'm tickled pink to be blogging today. I sat for a bit and
thought on what to blog about and you know, I have to admit,
my first thought was the
one I ended up with.
Music.
I have to admit, I have a love affair with country music,
country musicians, country men with those tight jeans and
hats and bedroom eyes and pretty
chests and...
*ahem*
*shakes head from visions of Tim and Kenny
and Keith and Chris and...*
Uh. Where was I?
Right.
Music to have a love affair to.
I admit, my picks'll be country in flavor,
but I'm dying to hear what music y'all listen to
when you want to seduce, be seduced, fall in love. Hump
like wild beasts. Even heal after a breakup.
I love to find new songs to learn to fall in love with.
For instance, this weekend, I heard the new Garth
Brooks and Trisha Yearwood song, Love Will Always Win,
and just melted as all the cowboys in my head started
dancing away.
So, share your music picks with me and I'll do the
same. By the end of the day? One lucky blogger will
get a sparkly pink makeup bag, a compact, a lip
gloss and a cell phone cover a la my diva, Chastity,
in All that Glitters
Here, I'll start - Early Relationship Songs:
"Look at You Girl" by Chris LeDoux -
Oh, pure cowboy. Honest, sweet, pure.
"The Chair" by George Strait -
Man, King George can sit with me *anyday*.
"Look Heart, No Hands" by Randy Travis -
this is the cute boy-next-door
song, isn't it?
More later! BA ~




















