Welcome to Craving Erotic Romance Blogspot.
Today we’re presenting Author
Good Morning! Thank you for having me. I must say, I am a huge fan of your work, Allyson Young. You really know how to make a man work for the goods!
1) Have you always wanted to be an author?
No. When I was four I told my parents I wanted to be a picketer because we drove past a group of men and women on strike holding signs. I think I knew even then I had something to say, but I couldn’t find a sign big enough so I wrote a book. Several years later I earned my degree in Elementary and Special Education. After that I owned an Event Planning Business. Once I became a mother, I discovered my love for reading and that led to my LOVE for writing.
2) What genre(s) do you write?
Romance! I love erotica that doesn’t skimp on plot. I also dabble in YA, but everything I write is founded on love.
3) Have you ever self published?
4) Who or what inspired you to write your first book?
Life experiences. My first novel is YA and about abuse. It has never been published, but will some day. Of all my stories, that one is very near and dear to my heart.
5) How many hours in a day might you write?
Might? If life permitted I might write for 24 hours of the day. LOL. However, I do have a lovely family and someone has to do the laundry. On average, I’d say I write/edit/revise about 40 hours a week. That usually breaks down to 3 or 4 solid days of working on my craft.
6) Are you a plotter or a pantster?
I’m a plontser. I start with a plan, but once it comes to life my characters run the show.
7) Do you ever find yourself slipping away and becoming so immersed in your story it affects how you relate to others?
Yes. It is very difficult, sometimes, for others to understand that being an author, while being a great job, is a job. I often have to screen calls and decline invitations if my normal schedule is not respected. I can get quite grumpy when this happens, but eventually I climb out from under my writer rock and return to my normal, pleasant self. LOL
8) Are you in any of your books?
Ha! I think a little bit of me shows up in all my books, but I’ll never tell which characters I am.
9) What do your friends and family have to say about you writing?
They are incredibly supportive and love to read my work. Even my grandmother gets into my erotic romances—tells me my naughtiness, I get from her.
10) Please share an excerpt from one of your books that totally spoke to you when you put the words down on paper…
All of my books speak to me for some reason or another. They are all little parts of my soul trying to break out. My most recent release, Chasing Feathers, truly tests the bounds of a husband’s love when Dean Harrison’s wife, Ellie is in an accident and forgets everything—who she is, who he is, what it is to be kissed… Dean adores her and refuses to let her go, but she fears he’s in love with a woman she doesn’t know. Here’s a peek at the prologue to Chasing Feathers.
The southern heat of the night had cooled marginally with the appearance of the moon. Silver reflections caught the lips of waves in the distance as even the Atlantic slowed its breathing, ebbing and flowing under an inky blanket of night threaded with sparkling buttons of stars.
The breeze off the coast fought to break through the crowds cluttering Clematis Street, fluttering the branded banners that decorated various establishments and swirling the narrow palm leaves like beribboned kite tails. Flags waved overhead languidly like streamers tied to a slow oscillating fan as the tourists fought the heat with slushy cocktails below.
It was easy for Dean to tell the locals from the tourists. Vacationers wore a sheen of dew over their pinkened flesh, badges of their over anxiousness to jump head first into their brief escape from reality, disregarding the intensity of the sun this side of the equator. Their jewels were all a little too new and their hair a little too done.
Money was exchanged for indulgences of all kinds. The tourists’ cash was the blood flowing in the veins of Palm Beach, the chatter and over liquored laughter creating the heartbeat of the land.
As Dean strode deeper inland his ears ignored the fast pulsing changes in music covering the soft-sanded sounds of what should be Florida’s lullaby. About as peaceful as a fast turning dial on an old radio, voices, live bands, the chatter of traffic, and bustling businesses ricocheted between the buildings trapping the street.
But that was Palm Beach. That was where the nightlife never died and booze flowed like water. Dean required none of those things, but his Ellie did and anything she needed he would gladly provide. It wasn’t like being a firefighter pinned him to a certain location. He could do his job anywhere and that was where he would follow his Ellie. Anywhere.
By one a.m. the pokey, mulling, shuffle of patrons somehow always managed to clog the doorways as if their purposeful new sandals were treading over sludge in a bog rather than the baked cement. Dean stood below the canvas awning of Apples of Eve waiting for a gaggle of underdressed, overwatered cougars to topple out the entrance.
Cool air, music, giggles, and the click-clack of stilettos was the prelude to the halfhearted stumble that landed a long-legged brunette in a turquoise dress against Dean’s chest.
“My, my, what do we have here?” she purred.
Her breath smelled of top shelf liquor and the bridge of her nose was an angry shade of sun burned red. Her hair was wet and wiry around her face from the humidity.
Dean righted the woman, offered a pardon me, and stepped aside so she and her friends could pass. They hopelessly flirted and pouted and no doubt made some snide comment as he stepped out of hearing distance. He had no time for women like that. He spotted the woman he wanted the moment he reached the entrance.
Apples of Eve was a unique flavor tucked within the other restaurants of
that tickled the tourists’ pallets. From the all organic menu to the artistic
presentation of wild nectars swirling on painted plates, the owner had done a
wonderful job of mingling new age dining trends with sophistication and
quality. There were plenty of tofu pushing eateries in the area, but few
captured the timeless air of class Apples of Eve maintained.
Similar to the French Quarters of New Orleans, the interior of the establishment was done in the most vibrant shades of nature. Deep grounding earth tones flecked with exotic greens and cerulean blues were accentuated with the glow of the red tinted blown glass sconces, leaving the main room in a perpetual sunset. The interior bar sat on a glass stage with a backlit photo of the coral reefs below. The dining area to the right was the main dining room, full of secreted corners and simplicity.
Dean’s target was on the other end, sitting at the outer bar, alone and prime for plucking, like supple fruit weighing on the branches of Eden’s trees.
He nodded at the bartender who was preoccupied with a small group of women, too young to even recall Reagan, and he quietly sat next to the woman who caught his eye. Her hair, even under the blue light of the moon sneaking past the pagoda, burned brighter than the Texas sun. Deep crimson red shocked with silken threads of gold, her long hair was so alluring it seemed almost alive, such a potent declaration of confidence contrasting severely against her lilywhite skin. Her flesh was like a bed of freshly fallen snow, no freckles spattering its surface, just perfection, making all her other features over-punctuated points of beauty.
Her long spine curled at the tip of her tiny ass. The simple black cocktail dress caressed her curves and fell away below her right knee. Long fair legs entwined, crossing left over right and almost around again. The toe of her four-inch heel balanced precariously on the lowest rung of the stool.
Dean slid onto the stool beside her, her gentle scent mixed with the salty breeze coming through the windows. She ignored him, never once taking her attention from the papers she was reading.
Jillian, one of the female bartenders, placed a napkin in front of him on the lacquered bar. “Hey, Dean. Want your usual?”
“Hey, Jillian. Yes please, and whatever this lovely lady next to me is drinking, bring her another.”
Jillian smiled and stepped away as the redheaded beauty turned to face him. Her brow arched curiously above the most piercing set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. She said nothing, but gave him a look that told him he was full of himself and the chair he occupied had been vacant for a reason. Her full lips were painted in a deep sheen of red and didn’t twitch in the slightest of greetings.
She gave a slow nod and turned back to the papers.
Jillian returned with their drinks. The woman reached for hers and the glint of her wedding ring caught under the dim lighting. She sipped the drink and returned to her work.
Dean’s thumb brushed the band of his own ring as he reached for his beer. He watched her as he took a long slow sip washing the taste of ash from his tongue. “Married?”
She nodded, but didn’t turn from her work. Her pen made neat marks along a column of numbers. The bartenders worked quietly tidying up their area for the next evening.
“Where’s your husband?”
Her pen paused and the fringe of her red lashes slowly closed over the crystal blue of her eyes. She took an irritated breath and faced him.
“He was called away for work.”
Dean held her gaze and nodded.
Her eyes slowly inspected him and returned to his face. “You’re not from around here, but you’re not a tourist.”
“No, ma’am. How is it you could tell?”
“You don’t have the normal vacationer look and your words have a slight southern lilt you won’t find this far east.”
His lip twitched. He hadn’t lived in the west since he was a boy, yet no matter how hard he tried to cover his slight southern drawl it sometimes still showed.
“You’re very observant. Most people assume I’m a born and raised local when really I’ve only lived in Florida for the past four years.”
A man came and sat next to the woman. She turned to look at the newcomer then turned back to Dean. “So you live around here?”
“Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact I live real close. Care to walk me home?”
A slip of dubious laughter passed her lips and the man on her other side turned to better see the byplay.
“Walk you home? And why would I do that?”
“Well, seems to me the night’s almost over. This here bar’s about to close. And it can get a bit chilly at night without your husband there to keep you warm.”
At the mention of the lady’s husband the other fellow eavesdropping on their conversation drew up short. Her lower lip twitched as if she had a snappy comeback, but left it sitting on her tongue, tickling her mouth.
Before it worked its way past her lips he leaned in and said, “Let me make this real simple for you, darling. I live just above this bar, less than forty feet away. Now those shoes look a bit complicated to walk in, but I imagine they’ll be off before we even reach the second floor. Even if they’re on I’m bettin’ they won’t be a problem, as I’m planning on having you off your feet and against my door before it’s even opened. I imagine it will get a little chilly before I get you on your back, you know, that moment just after I peel this fine dress off your skin and toss you on my bed, but once you’re there I plan on covering you like a blanket all night long.”
The man to her left watched, astounded, and leaned back slightly so not to catch the backlash of the slap that would likely be coming. Recapping her pen she placed it on her papers and turned in her stool to face Dean. Her chin tilted up as she looked down her nose at him, a slight, seductive smile curling her red lips.
“And what, may I ask, makes you think I would allow some good ol’ boy who approaches me at a bar to take such liberties?”
“Well, because it would be a night you’d never forget. You see, us good ol’ boys are shameless when it comes to loving ladies. We got that charm our mommas had written into our bones before we were born. We like things slow and we always aim to please.”
“Awfully sure of yourself, cowboy.”
He purposely thickened his drawl. “Well, I can be, because I know once I get you out this door it’s gonna be hotter than two mice fuckin’ in a wool sock.”
She laughed and reproved, “So crass.”
“My confidence tells me I can be. No matter what, I know tomorrow morning you’ll be smiling like a gator at an old fashioned Baptism.”
She really laughed then, her red lips parting and her blue eyes sparkling.
He stood slowly and slid his beer back. “In all seriousness, darlin’, if you don’t let me kiss those sweet lips of yours right now I’m afraid I may never get over being so close to true beauty and not stealing a taste.”
She quieted and looked up at him, her blue eyes suddenly appearing too large for her face. He stepped close and moved a strand of her crimson hair behind her ear. His finger followed the line of her jaw to the tip of her chin, tipping her head back another degree. His lips brushed over hers, barely touching, and her mouth opened slightly as she breathed in.
His tongue slowly licked along the seam of her lips and he groaned at her sweet taste. Teasingly, he brushed his mouth with hers and whispered, “What do you say, pretty lady, can I keep you warm tonight?”
Her lashes lifted with the perfection of a slow sweeping feather. She stared at him with drowsy eyes and slowly nodded.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He placed it on the bar and reached for her hand. As she slid off her stool he winked triumphantly over her head at the man enviously watching the exchange.
She stepped away from the bar and he placed his palm at the base of her spine, over her pert bottom, and led her out of the restaurant.
As soon as they crossed the entryway he slid his palm to her wrist and pulled her to his chest. He turned and pressed her back into the building and kissed her deeply. Her arms went to his neck and she moaned as he dipped his tongue into her mouth, drawling hers out to play. Her vivacious kiss did not disappoint.
Their heads tilted, trying to taste more of each other. Dean slid his hand down to her hip and squeezed. Her knee grazed along the outside of his thigh and he stiffened.
Breaking the kiss, he quickly led her to the small discreet door that led to his condo above. Making quick work of the locks he scurried her inside and quickly kissed her again, behind the privacy of the other door.
She moaned and threw herself into the moment. His right hand sifted through her long, silky hair as his left hand gripped her under her knee that he held at his hip. He pressed his arousal into the apex of her thighs and she made sweet keening noises as he ground himself there.
Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his jeans and he slid his left hand down her thigh to the silk that covered her sex. Her panties shifted. He pressed the material aside and ran a knuckle between her creases as she freed his cock. They each moaned.
Her hands worked him as he fondled her. He slid a finger deep into her and her head tipped back. His mouth kissed a trail down to her pale shoulder and he slid the strap of her dress down. Her hand fisted him tightly and pumped up and down.
“Now, cowboy,” she begged.
“Upstairs,” he countered in between kisses.
“No, right here.”
She released him and yanked the straps of her dress over her shoulders and down to her torso. Her beautiful bare breasts appeared almost blue in the silver moonlight that streamed through the skylight. The hall was private, only the one condo above. Her hands cupped her breasts and his mouth eased in to taste one peach tipped nipple then the other.
He withdrew his hand from her core and slid his palms over the smooth globes of her ass. Her feet left the ground as her legs wrapped around his back. The thud of one stiletto was followed by the clack of its twin hitting the floor. His fingers played at the slice of flesh peeking past the lace of her panties.
She shifted and reached between them, moving her panties aside and positioning his cock at her entrance. She entwined her fingers behind his neck and slowly seated herself.
He kissed her throat and thrust home. Her hot flesh gripped him as he pumped in and out. She felt like heaven. He knew she would.
Her fingers tugged at the scruff of hair touching his collar and found his mouth. She kissed him hungrily and pumped her hips. The small quiet hall echoed with their heavy breathing.
His palms gripped her hips and guided her up and down as he pistoned in and out of her slickness, faster and faster. Her dress rested forgotten over his hands, twisted at her hips, as a thin sheen of dew formed over her perfectly formed breasts. Her shoulders pressed into the wall and she cried out, her pants colliding into nonsensical moans. Her lithe arms raised above her head, fingertips entwined, pressing into the wall.
She was so completely his in that moment. Dean held her hips and pressed himself deep into her heat, all the way to the hilt. She cried out a scream of pleasure as her body tightened around him. Her inner muscles fluttered as she climaxed, her orgasm milking his own. He filled her with everything he had, needing to mark her as his and his alone.
Once they each finished he rested his damp head on her equally damp shoulder and they breathed. Just breathed.
Her arms slowly slid down the wall and wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “I love you, Dean.”
“I love you too, Ellie, my beautiful wife.”
He kissed her shoulder and slowly eased out of her. Her feet touched the ground and she quietly righted her clothes.
He turned and reached for her shoes. “How’d you make out tonight?”
“Good. I had to fire Dominique.”
They walked up the stairs. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Well, what are you gonna do? I can’t have a sous chef that doesn’t listen to me. How was the fire?”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “It was okay. No one was home. Started in the bathroom. Looked like a curling iron left on or something.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. The door opened and their small Persian cat greeted them.
Ellie scooped her up and soothed, “Oh, did Dinah miss her mommy and daddy?”
Dean locked the door and smiled at his beautiful wife and her silly cat. She was his world, his balance, all that was right.
11) Which actor/character(s) would play the starring role?
In Chasing Feathers I could see the leads being played by Rachel McAdams and Chris Pine.
12) What five things would you take on a desert island?
1. My daughter
2. My husband
4. Gloria…my iPhone (There’s Wi-Fi on the island, right?)
5. MacGyver Survival kit
Thanks, Lydia. You are an amazingly talented story weaver. Ally
Find Lydia Michaels at: