Saturday, November 22, 2014

Feisty Foodie: Day 4

Today we have a full house, or kitchen I should say. 
Isn't the kitchen the place where everyone congregates in the house, anyway? 
J Kenner, Natasha Blackthorne, Karen Mercury, Ellle Boon, Katherine Rhodes
Who doesn't love that scene where the coffee goes by the way side, the plates are pushed out of the way, and the kitchen counter  (table, bar, stove, etc) becomes an impromptu bed.  Oh, dear me. 
So let's get this party started!

2014 Rita Erotica winner J. Kenner, author of Wanted, brings us a gluten free recipe for Brazilian Cheese Bread (Pao de Queijo)
For fans of Fifty Shades of Grey, Bared to You, and Release Me comes an all-new erotic series of three enigmatic and powerful men, and the striking women who can bring them to their knees.

He is everything I crave, all I desperately want—and he is everything I can’t have.

Evan Black embodies my every fantasy. He is brilliant, fierce, and devastatingly handsome. But he is also headstrong, dangerous, and burdened with secrets.

My family warned me to stay away, that I could never handle Evan’s dark dealings or scarred past. Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I should have run. But our desire is undeniable, and some temptations you just can’t fight.

And from the moment we touch—the passion between us consuming us both—I know that I will never be the same.

Wanted is an erotic romance intended for mature audiences.  
Wanted Scene:
“I’m very proprietary about what belongs to me,” he said. “But we’ll worry about your punishment later. Right now, I have a treat.”
He moved closer, and I could see that he was holding a bowl full of strawberries. There was a can tucked under his arm, too, and it took me a second to recognize it as whipped cream.
I laughed, then stopped when he pressed a fingertip to my lips. Then he took a strawberry and fed it to me. It was ripe and delicious, and I sighed with satisfaction.
“Now close your eyes,” he said. “And maybe I’ll give you a few more.”
I bit back a grin, but complied. Then I heard the shaking of the can. Then the aerosol sound of the cream being dispensed.
And then I felt the cool, soft, wet chill on my breast. Then down my belly. Then all the way to my sex.
“Oh, god, Evan. Holy fuck, that feels good. Strange. Good.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Now open your eyes but don’t move.”
I obeyed and felt every tiny sensation as he took a single strawberry, then it over my cream-covered breast before popping it in his mouth. He took another, then another. And all the while it was all I could do to lay still.
“I’ve made a bit of a mess,” he said, with a devilish grin. “I better clean it up.” He bent his mouth to my breast, and I gasped and squirmed as he licked every bit of cream up, driving me just a little bit crazy in the process.
And then he used a berry to follow the trail down my belly.
My stomach muscles twitched as he moved lower and lower. My sex throbbed. I was so hot that I was certain the cream had melted into a liquid goo. But he wasn’t inclined to hurry. His tongue laved me all over, lapping up the cream, moaning with pleasure as he swallowed and tasted, nipped and sucked.
In front of me, the skyline rose, the buildings lit like jewels against the night sky. I felt much like those buildings, as if I was light from within, only a few pinpricks of illumination escaping from wherever his tongue had seen fit to tease me.
And he was teasing lower and lower until finally there was just the triangle of my sex. Then my slick folds, a combination of my own arousal and the froth of cream.
His tongue stroked me, deeply and efficiently, as if it was his obligation to get every last bit of cream. And with each lave of his tongue, I felt the orgasm building inside me, tighter and tighter and tighter, until finally I soared even higher than the skyline and burned at least as bright as the lights in the sky.
“Wow,” I said, when I came back to earth. “I like your dessert.”
I eyed him hungrily, noting his erection beneath his shorts before tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Got any more cream?” I asked, then made a show of licking my lips. “Because if you do, I know exactly what kind of treat I want.”
His laugh reverberated through me. “Sweetheart,” he said as he unbuttoned his shorts. “You can have as much as you want.”

Brazilian Cheese Bread (Pao de Queijo)
Original recipe makes 6 breads
  1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
  2. Pour olive oil, water, milk, and salt into a large saucepan, and place over high heat. When the mixture comes to a boil, remove from heat immediately, and stir in tapioca flour and garlic until smooth. Set aside to rest for 10 to 15 minutes.
  3. Stir the cheese and egg into the tapioca mixture until well combined, the mixture will be chunky like cottage cheese. Drop rounded, 1/4 cup-sized balls of the mixture onto an ungreased baking sheet.
  4. Bake in preheated oven until the tops are lightly browned, 15 to 20 minutes.

love these, and they are gluten free :)  xxoo - JK
Historical Romance Author Natasha Blackthorne, author of  the Regency Risks series, brings us a recipe for Honey and Cinnamon Candied Yams.
Hello everyone, thank you to the Inner Goddesses for letting me visit and share in the Feisty Foody Fun. :)
I hope you all are staying warm and having a happy holiday season so far. Today I’ll be sharing a wonderful recipe from a very dear and talented friend. It is the perfect fall sweet and spicy side dish on a chilly day. I just love anything with cinnamon and sweet potatoes.
I’ll also share an excerpt from my erotic historical romance, A Measured Risk (Regency Risks #1) and there will be a little giveaway after the excerpt.
 I enjoy writing about heroines who do not exactly fit in with their time period. I write about both wildflowers and wallflowers. Beth McConnell in Grey’s Lady is a wildflower, she’s impulsive and looking for adventure. Lady Cranfield in A Measured Risk is a shy, intellectual wallflower but inside she longs for someone to show her how to be brave and to let go of her inhibitions. Both women share deep inner passions that drive them and make it hard for them to conform to what the rigid rules of Society’s demands. I love these kinds of heroines.

Excerpt from A MEASURED RISK (Regency Risks #1)
©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2012, 2013
Anne waited as Ruel approached from the other side of the ballroom. The music from the quartet, the talking and laugher, all around faded away. Only he remained.
Save for his brilliant white cravat and waistcoat, he was clad all in black, even his trousers. Light from the many chandeliers shimmered on the sun-bleached streaks in his hair, making it appear as pale as moonlight. Her heart leapt into a rapid beat and her lower belly melted into liquid desire.
 His bright blue gaze moved slowly over her in the sapphire silk gown. “Lady Cranfield, you have left off your necklace.”
 “Yes, my lord.” She swept her gloved hand up to touch the stark emptiness at her collarbone. Why she hadn’t replaced it with another necklace, she couldn’t say.
A slight smile touched his lips. “I approve.”
 Under his steady yet enigmatic gaze, she grew shy, tongue-tied.
He offered his arm. “Shall we dance?”
“Lady Cranfield?”
She offered him a trembling smile and placed her gloved hand on his arm. His muscles were tight beneath the superfine cloth. His body heat radiated to hers. He took her hand. A brief, hard squeeze. It reminded her of how he had held her wrists, holding her firm, resisting her struggles.
A wave of heat flashed over her. Electrifying her senses. Tightening her nipples.
“Good girl,” he said, just audible for her.
Warmth curled through her tummy like pure, liquid honey. She glanced up, her smile steady now.
 He grinned and winked at her. The shared secret of their intended affaire thrummed between them. Another wave of excitement tingled through her, stronger this time, filling her body with energy and strength to face the crowd of curious eyes. She allowed him to lead her across the floor to the line of dancers. As they approached, all eyes seemed to narrow in on her. The gentlemen ogled her person, their expressions speculative, appreciative. The ladies weighed her with their stares as if competitively sizing up her worth.
 She looked across to Ruel. His eyes were distant, his expression slightly bored. A knot formed in her stomach and it was hard to remember the feeling of their connection just a moment before. The dance began. They did not speak when the steps brought them together. At the end, he kissed her hand and winked at her again.
Then he left her.
The temperature in the room seemed to suddenly drop and her energy drained.
“Other than the one dance, I shan’t even talk to you. We shall leave our attachment a secret, for your sake. However, you will stay at least until after the midnight supper and you must dance with whoever asks.”
 His words from the night before came back to her.
She hated this sort of situation. It wasn’t like playing chess, where one could predict the effect of the next move. There were too many unknown variables. She was giving Ruel too much say over what she did, too much power. But what had she to lose here, except social face? She wouldn’t be dancing just because Ruel had said she must. It would still be her decision.
It had nothing to do with craving the warm sensation that curled through her insides every time he said “good girl” in his velvet-smooth voice.
 “Lady Cranfield?”
 Anne startled from her thoughts.
Lord Parwick smiled at her and offered his arm. “Would you care to dance?”
 His eyes were so open and friendly. Deciding to trust in the moment, she made the choice to accept and let him lead her away. Set after set, gentlemen asked her to dance. It was very different from her Seasons. The men looked at her as if she were interesting, they spoke and jested and flirted with her as if they wanted her to think they were interesting.
Meanwhile, Jon danced, talking and laughing with other ladies.
At the midnight supper, Jon escorted Cherry. From the corner of her eye, Anne watched as he spent the entire meal actively charming the young widow.
A cold sickness settled in Anne’s stomach. A sickness tinged in green—jealousy. She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself. Indignation stiffened her spine. She turned away from her plate of sumptuous food and studied Mr Kean.
Candlelight made his dark red hair brighter, almost like William’s flaming locks.
However, Kean’s jaw was longer, more square, his nose bigger. Though he was their closest neighbour, Kean belonged to Richard’s circle of friends, so William had stubbornly snubbed him. Richard and William had been cousins and lifelong, bitter rivals.
Kean turned and returned her gaze with green eyes that were kind, tolerant yet somehow remote at the same time. As if he were a superior being roughing it amidst the peasants, instead of being the only untitled gentleman invited to spend these two weeks at Whitecross Hall.
Yet he had real breeding. He didn’t lower his gaze to her low-cut bodice, as every other gentleman had tonight, as if they were all sizing her up for an affaire. However, he had been most insistent on escorting her in to supper.
 “We served together,” he said without preamble, apparently assuming she was privy to his thoughts. It seemed to be his habit.
“Pardon me, Mr Kean?”
“Ruel and I. We served together in the dragoons.” He tilted his wineglass to his lips and took a sip. “Well, more precisely, I served under him as a lieutenant.”
 “And were you a true and faithful servant?” Anne asked, aping Francesca and Lady Scott’s flirtatious tones.
A grin transformed his handsomeness into sheer masculine magnificence. “I daresay I still am, Lady Cranfield.” Kean lowered his voice. “He asked me to partner you for supper.”
Heat suffused her face. She bent her head down and to the side, trying to conceal it. Sweat soaked her gloves and her palms grew itchy. “Did he indeed?”
“Indeed. And how could I refuse to escort such a lovely and enchanting lady?”
She glanced up through her lashes.
Kean was staring at her so intensely that she immediately dropped her gaze back to her plate.
“I think he wanted me to chase away all your admirers. Little did he realise, I am one of them.”
At his warm, intimate tone, she twisted her hands in her lap. So this was flirting? Good God, it was like an ordeal. She wished she could simply run and hide.
“Fortunately for him, I regard him as a brother. I won’t step out of line.”
Jon’s laugh seemed to rise above the other voices. He certainly seemed to be enjoying the widow’s silly banter. A jarring pang stabbed her heart. She made herself look up and give Kean a smile. Dazzling, she hoped. “Should I be relieved or disappointed about that?”
Kean’s pupils widened and he let his sensual lips part slightly. Then he laughed, deeply and loudly enough for the sound to carry over the other conversations. “Lady Cranfield, what a surprise you are.”
She forced a merry-sounding laugh and reached for her claret glass. Ruel stared at her. The moment their eyes met, he tapped his glass, then briefly held up two fingers.
Her heart sped up. But she’d only had a couple of glasses. He had no call to limit how much she drank. She tore her gaze away from his, lifted her glass and downed half of its contents.
The wine didn’t taste nearly as sweet as it should have. His eyes still burned into her—she knew it. Her stomach gave a little anxious lurch. To soothe herself, she quaffed the remainder of her wine. But soothe herself why? She glanced up at Ruel, at his tightly held jaw and his disapproving expression. She nearly dropped her glass as her stomach sank with shame.
 But why? Just because she’d made that ridiculous agreement for the four weeks with him—to be his little wench—it should not affect the way she felt inside about herself.
 “What’s wrong, my lady?” Kean asked.
 She turned back to him. “I feel just a bit overheated. Maybe I’ve had too much wine.”
“The meal will soon be over—please allow me to escort you outside.”
 * * * *
Anne listened with half her attention to Kean relating some tale about his days in the dragoons. The cool night breeze did very little to ease her overheated nerves. Her stomach remained heavy—foreboding rode her hard.
For what must have been the hundredth time, she glanced at the French doors leading back into the ballroom.
Lamplight shone in glowing orange tones upon Ruel’s pale-blond hair. His expression, customarily fierce, betrayed nothing of his thoughts as he exited the ballroom to come onto the balcony.
She caught her breath and her body came to attention, as if someone had pulled her strings.
Kean bid her farewell and left her alone with Ruel.
She glanced up at him. His gaze, so intently focused on her, gave nothing away. He must be angry. He would berate her.
He took her arm, gently yet firmly.
She watched lamplight play over his strong cheekbones. Dry mouthed, she licked her lips. She should think up a good apology. However, she wasn’t good at that sort of thing.
“In an hour,” he said in a calm tone, “I am coming to your chamber. Be ready for me.”
To Purchase Now:
A MEASURED RISK is now available for $2.99 / £1.53 on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Recipe:  Honey And Cinnamon Candied Yams
6 large yams/sweet potatoes
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons cold water
1 1/2 cups honey
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 1/2 teaspoon grated lemon rind
1/4 cup orange juice
1 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons butter
2 teaspoons lemon juice
Dash freshly ground pepper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter a large ovenproof casserole dish.
Scrub yams. Cook in boiling salted water until tender. Drain and rinse with cold water.
Peel yams and cut in half, lengthwise. Place in prepared casserole dish.
Dissolve cornstarch in the cold water. Combine the oney, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon rind, lemon juice, orange juice, and salt in saucepan. Bring to a boil. Add the cornstarch mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly.
stirring constantly until it boils and becomes thick and clear. Remove from heat. Add the butter and the pepper.

Author Karen Mercury, of Her Master's Choice, brings us a spicy Sauerbraten recipe
When Shannon Bloomfield hears a rumor that an influential, anonymous food critic is visiting her restaurant, she has no idea it’s the exotic bad-boy Tate Gooding, who holds her fate in his culinary hands. Tate, burned out on the club circuit life and traveling around the U.S. for his guidebook company, wants a deeper, more meaningful relationship with the three-star chef. 
Tate instructs Shannon in a thrilling new realm of private—and public—play, pushing her limits with every new scene.  Shannon discovers that her inner “Force-Me Queen” is an expert tease, skilled at keeping Tate on the edge.

But a creepy stalker has photos and threatens to expose Tate’s cover and their back alley scenes. Tracking down the culprit brings the couple closer than ever in their power plays, and Shannon learns that breaking out of her comfort zone is an arousing adventure when it’s Her Master’s Choice.

Note: Each book in the Bound to Please series is stand-alone and can be read in any order.


And then his eyes met hers.
The guitarist’s smoky eyes held a glimmer of acknowledgment, as though they had known each other before. Shannon tried to only briefly engage diners’ glances because she didn’t want to get drawn into long, trivial conversations with them.
This time it was different. She met and held the musician’s warm, sly look. His eyes looked as though lined with kohl, his upper lip under the sparse Latin lover’s moustache full and bowed like a cherub’s. Women would kill for cheekbones like his, and he had a thoughtful, poetic aura as he slightly tilted his head and regarded her.
She had no choice. She had to go to his table and acknowledge that he’d engaged her.
Luckily he was sitting one table down from the commander in chief, who really seemed to be getting off on that hand-cut pasta. The President hadn’t even touched his water glass, he was so intent on rolling the slimy mushrooms around in his mouth. Good.
“Hi,” Shannon said experimentally. It wouldn’t hurt if Reagan saw her chatting it up with diners. In addition to handing out stars for excellence, Hamsun rated each restaurant in slightly lesser categories such as ambience and service. These were notated as one to four fourches, or forks, printed in bold pink if it was exceptional. Shannon had always had a bold pink fork for service. Ambience was never bolded, probably due to her sloppy chalkboard. “How is your meal? I see you selected a glass of Summerhawk cab. That’s my personal favorite, too.” It was. It really was.
He didn’t seem concerned about his meal or his wine. “Are you Shannon Bloomfield?” His voice was deeply resonant, and it occurred to Shannon he could be an actor, too. Actors dressed flamboyantly hip like that sometimes.
“Yes. I am.”
He grinned crookedly. “I was just wondering if I should order the flan.”
Shit! He was referring to that whole Hamsun debacle a year ago—and within earshot of the new rater! Instinctively, Shannon tried to stand between him and the Teflon President, who luckily didn’t seem to have heard. “Oh, that! I personally think we were just having an off day. Every other reviewer gave our flan top rating. We don’t even serve it anymore.”
“But you should keep serving it, to prove that rater wrong.”
Shannon changed the subject. “I see you’re having the grilled squid. That’s our special tonight—we change our menu weekly.” She wanted to make sure Reagan heard that, but he appeared to have his mouth and concentration buried in the lamb with roasted garlic sauce.
The musician disregarded her promotional skills. “Are you married, Shannon?”
What the fuck? What the hell does that have to do with anything? I like self-confident, but this guy is a bit too arrogant for his own good! However, she had to be gracious within earshot of the alleged rater. “No, I’m not. This restaurant is my life. I’d never have time to get married. You know, to some of us who are dedicated to pairing opposing flavors and using ingredients at their absolute peak—”
“You should.” The musician regarded her levelly, utterly fearless and confident. “You’re a stunning woman, but your inner glow would burst forth more freely if you just let loose and allowed yourself to get properly fucked once in awhile.”
Shannon was struck mute. The young couple at the next table were, too. They both swiveled their heads, their eyes widening in shock. And, naturally, The Gipper had heard the entire thing, too. Lamb actually fell from his mouth onto his plate, tumbling along with a few peas. His Superman hair gleamed in the romantic candlelight.
Once Shannon determined the musician had actually said what she thought he had, she had to respond politely. Maybe he was from a rival restaurant and wanted to ruin her second chance at regaining her star. She moved her mouth, hoping something halfway mannerly would come out. “Uh. Yes. That probably never hurts anything, now, does it? However, I do date someone. He’s very supportive of my free-form plating and my unique—ah, here he is now.”
Shannon for once bought a break when this guy she’d dated about three times breezed through the doorway. She hadn’t seen Tom Bukowski’s name on the reservation list, yet here he was, happily striding toward her with open arms. He was a chef at another no-starred Berkeley restaurant and he really did nothing for her. She was going to tell Tom she was too busy to date just because they had no chemistry. Tom was definitely “bro zoned.” Men were never interested in being only friends, but he sure did come in handy right now.
The musician looked at Tom with disgust, his upper lip trembling. “I said properly fucked, Shannon.”
Oh my God. Will nothing shut this man up?
RECIPE: Sauerbraten
From The Spice House
This is my German mother's original recipe for Sauerbraten. We have this every year at Christmas. The key to this recipe is to allow the roast to marinate for the full 3 days.
  • 1 cup dry red wine
  • 1 cup red wine vinegar
  • 2 cups cold water
  • 1 medium onion, thinly sliced
  • 1 Tablespoon black peppercorns, coarsely crushed
  • 1 Tablespoon juniper berries, coarsely crushed
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 2-3 Tablespoons Sauerbraten Spice
  • 4 pounds boneless beef roast, preferably bottom round
  • 3 Tablespoons butter
  • 2 1/2 cups onions, diced
  • 2 1/2 cups carrots, diced
  • 1 1/4 cups celery, diced
  • 2 Tablespoons flour
  • 1/2 cup water
  • 3/4 cup gingersnap cookies, crumbled
Serves / Yields
6-8 servings
Preparation Instructions
Combine all marinade ingredients, except the roast itself, in 2-3 quart saucepan. Bring to boil over high heat. Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature.
Place the beef in a deep, non-reactive (glass or ceramic) bowl or pot just large enough to hold it. Pour marinade over beef. The marinade should be at least halfway up the sides of the roast. If necessary add more wine. Cover tightly with foil or plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2-3 days, turning the meat in the marinade at least twice each day.
Remove meat from marinade and pat completely dry with paper towels. Strain the marinade through a fine sieve and reserve the liquid. Discard spices and onions.
In heavy, 5-quart dutch oven, heat the butter until bubbling stops. Add the meat and brown on all sides, turning frequently, so that it browns evenly without burning. Transfer to platter and set aside.
For roasting, add the onions, carrots, and celery to the same pan you cooked the meat in. Cook over moderate heat until soft and light brown (5-8 minutes). Sprinkle 2 Tablespoons of flour over the vegetables and cook, stirring constantly, 2-3 minutes longer or until the flour begins to color. Pour in 2 cups of the reserved marinade and 1/2 cup of water and bring to boil over high heat. Return the meat to the pot, cover tightly, and simmer over low heat for 2 hours, or until the meat shows no resistance when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife. Alternatively, bake in 350 degree oven for 2 hours.
Transfer the roast to a heated platter and cover with foil to keep warm while sauce is made.
Pour the liquid left in the pot into a large measuring cup and skim fat from surface. You will need at least 2 1/2 cups for the sauce. If additional liquid is needed, add some of the reserved marinade.
Combine the liquid and the gingersnap crumbs in a saucepan and cook over moderate heat, stirring frequently for approx. 10 minutes, allowing the cookie crumbs to dissolve completely and thicken the sauce to the desired consistency. Depending upon the amount of liquid, you may need to add additional cookie crumbs.
Strain the sauce through a fine sieve, pressing down hard with wooden spoon to force as much of the vegetables and crumbs through as possible. Return the sauce to the pan, adjust seasoning and allow to simmer over low heat until ready to serve.
Slice the roast, pour some sauce over slices on platter and pass remaining sauce separately.
Helpful Hints
Traditionally, sauerbraten is served with dumplings, boiled potatoes, spaetzle, and red cabbage. This classic, but easy, recipe requires advance planning and time (3 days!), but it has a flavor and aroma that is incredible.
Don't hesitate to adjust the amount of gingersnap cookies to give the sauce your preferred consistency. The flavorful gingersnap cookies are used as the thickener, not flour, so you don't run the risk of having a pasty sauce.

Elle Boon, author of Accidentally Wolf, brings us a garlic parmesan Chicken over angel hair pasta with broccoli recipe.
Accidentally Wolf  Blurb
For veterinarian Cora Welch, being bitten by a young injured wolf wasn’t the best day of her life, nor the raging fever that followed. However, finding herself faced with a naked man proved even more than she had ever bargained for. A naked man she wanted to climb like a tree.
Zayn couldn’t believe what his inner wolf was telling him when he first saw the human doctor Cora, standing in nothing but a towel. The last thing he wanted was a mate, especially an accidental one. And at a time when danger seemed to be coming at the Mystic Pack from an unknown source, it just wasn’t in his plans. 
All he had to do was get Cora through the fever, keep her safe from the other pack, and keep his fangs to himself. But nobody told him he’d have to fight a mating urge so strong within himself, that it was a losing battle. Now, he has to explain to Cora that he accidentally marked her for a second time, making her just like him. 
Cora knew something was not right in her world the moment she wanted to climb her rescuer like a tree. Hearing Zayn tell her she was now a werewolf, like him and his pack, she realized she now had a home. If her new mate still wanted her after he heard about her family, Cora knew she’d be happy to be an accidental wolf.
Amazon      Bookstrand
  No stranger to touching herself, Cora needed relief. For every beat of her heart, she felt an echo between her legs. She sucked two fingers into her mouth and swirled her tongue around each digit before reaching under her lace briefs. Her body jerked as she unerringly touched her swollen clit. “Oh, yes,” she whispered.
Trailing her fingers down farther, she gathered more of her own juices and rubbed in small circles, not wanting to come too quick.
A male groan shattered the otherwise silent room. Cora stilled her fingers, and her head turned toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Standing in a pair of loose sweats was Zayn.
His eyes seemed to glow from the moonlight shining through the huge picture window, but his gaze didn’t meet hers. No, they were focused on where her fingers were.
Instead of being embarrassed, she decided to give him a show. With her free hand, she pushed the lacy fabric down, exposing what she was doing to his rapt attention. She used one hand to open herself up, showing him how wet she was, then retraced her fingers to her opening, plunging two fingers into her pussy. She couldn’t hold back the cry from how good it felt to be filled by anything, even her own fingers. Her eyes slid closed, unable to watch to see if he enjoyed the show. She pumped in and out with one hand, using the heel to rub her clit.
“Fuck,” she panted. She was on the edge of orgasm when her hand was removed to be replaced by Zayn’s tongue.
“What are you doing?” Cora asked, near the edge.
“You taste so good.”
Even though he didn’t answer, she didn’t care. She wanted to come. God, when was the last time she needed to come this badly? She ran her hand through his hair, amazed at how soft it was. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”
A rumble was her answer, and then he pressed two of his fingers into her. She forgot all about his hair or hers. She was all about sensation. She screamed as she came harder than she’d ever come in her life, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted, no, she needed, more than his fingers filling her.
“Zayn, I need you. Please, please, don’t leave me. I’m begging you to fuck me. Now.”
In the bright light of the day, she knew she was going to kick her own ass for the whining and begging, but at that moment she didn’t care. Her body was like a living flame, ready to burst into a million pieces if he didn’t fuck her.
“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s just the fever. Here, let me take care of you.”
When Zayn rubbed his fingers on her oversensitive clit, Cora tried to pull away. With strength that shocked her, she flipped their positions, sitting astride Zayn with only a thin pair of sweats separating their bodies.
She grabbed the hem of her tank and jerked it above her head, loving the way his blue eyes riveted to her breasts. Her nipples had always been sensitive to the touch, but with his gaze tracking her fingers as she pinched them into tighter points, they became hard peaks. She ground her wet core against his extremely hard erection, an erection that would’ve scared her if she was in her right mind, but she was hornier than she’d ever been.
“If you don’t want to take care of me, then I will just go out and find me another man who wants me, Zayn.” With each word she rubbed up and down his shaft.
He growled and reversed their positions so fast her head swam. “Mine,” he growled.
The deep rumble had her pussy quivering in need. The impatient way he shoved his sweats  down and kicked them off had excitement flooding her system. The vision of a naked and erect Zayn made Cora wetter, if that was even possible. She spread her legs wider in a display of wanton need. “Then take me, Zayn.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Being flipped on her stomach and onto her hands and knees wasn’t it. Again, she didn’t care as long as he filled her.
The sound of foil ripping open almost made her whimper at the loss. She wanted to have his seed bathing her insides and shook her head.
“Are you changing your mind?”
Cora looked over her shoulder. “What? No, hurry for the love of God.”
With that, Zayn wasted no time, and for that Cora was pleased. If she had more time to think on her irrational thoughts, she wasn’t sure she’d have wanted to continue. Of course that was before he began.
Zayn surged into her in one thrust, filling her to the point of pain.
“Damn, you’re so fucking tight. Don’t move.”
That was a truly laughable thing for him to say. Cora felt like someone had shoved a two by ten into her. She literally froze, hoping he’d back out slowly without ripping her in half. Her arms shook from the strain of holding herself up. How long would it take for him to go soft and get out?
“I’m sorry I hurt you. Just hold still. Your body will adjust,” he grunted.
“You’re not the one with a fucking baseball bat shoved up your hoo-ha.”
Zayn laughed. “Relax, baby. I promise to make you feel good.” He reached between their bodies and touched Cora’s clit, but she jerked away. “Don’t do that, honey.”
The endearment made Cora feel special and eased some of her tension even though she knew it was silly.
“That’s it.” Zayn strummed her clit.
RECIPE: garlic parmesan Chicken over angel hair pasta with broccoli


8 oz uncooked angel hair pasta
1 lb boneless skinless chicken breast, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 Tbl olive oil, divided
2 Cups fresh broccoli florets
2-3 tsp minced garlic
11/3 Cup chicken broth
1/2 Cup freshly grated parmesan
2 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp salt
(Extra) freshly grated parmesan
                  Nutritional Facts
1 cup chicken mixture with 1 cup pasta (calculated without additional cheese) equals 463 calories, 13 g fat (4 g saturated fat), 73 mg cholesterol, 861 mg sodium, 48 g carbohydrate, 4 g fiber, 36 g protein.


  1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, saute chicken in 1 tablespoon oil for 4-5 minutes or until no longer pink; drain. Remove and keep warm.
  2. In the same skillet over medium heat, cook carrots in remaining oil for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add broccoli and garlic; cook 2 minutes longer. Stir in the chicken, broth, cheese, basil and salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 4-6 minutes or until vegetables are tender.
  3. Drain pasta; serve with chicken mixture. Sprinkle with additional cheese. Yield: 4 servings.
 Katherine Rhodes, author of the BDSM Club Imperial series, brings us Chicken Marsala
Consensual (Club Imperial Book 1)

The door read: Tessa Saint.
The truth was: she was nothing of the sort.
Even the name was a lie.

The woman most men fantasized about, a domme, a walking wet dream, and a master with a whip, Tessa Saint took charge and delivered on that fantasy. But Emmy--the woman Tessa became once she walked out the door of the club--was getting tired of the game. It was time to try the vanilla life.

The door read: Nathaniel Walsh
The truth was: the man was an open book
Emmy was interested in reading.

Nathaniel was instantly attracted to the enigma of Emmy, and against her better judgement she lead him into her world of whips and blindfolds, kink and domination. Having a man unencumbered with perceptions of her lifestyle, Emmy could not resist Nathaniel at the tip of her lash, his willing bedroom submission.

The door read: Club Imperial
The truth was: Emmy hid there in the dark for a reason.
She should never have left the comfortable shadows.

Her secrets would find a way to the light- and it was only time until Emmy's lies were torn away and the truth revealed. Nathaniel wasn't ready for that.

Neither was she.

**Content Warning: Contains explicit content that may not be suitable for all audiences. Contains BDSM themes, Erotic content and language. 18+ Audience**

“I’ve never done this,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—I do. This is all very new to me.” He pulled on the restraints. He felt very exposed with his legs locked in this position.

She nodded. “I know. I’m not used to people disobeying me so stubbornly.” Emmy had taken a few steps back and leaned against the saddle horse. She pulled her lips between her teeth, then licked them, a wicked grin across her face. “You look so sexy.” She paused. “Feel okay?”

“Feels weird,” he said. “But a kinky kind of weird.”


“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “It’s different.”

She closed the few steps between. “You look delicious up there, Nathaniel,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Can you handle me walking out for a minute?”

He nodded, and she quickly trotted out of the room. It gave him a chance to assimilate what was going on with the sensations in his body. It felt strange to be splayed out like this, but not entirely unbearable. He didn't feel like he was going to freak out, but it was taking some conscious thought to not overreact. Overreact to being strapped to a cross. Imagine that.

Emmy walked back in with the iPod dock, and plugged it in. She pressed the play button and the low quiet strains of an oboe rose out of the speakers. It was joined a moment later by the sound of a clarinet and the sound of strings. The whole orchestra swelled just a few bars in, and he recognized the music immediately. “Intriotus Requiem Aeternam, Mozart.”

“Very good,” she said. “Should we see how you do with a little play time?”

“As long as you lose the clothes too,” he said.

“I think I can do that,” she answered. She pulled her shirt over her head, and she was wearing a black satin bra, not a bustier. Nathaniel felt himself twitch and start to rise. With elegant, purposeful moves, she walked around to the back of the door and pulled something sheer and gauzy off the hook. Spinning it around herself, he saw it was a bolero robe. Robe was being generous; it was more like a jacket she tied at her bust. And it didn't hide much at all.

She looked at him as she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her pants. She stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes and said, “Looks like you approve.”

“You are so incredibly hot,” he groaned.

She slid the waistband down to the tops of her thighs. “You're not so bad yourself.” Pushing the pants the rest of the way down, she stepped out of them. With a wink full of erotic promise, she turned around, bending down to pick them up.

Nathaniel stared at the lovely, firm ass she presented to him. She grabbed her ankles and stared at him from between her legs. Holy

“You like?”

“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”

She stood back up and threw the pants in the corner with the shirt. Walking over to the wall, Emmy considered the toys hanging there. “Hmm. What shall we play with today?” She looked over at him and back to the wall.

He watched as she pulled the cat o'nine tails off the wall. She’d said it was a light one, and she let it drop out of her hand with the handle in a firm but loose grip. Her eyes were fever bright and a smile danced on her lips. Without a doubt, she looked dangerous and gorgeous, and very, very comfortable with herself. She moved slowly toward him, sashaying more than walking, blinking slowly.

“We're just playing, Nathaniel. We need to know if you can handle this. If you say stop, I will. Understand?” He nodded. “No, say it.”

“I understand,” he said. “Saying ‘stop’ will make you stop.”

“Good,” she said, swishing the cat on the floor. 

Emmy had a feline grace about her, a lioness on the hunt, her long legs carried her to him. The crackling energy was back, jumping between them. He was beyond erect; it was excruciating how hard he was, and he watched her like a hawk. She caught his eyes, and wouldn't let go.

He gasped. While Emmy had trapped his eyes, she had flicked the cat's tails at him, sending a sting through his thigh. She quickly followed up on the other side. He gasped again, but there wasn't really any pain. Just a sting. Dragging it on the floor again, she snapped it out, brushing his hip on either side in quick succession. With ultimate grace and control, she brushed them across his abdomen above his erection, then snapped at either side of his waist, then his ribs. His body was confused, completely and utterly lit on fire and he had no idea what to do with all the sensations.

She flicked again, much higher and one of the tails bit at his nipple. This gasp quickly turned into a moan, and he was panting hard. She continued up his body. Once she reached his elbows, she started to switch randomly around his body. The most delicious pain, aside from his chest was the soft side of his arm, and the inside of his thigh. He was consumed by trying to process the sensations she was creating in him. His brain was telling him this wasn’t right, it was stinging pain. His body was singing a different tune. He wanted to pull away, to curl up, to turn to stop the assault, but he was held fast. He was moaning and gasping with each twitch of the cat across his insanely sensitive skin.

It wasn’t even just the sensations that were driving him wild, it was the way Emmy was moving and looking at him. She was liquid and sensual, and wicked accurate with the flicks of her wrist. Clearly she was turned on by him, by what she was doing and she was panting hard as well.

She flicked a few more times, and then coiled the cat up. Walking over to the wall, she grabbed what looked like a lump of feathers mounted on a ball. Holding it up, she explained, “Your skin is extremely sensitive right now. This tickler is going to feel intense.” She walked back over to him and stood very close, dragging the feathers down his arm.

“Oh, my God,” he hissed, the words coming out as a moan. Between the soft feather tendrils and stiffer less unforgiving spines, he felt every last movement of the tickler down his arm. He clenched his teeth and arched his back, his skin puckering everywhere. She did the same to the other side and his breath rushed out of his lungs. Down his shoulders, down over his chest, circling his nipples and teasing them, down his ribs across his stomach, down his hips and under to his balls. He felt himself tighten as the feathers scraped and tickled him, sending more shivers through his whole body.

Emmy stood even closer and circled his erection with the tickler. She leaned in, not touching him, and whispered in his ear. “You like?”

“I’m so close,” he answered, barely able to find the air to speak.

“You want some more?” She brought the feathers up his inner thigh.

“I want…” He couldn’t get the words out. “Please…”

 RECIPE: Chicken Marsala

This recipe serves 4, and is really good with linguini or rice.


·           1 tablespoon oil

·           4 small chicken breasts, pounded thin and seasoned with salt and pepper

·           1 tablespoon butter

·           8 ounces mushrooms, sliced

·           1 medium shallot, finely diced

·           1 clove garlic, chopped

·           1/2 cup chicken broth

·           1 cup marsala (sweet dry Italian white wine)

·           2 tablespoons lemon juice (~1/2 lemon)

·           salt and pepper to taste

·           1 tablespoon butter

·           1 tablespoon parsley, chopped (if you don’t have fresh, just sprinkle with dried)


1.       Heat the oil in a large pan over medium-high heat, add the chicken and cook until browned, about 2-3 minutes per side and set aside.

2.      Add the butter and mushrooms and saute until browned on both sides, about 7-8 minutes.

3.      Add the shallot and saute for 1 minute.

4.      Add the garlic and saute for half a minute.

5.      Add the marsala, deglaze the pan, add the chicken broth and lemon juice, bring to a boil and let simmer until reduced by half, about 5-7 minutes.

6.      Season with salt and pepper, mix in the butter and return the chicken to the pan and cook for 2-3 minutes.

7.      Mix in the parsley and remove from heat.

8.     Spoon over pasta, plate next to rice.

9.      BENE MANGE!

Enjoyed this installment of Feisty Foodies: Recipes and Reads? 
Check out the previous installments too. 

 Day 1      Day 2     Day  3

Word of the Day for Day #4
Chicken Breast
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  1. Tiramisu! That is one desert I cannot say no to at all! I rarely eat sweets or desserts, but I just cannot pass it up if offered to me. lol

  2. I have loved reading all the excerpts and the recipes!!