Devi Ansevi's Blog: Devi Does...Dialogue

Lust by the Sea is free on the Zon until June 23. Loaded with Greek gods, the Fae, and Lovecraftian horrors, this one will burn up the Kindle - perfect beach reading.

PLUS I'm hosting a #giveaway this week to celebrate a Lust bonanza!

╰☆╮Click to enter by June 24th.╰☆╮

Prizes include an audiobook, signed print copies, and more.

What are we celebrating? So glad you asked!

Three of the Lust volumes are now available on audiobook at Audible, Amazon, iTunes, and other etailers. (Click the audiobooks to check 'em out.)

And there's more!  

Lust in Summer , the 7th volume in the Lust anthology, is available June 28. Pre-order your copy now for only 99 cents. We've included four seriously scorching tales, including my new Gryphons Fated Mate novella, Willful Mate. (Click for a tasty excerpt.)




One final incredibly exciting bit of news...

Lust by the Sea  and Lust in Summer will be available in print, August 2017!

Final little prezzie for you, my lovelies... Winners of signed copies of the books will also receive a custom metal bookmark.



Are you smelling what the Lust is cooking?


╰☆╮Are you in it to win it?╰☆╮

May fortune be ever in your favor. 

Mwah! Happy (Good)reading,
Devi

Very cool announcement: Lust in Winter will be on sale for one day only, December 6, for 99 cents on Amazon.com!

(Its free via Kindle Unlimited.)

This one-day sale is part of the PNR Festive Countdown, a sort of naughty advent calendar for paranormal romance. Learn more (and see every day's featured authors!) at the PNRLovers.com website.

Lust in Winter is featured on December 6th. As part of the feature, we're offering a "quadpack of Lust". Win your very own set of the 4 Lust volumes by (1) signing up for my newsletter or (2) following us on the Lust anthology's website, PNRLust.com. Enter between Dec 6 and Dec 31 for your chance to win 1200+ pages of lusty, sexy goodness.

Hello, my lovelies, exciting news! Our 3rd volume in the Lust anthology is available for pre-order on the Zon. Only 99 cents between now and October 4th for not one, not two, not three, but four novellas! Shifters, vampires, and the Fae - sink your teeth into a luscious quartet of tales featuring lots of fangs and claws. Please note, there are darker erotic elements in some of these stories.

Interested in reading it for free, before anyone else? Message me for an Advanced Reader Copy! Our only request is that you leave an honest review on Goodreads or Amazon (or both).


Find out more on Amazon! The universal Amazon link is http://mybook.to/LustinToothandClaw.

Do you love shifters, and the trouble they get into when they fall for a human? Oh, goody! You're gonna love my new novella, Captive Mates. It's just been released as part of volume 2 in the Lust anthology.


Berry is a graduate student studying genetics and researching the mystery of a lost cousin. She gets a little too close to the truth and wakes up kidnapped and held captive by a mysterious organization.

Berry is about to learn that shapeshifters are real, and the two gryphon shifters who captured her think she's their mate. Will she let them claim her, or send them packing? Sure, they're hot, but claiming is sort of marriage-without-chance-of-parole for gryphons, and she's got a whole other life, including school and a job. Add in a touch of danger, a dash of intrigue, a dose of humor and a side-order of evil villain, and you're in for a wild ride.

Lust on the Wing includes 3 more fabulous novellas from the talented pens of Essemoh Teepee, Jacqui Greaves, and Ina Morata. I'm proud to be a part of this anthology, in the company of these incredible authors. The stories run the gamut from historical to contemporary, science fiction to fantasy, menage to dark erotica to erotic horror. Definitely for those over 18, and for those who enjoy their lusts darker, and spiced with danger.

Lust on the Wing is free for Kindle Unlimited members, or purchase a copy on sale through September.

Gonna say it loud and proud, people who produce anthologies are crazy.


So, yeah, that's me. Not sane. I blogged about the process of writing an anthology on my Crush Blush site (most of the site is NSFW, so don't poke around while the Corporate Overlords are watching). I did the line editing and formatting, and wrote one of the stories, a 22K word HAWT novella about a dominant sea god who takes a couple in hand and teaches them what's what.


This ain't no sweet romance antho, my friends. While all the stories at least have an HFN, they're also kinky as heck, and one is a Lovecraftian erotic horror tale. Not for the faint hearted.

Have you downloaded your copy of Lust by the Sea: A Paranormal Erotic Anthology (Lust by the... Book, #1 yet? Free on Kindle Unlimited, or only $2.99 until July 18th.

Author Kat Crimson has kicked off a campaign I heartily endorse. Her eloquent plea to Save an Indie, Leave a Review resounds loudly from the halls of the indie and self-published community. Many of us who write take inspiration from the reviews of our readers, poring over your words, treasuring what you thought we did well, promising ourselves to do better.

I've seen the stat that a book gets one review out of a thousand reads. 1/1000. One tenth of one percent. Yet, many of us prefer to read reviews to help inform our purchasing decisions.

These two things are difficult to reconcile...



Erotica is one of the more difficult genres to get reader feedback. Some may feel there's a social stigma in admitting to reading such books. I get it. I write under a pen name, after all - no judging from this corner. Maybe I'll write a blog post soon about how to anonymize reviews so people can't track them back to your real name.

But if that's not your reason, the next time you read something you like - whatever the genre - consider jotting a line about what you liked. Doesn't have to be long, though Amazon suggests a minimum of 20 words. Urban legend also has it that Amazon moves a book up the search results list after it has at least 50 reviews.

Twenty words...Two sentences. Or one, if you like run-ons. "Oh wow. What I liked most about this book was" and you're halfway there.

"Save an Indie, leave a review." It's a brilliant tagline. Wish I'd thought of it.

Wishing you joy in (Good)reading,
Devi

Does anyone else do this: Download an erotic book and skip to the naughty bits.

You know, to decide whether the author is a good writer.

Bell, Book and Erotica knows how readers like us think, and they've started a section called The Knicker Drawer (for readers 18+ only).

As of the time of this post, you can read excerpts from four authors, including a sexy hot tub scene from my novel Their Wish List, and from talented and very hot authors C.A. Bell, Lucy Felthouse, and J.Z. Dietz.

Happy (good)reading,
~Devi

Exciting news! Bell, Book and Erotica has posted a Q&A with yours truly about my newest novel, Fate's Arrow: Soulmates Book 2.


They also posted what I think is a well-balanced review of the book. I like knowing what can be improved in my writing - reviews are as helpful for writers as for readers IMHO. To paraphrase one of the positives by reviewer Mr. B: lots of hot sex. To paraphrase one of the critiques: occasionally I get too "sex-ed" in the sex scenes. If you're intrigued to know more, check out the complete review!

This isn't the first time I've written about Bell, Book and Erotica here. BB&E is a new review blog run by self-published/indy authors. I've continued to be impressed by their professionalism and courtesy, and enjoy reading their thoughtful reviews.

See the excerpt of the Q&A below and be sure to check out the entirety at their site (of course because it's amazingly funny and interesting!). Plus, trivia - you'll learn why I wanted to be a teacher when I was a kid.

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Excerpt: Q&A with Devi Ansevi
Q: How long did it take you to write the book?
A:Jenna’s story had been waiting to be told from the instant she had that first phone conversation with Aiden in Their Wish List: Soulmates Book 1. I wrote Fate's Arrow: Soulmates Book 2 in a bit less than a month, including soliciting beta feedback and final editing.

Q: Where did the ideas for your characters come from? Are they based on people you know? Do they have similar traits?
A: Most of my characters are based on combinations of people I love. For Jenna Caylon, the main character in Fate’s Arrow, I borrowed a Vegas friend’s potty mouth and sense of style. From another friend, I borrowed height, brazenness and sexual adventurousness. My own damn-the-torpedoes directness (and frequent sticking of foot in mouth) cements it all together – and gets her in trouble, just as it does me!



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When you visit BB&E, please take 60 seconds to leave a comment on their site, let them know what you think. They're interested in your feedback.

Wishing you joy in (good)reading,
~Devi

Posted for your enjoyment, the March bolt of Friday Flash. F. Leonora Solomon hosts and curates a monthly flash fiction collection. Stories are written using an image prompt - this month's:



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Womanly Wiles by Devi Ansevi
“No, Betty.” He glared, daring her to say another word.

“Why not?” She turned from the soapy water, leaning against the counter and drying her hands.

Breath exploded in a frustrated huff. “Men in raincoats jerking off. You watch CSI, imagine all that stuff everywhere. Who knows what you could catch.”

Hands on hips now, it was Betty’s turn to glare. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. That’s not what it’s like.”

“How would you know? You been to one?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What? When?” Hap stared at his wife of thirty years as if she’d grown another head.

“Last year, in New York with my girlfriends.” Betty’s face softened, tongue touching her upper lip.

“You didn’t tell me about that.”

“Because I knew how you’d be. Don’t you glare at me, Hap Tandy. Like you don’t look at plenty of porn online. Do I ever say anything?”

Hap laughed with his whole body - belly shaking, hands slapping thighs. He wheezed, “Woman, you send me half the links!”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s okay for people to watch porn now.” Her lips firmed. “I’m going with or without you.”

“But -.” Hap stared at her, dumbfounded. “I said no.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to go.” Betty tossed her hair, hands still on her hips.

He caught a hint of peach-scented conditioner. A rush of lust accompanied the memories of thousands of nights falling asleep, face buried in her hair, wrapped around her comfortable curves.

She saw it in his eyes and pouted, “I am not in the mood for your hijinks, Mr. Stuffy Pants.”

His old nickname. She hadn’t used it in years. He shook himself a bit to unkink his sudden stiffy. Back when they first got married, Betty’d call him Mr. Stuffy Pants, use that sexy Marilyn Monroe voice and talk him into trying something dirty. She called it working her womanly wiles. He called it damn lucky.

He always gave in back then. This wasn’t going to be any different, but he gave it one more try. “How’d I look a customer in the eye next time he’s in the store, he sees me at a porno theater?”

“Ask him what he thought of the movie.”

He couldn’t help a grin at her quick wit.

Sensing weakness – scenting victory – she leaned against him. “Well? You going to let me go by myself?” Head back, her eyes challenged him to man up.

He pulled her close, savored her warmth, the feel of her big titties. “You gonna take care of this little problem?” He cupped deliciously full butt cheeks, pressed his boner against her belly.

She hummed and wriggled, but kept her focus. “You don’t like it, we can leave,” she promised. “Cherise says they sell beer.”

“Why didn’t you say so, woman?” He winked at her giggle and unsnapped her pants with one hand, while the other reached to close the kitchen curtains.
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Check out Friday Flash to learn more (and read wonderfully sensual stories submitted by many other writers).

Posted for your enjoyment, a bolt of Friday Flash. F. Leonora Solomon hosts and curates a monthly flash fiction collection. Stories are written using an image prompt - this month's is a woman in a fishnet body stocking. Check out Friday Flash to learn more (and read wonderfully sensual stories submitted by many other writers).



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Paint Me by Devi Ansevi

“Lie still,” he said, brush poised, voice patient. “When you move, the light changes.”

“I can’t help it.” I shifted again, whimpered in equal parts pain and pleasure.

“What’s wrong?” He put the brush down. Careful, even in his concern, to keep the bristles away from possible pollutants. I shivered at delicious memories of soft ermine brushes. He plied his instruments with a virtuoso’s skill, whether the canvas consisted of cotton or skin.

“It’s pinching me.” A river of goosebumps puckered my nipples, prickled my belly. The minutest movement tugged at delicate strands, point and sensual counterpoint.

“Where?” He crouched next to the draped divan, placed a warm hand on my knee. Instantly, I wanted to part my thighs further. I held still, mutely begged for surcease. “Your pubic hair?” Eyes warm with regret, with concern, he stroked my knee. “I should have shaved your pussy. I’m sorry, love.”

“Not my hair,” I said, hips canting slightly in subtle offering. Knowing I was being bad, interrupting his work. Knowing his concern might transmute to annoyance or arousal. The thrill of not knowing drove me recklessly onward. “It’s pinching my button.” A hint of a whimper, a damsel in distress siren call he could never resist. Almost never.

“It’s supposed to pinch your button,” he murmured, eyes touching me there, peering into the shadows and the fishnet, studying the bound flesh. “The bit of discomfort swells your labia, stiffens your nub. Emphasizes your lushness.” His voice oozed hot caramel seduction, dripping warmly between my thighs.

“I didn’t know how intense it would be.” My gaze flitted downward to flesh imprisoned behind silken bars. “Help me?” Breathy, pleading.

“Would it help to open yourself wider?” he asked. Did he ask as an artist or a lover? “Try.” The hand on my knee urged. Obediently, web-like strands shifting and teasing and tugging, my thighs parted.

“Ohhhh.” An involuntary sound as cool air caressed wet flesh; as my nub, trapped for so long, thrust between the bars of its prison. Hazy with want, I moved to touch myself. Just one touch, one tiny caress, that was all I needed.

He got there first. “Perhaps we could make this work instead,” he said, preening and petting and arranging to his exacting requirements. “Better?” He seemed unaware of the damp heat under his fingertips, the perfume of arousal in the air. The quickened heartbeat of his lover.

“Mmm,” I agreed, “Better.” My hand pressed over his.

His palm turned, knuckles brushing against sensitive, swollen flesh, capturing my smaller hand in his. “A bit longer, love.” A mellow chuckle. “I’ll paint you afterward.” He rubbed my slit with the back of his hand, taunting me with textures and ridges. I arched my back, and his other hand tapped my knee. “Uh uh. No more moving.”

Simmering in desire, sexual arousal a lusty marinade, I lay back, resigned to my fate. He smiled, brushed a moist knuckle along my cheekbone, and returned to paintbrush and canvas. Once again, in thrall to his muse. Enthralled by light and shadow, flushed flesh and silken net.

At last, he gave a little sigh. My nipples hardened. That sigh meant he was done working on the cotton canvas. Meant he was ready to ply his trade in a different medium. He finished cleaning brushes, set them in a cup to dry. Picked up another cup with four brushes. Lifted the mug to his nose, inhaled the lingering scent of our past dalliance.

Heat flushed through me. “Lover,” I sighed. His loose sweatpants tented at the sound. That sigh meant I was done being a good girl. Meant he had work to do.
He brought the cup with him. Knelt on the floor at the end of the divan and pulled me toward him. Lifted my ankles, placed enmeshed feet on broad shoulders. “You were such a good girl today,” he said. “Now for your reward.” A wide ermine brush tip stroked across a nipple.

"Lower."

He chuckled. The bristles, soft with the barest hint of scratch, flowed down my belly. Leisurely, lazily, slow as the Mississippi, it wandered into tributaries, tickling now left, now right, until I complained.

“Faster.”

Again, he chuckled. Then he reached my bud, aching and needsome. He swirled and twirled and stirred, slow then fast, delicate then firm, the rising crescendo of my “oh, oh, ohs” an ode to his talent.

“More,” I demanded, catching my breath. Proficient in his trade, he brought another brush into play, this one wider, stiff bristled, plied against desirous, damp folds. “Stroke me, paint me,” I encouraged, head back to focus on his genius.

Long, firm strokes up and down my slit. Swirling softness over my nub. Not enough to get me to orgasm, just enough to fill my belly with warmth, with want, with love.

Several sighs and sweet pleadings later, he judged his living canvas almost done. Discarding the brushes, he cupped my bottom, raised me to his mouth and sought the succulent nectar within.

“More, more,” I begged.

Magically, he produced a tiny pair of scissors. Warm palm holding me still, he snipped, freeing that part of me which ached for a different captivity.

Relief! Ah, such sweet relief.

“Crotchless stockings now,” he mused, joining me on the divan, joining our bodies, sinking into my wet and wanting channel. Catching me almost instantly in orgasm’s long-delayed net.

He paused, then began again. “Always in such a hurry,” he scolded. “Two hours in this sexy stocking. Gorgeous. Lush. Exotic. Erotic.” Each word accompanied by a deep thrust, by my appreciative sighs. “Worth more than twenty seconds of fucking.”

“Forty seconds?” I teased, muscles clutching tight.

“At least,” he agreed. “I want to paint you.” His pace quickened, face absorbed, hungry, excited at a new idea. “Your pussy. Torn stocking.” He panted. “Oh, God, cum dripping, freshly fucked.” His cock pulsed inside me.

We kissed tenderly. “Yes,” I whispered.