Thank you
for stopping in to meet an erotic author who also writes about the stories
close to my heart! So grab your cuffs and collars, floggers and paddles, and
come meet Amber!
Amber’s Bio: I was born to American parents abroad on an
island off the coast of British Columbia, Canada. I moved to the states when I
was 4 ½ and never really fit in. When I was old enough, I immersed myself in
books. Libraries were my mecca and books my heaven. I think I read every Sweet
Valley High book I could get my hands on. Naturally, I became a librarian. I
write the type of books that don't add to any library catalog though. I refuse
to censor out the hot steamy interplay of romance in a modern world. I’m married
to a woman who also fills in as my personal muse.
Tonya:
Amber, thank you so much for hanging out with us all week! Readers love
to know more about their authors. Tell us a bit about yourself.
Amber:
Thanks for having me! Well where to begin? I am a trans man writing
under a female name so I guess my life is a mind game? I've been married to the
love of my life for nearly seventeen years now. We got married young, and we
had everything going against us when we married. We were young (did I already
say that?), in a long distance relationship, and had known each other only a
few short months before we tied the knot. To make matters worse, we had only
met in person three times prior to living together. Talk about insane. And yet,
here we are today more in love than ever. I think the trick is liking and
loving the person you are with. Oh, and making sure you are both cat lovers.
That is important. ;-)
Tonya:
Do you have a day job?
Amber:
I did up until a month ago. I have a master's degree in library science
and was working for New York Public Library as a librarian. My wife found a
better job which meant moving to Florida so the four of us (two cats) packed up
and moved over a thousand miles. I'm still mentally unpacking though our boxes
are mostly gone. While I'd love to be a full-time writer, reality dictates me
finding a job down here.
Tonya:
Congrats on the move! Some of us have things we do to get into the
writing frame of mind like music, or drinks. Do you have anything special you
do to get into the writing mood?
Amber:
Hmm, actually what tends to get me in the writing mood is realizing the
characters are already yelling at me to get their story written. Yes, I hear
voices. The characters talk out their dialog in my head, and I start writing it
down to keep sane. So I guess I'm saying writing is cheaper than
psychiatric drugs and a lot more fun. You can't share a nervous breakdown but
you can a sexy and erotic story.
Tonya:
Where do you keep story ideas? Where do they come from?
Amber:
I keep story ideas jotted down in a word file or in my head. I can't
remember to make a phone call, but I can remember story ideas for months at a
time. I've tried to figure out where my stories come from and to tell the truth
I don't know. I think each one is a flight of fantasy sparked by something I've
seen, heard, or tasted. Perhaps it is the way a man tips his hat or the tight
fitting jeans accenting a nice pair of buttocks. The spark lights then flares
into a full on passionate story.
Tonya:
Tell us who your publisher is?
Amber:
At this point, all my books are published by Renaissance E-books under
the Sizzler Editions imprint.
Tonya:
Congrats on getting the contracts with a publisher! Are you a daytime
writer, night time writer, and do you have to be alone to write?
Amber:
I actually write at all times. When the muse strikes, I try to get my
fingers immediately onto a keyboard. I don't allow myself though if I have to
be up the next day to work at another job. I prefer to be alone or have only my
wife around. I do need quiet.
Tonya:
What advice would you give to new authors?
Amber:
Make sure your characters are as real as people you interact with daily.
A reader wants flesh and bones to sink their teeth into.
Tonya:
Do you write better when you first have an idea of what your characters
look like or do you write, then add character looks?
Amber:
I don't need to know what a character looks like physically, but I do
need to know what they look like emotionally and intelligently.
Tonya:
What attracts you most about men?
Amber:
Personality and intelligence.
Tonya:
We’re dying to hear about your latest book. What can you tell us without
spoiling the storyline?
Amber:
Interesting that you should ask. I have a book that will be coming out
soon called Mating Cry. It is a paranormal romance about a man falling for
co-worker completely out of his league. And by league I mean she isn't exactly
human, but he doesn't know that yet. When he does, a one night stand turns into
a fight for his future.
Tonya:
Sounds intriguing! Where can our readers find you and your books?
Amber:
All my books are available through Amazon, Renaissance Ebooks, and
Barnes and Noble. Visit my website, follow me on Twitter as BDSMErotic and
Facebook as Amber Rose Thompson. I've started a Goodreads account but need to
ramp up my presence there.
Tonya:
GoodReads is a good place to be, too! Lots of readers there. Is there
anything else you want to tell our readers?
Amber:
Thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to suspend disbelief and
enter the worlds I create.
Tonya:
What is your favorite night time snack?
Amber:
Triscuits
Tonya:
Do you like toppings on your ice cream?
Amber:
Chocolate sprinkles but only if they are real chocolate not chocolate
colored wax. I do have standards.
Tonya:
What’s your favorite meal - Italian, Mexican, Thai, etc?
Amber:
Definitely Indian. The spices! The flavors! The heat!
Excerpt from
Primal Needs
Blurb:
Helena is a
Domme in the board room separating people into those she can control and those
she must eliminate. But she is about to meet a creature far more dominating and
demanding than her. When she becomes a vampire's prey her world crashes down
around her. For some monsters are better left to the dark world of horror
and fairy tales. Helena must tame the hunter's heart or face eternal life
in death. Another masterpiece of fantasy, romance and bondage by Amber Rose
Thompson. PRIMAL NEEDS has everything a fan of romantic BDSM needs - and then
some!
CHAPTER ONE
Constantine
angled the chauffeur's cap down to shade his eyes from the setting sun. Behind
the darkest of sunglasses, his eyes watered to prevent corneas from splitting.
A few more minutes of pain, then the sun's rays would be below the horizon.
He
leaned his back against the limousine, and felt the car shudder as his weight
bore down from an angle the designer's never intended. Methodically he clenched
and unclenched his hands, muscles flexing under a jacket already stretched to
the maximum, causing seams to snap a few threads in defeat.
Waiting
was the worst when it involved the hellhole of L.A. days. Rome was far better
with the subterranean tombs and vaults. He missed Rome. L.A. only had water
under the soil, what a waste of a large land mass with so many inhabitants. But
L.A. was where she was, and he'd tracked her here from Rome.
His cell
phone buzzed.
Reaching
into the inner pocket of the jacket, he flicked the phone on without
hesitation. As his mouth opened to speak, his body went rigid and straight.
Game time, he licked his lips quickly, before resuming the chauffeur appearance
of understated indifference.
"Speak,
it's clear." He checked himself. Playing the minion was grating on his
nerves. "I mean the line is clear, Sir. She hasn't summoned me yet."
He chuckled throatily; making sure the phone was far enough away not to pick up
on his vocal vibrations.
"You
in place?"
Constantine
heard the sweat beading up on the man's skin from across the phone. Did the man
even know Constantine scared him? Probably not. Joe Smith, as Constantine
nicknamed him, couldn't deal rationally with fear and would chalk it up to high
blood pressure.
"Yes,
Sir." Constantine tried a salute, but found it too humorous to bother.
"Where
are you?"
The guy
really thought you kidnapped a high ranking business woman by talking directly
to the hired thug? "I'm outside the Palmer building standing by the
limousine. The secretary called me to be here in ten minutes."
"So
you're early?"
Give the
big man a bone. He got one without too much mental ordeal. "That's
correct, sir."
"Good,
make sure you take no detours and bring her directly to the holding location.
See to it her cell phone is disabled. We can't afford her alerting the
authorities."
Well,
duh. Really this man didn't deserve to get his hands on Helena Palmer, and he
wouldn't. "Of course, sir, all taken care of."
The
phone went quiet in his hand. Constantine didn't have to look at the phone to
speed dial Jason. The connection crackled then went clear, probably the damn
sun polluting the airways.
"Constantine."
"We
are a go." Constantine felt his legs take the last brunt of the sun and
his eyes begin to dilate back into the comfort range.
"Do
I make ready for you tonight or wait? I'm already at the warehouse. Men can be
here in twenty."
Constantine
had hired Jason on a whim and kept him around for intelligence. Constantine
suspected Jason could turn alpha were the situation right. Jason was too good
at second guessing him for a spark of telepathy not to be present, waiting to
ignite. Jason was good, maybe too good for them to continue working together
much longer.
"Call
them in." Constantine's eyes squinted, trying to shut out the sun.
"Normal
protocol? Or special care?"
"Special
care, this one will be devourable. I want ones with total control."
Constantine forced his eyes open.
* * * *
Helena
Palmer rolled the red scrunchy down her hand and cinched it around her wavy
hair, pulling red curls up away from her neck. The white of her skin bespoke
failure in getting herself out of the office to enjoy a good baking in the
summer sun.
Her
invisible arm hairs prickled at the thought of heat flushing her peach skin
into cardinal red burns. Sometimes a little pain was worth it. Afterwards,
she'd have the most luscious tingles and itches that made her take notice of
every inch of her body. There would be no problem sitting erect for days on end
after one hour of being bikini-clad in the surf.
She
kicked off one of her black satin pumps to bury her foot in the carpet and
imagine sand seeping up between toes with the squelch of trapped water brimming
over and sucking her foot down further into muck. It was so close. If she
opened her window and leaped over a few buildings there she would be, just her,
sand, and the waves drowning out the incessant chatter of boardroom meetings
and whispered secret knives already unsheathed.
Looking
at her watch, she put her shoe back on. The moving hands of the watch confirmed
what her view said, the sun was setting and another day missed of seeing the
ocean without plate glass between her and the salty air.
At this
rate, she'd be lucky if she ate dinner at home. Nothing tempted her growling
stomach that didn't have the added crunch of sand whipped into it from a stiff
breeze picking up white foam and tossing it onto the beach.
She
cuffed the side of each bronze highlighted cheek to bring her mind back into
the game. Sand would have to wait; she had an acquisition to prepare for. Come
tomorrow, she would be adding Clark Trading to the group of assets her family
commandeered.
L.A. was
losing one more start-up business, and Palmer Enterprises gaining another
brokerage. All that stood in the way of an easy and quick acquisition process
was convincing the losers they were being merged into Palmer Enterprises rather
than eviscerated.
Helena
bent her long neck from side to side, enjoying each pop and grind her vertebrae
made as the discs relinquished the vise grip lock on her spine and let her slip
back into the chair, her feet no longer touching the floor. Inadvertently a
sigh escaped her tight lips and her head lolled back until it hit the high back
of her chair. And she was back on the job.
Moving
to the edge of her chair, she shifted old papers out of the way, and moved a
new pile into her prime focus point. It was time to decide which marketing
letter to use tomorrow for employees coming into Clark Trading and discovering
they were assets of Palmer Enterprises.
A smile
flicked across her lips before settling back to a monotone expression. She woke
her screen up from sleep mode and watched as the network absorbed the Clark
mainframe and altered calculations to include the new juicy bits she'd just fed
into the coffers.
Her
nostrils flared a bit longer than her smile had lasted, and her stomach churned
along with the alterations in the daily tallies. She hungered for meat, the
rawer the better. She pulled her pinpoint stare away from the computer and
fanned out the marketing letters.
No one
reading the letter was going to care about artful writing, no matter how many
times they read and reread the letter after the initial adrenaline wore off.
What they wanted to know was if their paychecks stopped or not. Hell with it,
any one would do.
She took
the letter from the bottom of the pile and brought it to the top. It would keep
the masses subdued long enough for the new manager's welcome speech.
A sharp
rap on her door saved the chosen letter from being mutilated by her spindle.
The door opened without her having to address the intrusion. Backlit by the
brighter lights outside, her secretary stood framed by the door with Helena's
jacket over an arm and purse and brief case in hand.
Reny
stepped in far enough to be officially inside and no further. "Your jacket
and purse, ma'am."
Helena's
face remained motionless.
Reny
stood firm under the watchful interrogation.
"I
see that. The question is why you have my jacket and purse. I did not ask for
them." Helena folded her arms on the desk, crushing the rejected letters.
"Yesterday
you told me you were to be evicted from your office by 7 PM whether you
summoned me or not." Reny held her arm away from her body so the jacket
remained uncreased. "And you decided to enter my lair without
permission." Helena opened up a drawer to her left and shifted amidst the
contents, then closed it.
"I
figured either way I could lose, ma'am, so I went with the last direct order
you gave me. I couldn't figure out a way to evict you without coming in."
Helena
pushed her chair back and stood up. "How long have you been working for
me?" She marched around the desk to face Reny off a body's length away.
"Three
years, ma'am." Her stiff hands prevented the purse from swaying.
"Add
a note to tomorrow's schedule. Put down I am to give you a raise. Oh and send
the top letter to marketing for final write up." She took the briefcase
and purse from Reny and moved around the motionless girl.
Reny
snapped in place behind Helena's heels, following her boss out into the foyer
and pushing the elevator button before Helena needed to. "The chauffeur is
at the main entrance. I will call down to let him know you are a minute
away."
Helena
moved into the elevator without answering; she turned around and caught a last
sight of Reny's stoic face before the doors sealed her in and shot her down to
the main floor automatically. The girl had definite potential. Time to up her
task list and see how she coped at commanding and delegation.
Doors
opened for her as she walked out of the building. She stopped short on the
sidewalk when what she expected to see differed with reality. The standard
sedan, of which they owned three, wasn't there. Instead, a stretch limousine
monopolized the drop-off zone, forcing pedestrian traffic to find an
alternative method off the curb rather than the ramp.
Nina,
no, Reny, was good. Just what did the girl have in mind? The hulk of a
chauffeur towered over the top of the car, even nicer touch. Had Reny
handpicked him from the agency? He certainly wasn't one of the chauffeurs on
the payroll. A body like that wasn't forgettable. She would wager a good
bet that he walked silently like a big cat on the prowl and could clear a
sidewalk without even a glance. He was someone she could definitely use around
more, very nice.
She
watched the jacket fail to hide the lines of his bulging muscles. Just who or
what was he intending to pounce on? Now here was a guy she should have at Clark
tomorrow to keep the payroll in check.
She
found her tongue fighting to get past teeth to lick her lips. Down tongue, not
in daylight where enemies could be watching. Her nostrils wriggled. Why?
She
detested cologne; it masked the real smell of a man. As he got closer, her
nostril could not be stilled, and her stomach growled, or was that her throat?
Reny was definitely getting a raise tomorrow, and double what she'd originally
intended.
His hand
engulfed the handle of the rear door and ratcheted it open. She almost felt
pity for the metal under his grip, almost. She couldn't help but wonder what
that grip would do to bone and sinew for both good and bad. He screamed
bodyguard in the making, and her father had been on to her to get one with the
last batch of threats against her.
He
tipped his cap at her while opening the door. Stepping back to let her in, his
jacket brushed the tips of her fingers. It had to be static electricity, but
Helena would have sworn her body jolted back a step or two. Could blood
percolate, because something like soda water swished through her veins?
She
tried pulling herself together to get into the car with dignity, but his hand
came out to hold her arm, steadying her as she ducked inside and sat down.
Sweat formed where his hand was, sealing her silk top and jacket together, so
she felt like her clothing shrank while her lungs worked overtime.
It
wasn't until the door closed on her, and she tracked the shadows through the
shaded windows stating his location, that she noticed there was a glass of
champagne poured for her and that she no longer had her purse. When the hell
had he taken it? This was certainly not normal protocol?
She was
formulating a complaint when her mind registered three things coming together
so quickly she would have sworn it was mechanically controlled. The backseat
doors locked, the window between her and the driver closed, and the car
started.
Well he
didn't waste any time in performing his duties, though she would have to
censure him on absconding with her purse, at least her briefcase was still with
her. Not his place to think what she would need, even if he was right. That was
definitely a spark of forward thinking she would be strangling before much more
time passed.
The car
revved into park mode. Curiosity rarely was an attribute blamed on her, but
exactly where was he taking her? It wasn't Reny's job to decide her
destination, but with the champagne and limousine clearly the girl had
something in mind and well the night was young.
How much
was the guy behind the wheel willing to do for his payment? She pushed the talk
button. "What time were you scheduled for?" She needed a few basics
to formulate a plan.
"As
long as it takes."
To the
point, very attractive and so full of innuendos. Was Reny really this good at
calculating her needs? There was only one way to find out. After all, rest and
relaxation always required a bit of extracurricular activity and a good orgasm
would do just the trick. His body screamed the ability to hold out until she
was satiated. Clearly he could hold her down if needed so she didn't dislodge a
shoulder or hip.
She
pushed the talk button again. "To the Seaside Hilton then." It wasn't
plausible to take him home like a good little puppy trained to lick
appropriately, but the Hilton knew well enough to keep a room at the ready for
her and to have all eyes covered.
* * * *
She was
looking around. Her shoulder and head twitches declared she was calculating her
placement, trapped animal or safe zone? God she was gorgeous. Through the
rearview mirror, Constantine watched her check him out then turn her head away.
He
forced his hands to clench around the steering wheel then open. One clench,
two, three, shit, four, five, six. He couldn't let her get to him. He
needed to repeat the gesture. Seven, eight nine, he could do this.
And ten.
The
glass and plastic between them was nothing more than a wisp of mist that could
be cleared with a good blow of his primed knuckles. This close, nothing
prevented her scent from filling up the car and his nostrils. He really didn't
need more proof, but the spiked champagne was clear cut, not even the strongest
of his desires could contrive up such evidence for his wants. If it took her
down...
She
leaned back into the plush seat now, unbuttoning her blazer. Her shoulders
rolled back, straining the top button of her blouse the button struggling to
keep her breasts covered from his eyes. Strapless bra, interesting, she didn't
like to be confined more than necessary.
His
pants tightened, and he had to shift in the seat, which reminded him the car
was still in park. He didn't want to start up until she had taken the first
sip, but how much longer was she going to make him wait?
There it
was. Her fingers moved to the glass, stopping to feel the coolness on her
fingers and luxuriate in what was about to cross her lips. His own tongue
curled up in his mouth wanting to shout for her to go faster. God she was
killing him.
Yes, the
glass was moving in an arc that culminated in her lips. What were her teeth
like? Would she make him wonder by barely parting her lips? Damn, she was a
tease. The rim of the glass glided past the pout of her lower lip, and her head
tilted ever so slightly back.
This
woman would make a killing on Madison Avenue. Those lips alone could sell vodka
to someone allergic to alcohol.
And
touch down. Cup lowered, he watched her throat for signs of a swallow. God, she
was savoring the taste, moving it around in her mouth. Her jaws moved side to
side as if saying 'no' to him.
God damn
it swallow. And there it was, going down. How far down did her throat go? How
much could she take without gagging? Closing his eyes to rid himself of the
thought, he missed the final descent of the liquid churning past her esophagus
and heading down to the stomach held in by the tightness of her skirt.
His eyes
opened with a snap. How much had his meditation cost him? Ah, good. She was
putting the cup down, and a little sloshed over the side of the rim and beaded
down the fluted sides to pool on the tray. Her head bobbed, eye lids closing
while she slid down into the seat, collapsing in a heap, head against her
knees.
Blood
had spoken and vindication was his. No one would question him ever again after
a few weeks. He'd pegged her from the first sniff in Rome and all the shadowing
and wrangling to get this gig was pay dirt. Constantine arched his neck back
and howled, sound-proof cars rocked as did tinted glass. Humans did have some
usefulness with their inventions and he'd let some live. But they really had to
do something about L.A.
Crunching
the gearshift into drive, he careened out of the cul-de-sac and let other
driver's yield to him as he merged with traffic. A flick of his eyes showed a
very lovely woman had fallen sideways in the back of his car. Saliva ran down
the sides of his fangs, and he wiped the liquid residue that didn't get
swallowed back onto his sleeve.
Game
time.
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