Guest blog by Raven McAllen, author of Dominated By The Earl
Well, who wouldn’t want to be?
Especially, when in Regency times, you could be a boring wife, or well wink turn the tables a bit…
Hi, I’m Raven, and I freely admit, I find it really hard to talk about myself, or how I write. I’d love to be able to say, oh I have a formula for writing, I do x, y, or x, but in reality I don’t.
In all honesty, I can’t even say where my ideas form, they just pop into my head, and the characters shout until I listen. It gets confusing when it’s more than one book’s worth at once, but somehow I seem to sort them out, and work out who takes priority.
However, I do know I must listen to them, and if I don’t ohh dear. That’s several k’s worth of words deleted then.
I guess that means I’m a pantster character-driven writer. Strangely, of late I have been roughing out things I know I have to add into my story at sometime, but generally I have a start and a finish, and no clue how I’m going to get there, and how many words it will take for me to do so.
It doesn’t always go according to plan, but ah well, I write as I can, not as I think I aught and it works for me. Well, I think it does, you might beg to differ.
So, what can I say?
I’m growing old disgracefully and loving it.
Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.
Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I’m often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I’m not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.
Leonora knew she’d wait for Justin to come home.
She hadn’t expected it to be so long or so fraught.
When Justin joined his regiment, and was sent to the continent, Leonora promised to wait for him to return.
She didn’t think it would take so long, or she’d have so many difficulties to face. Her life changes as she struggles to cope without Justin and keep his estate running.
With someone out to destroy all she holds dear, Leonora has to fight for her beliefs and her family, and hope they get the happy ever after they deserve.
A wee tease…
“Have you finished?” Justin gestured at the chicken bone in her hand.
“What? Oh, yes.” The bone had no meat on it. She had finished it without any thought. “Thank you, I’ll be fine now.”
“I won’t.” Justin put the bone back into the bag and rested it on the ground by his feet. With a grin that Nora could only think of as wicked, he pushed her back up against a tree trunk. The bark was rough to her touch as she put her
“I won’t be fine until I’m deep inside you,” he whispered. “Pushing you to the edge. Taking you further than you’ve ever gone before. Listening to you scream…for everything.”
Nora felt the warmth of his breath on her ear. That, combined with his words, sent a gush of arousal through her that she had thought she would never find again. Her juices gathered and their warmth coated her mound and the apex of her thighs. Before she had a chance to rub her legs together—she wasn’t sure if it was to increase or reduce that delicious ache—Justin thrust his knee between them, and pressed against her quim. Sharp daggers of excitement bombarded her and she moaned. He put a hand over her mouth and Nora slipped her tongue between her lips to circle his palm. She tasted warmth and sweat.
“Shh, and do not do that, minx. I want you, oh, how I want you. If we were alone, and had more time, I would take you here. Strip you, and bare our souls, as I plunge into you in every way possible. Drink your juices and your cries, and let you milk me, as I will do you. That thought has kept me going many a long month. To stroke your breasts, feel your nipples come alive by my touch. To suckle as our child did, and then to watch you splinter as I fill your cunt. And there’s more,” he continued in a compelling undertone as Nora tingled at the erotic pictures his words created. “I have a need to introduce you to new delights such as we had no chance to experience before I left. But we can’t do anything here, and I need to explain so much to you. In truth, Nora, I can only but hope you give me leave to do all this and more once we’ve talked.” He rubbed his knee across her quim. The pressure was enough to make her squirm in ecstasy.
“I need…” she moaned. “I want…” What did she want? Coherent thought was impossible as he slipped his hand under the cloak and nipped one of her nipples through the thin material of her day gown.
“So do I, but sadly we will have to hold those thoughts. We need to move on.”
He moved backward an inch or two, and Nora felt his withdrawal as acutely as if he had left her alone again. His smile lit his face. “I know, love. I feel it as well. Soon I hope we can sate ourselves. Now let’s move.” He took her hand and led her toward the horses. As he threw her up into the saddle, her hands moved to the neck of the cloak. Justin stayed her hands. “Keep it on. It will not upset Moonlight, and it will hopefully warm you until I can.”
Bio: Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she’s strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.