Happy Wednesday, people! Today, I’m trying something different…as in an over-the-top way to introduce characters. This particular project has been on my mind for some time, and when I finally found the breathing time to figure it out, my buddy and fabulous author pal Georgia Lyn Hunter kindly agreed to be my first victim. All her books are listed below the confession–if you like dark heroes and kick-ass chicks, and lots of action, you’ll like ’em. Trust me.
Here’s how it goes: I created a character named Kat Krangle, and she’s doing the interviewing. From a confessional booth (and she’s so not a priest). Characters are free to confess their sins, their deepest, darkest longings, whatever. I thought it would be a fun, interactive way to showcase an author’s writing style and introduce a character at the same time. If all goes well, I’m considering keeping up the midnight confessions episodes.
Got it? Good. No more messing around. Here we go…and beware. Sweet Ms. Hunter is not shy on the language or steam. You’ve been duly warned. 🙂
I slam the confessional booth door, plop on the narrow bench, and open my flowers-and-neon skulls notebook. Might as well scribble the first title that comes to mind.
Kat Krangle’s Midnight Confessions – Let the Filth Fly.
Sounds legit. So, I’m not a priest. Hey, I’m not even catholic, but I owe Father Ramon a huge favor. Actually, a few huge favors, but I’m not going there right now. Right now, I’m stuck in the midnight confessional booth, filling in for him while he’s off doing…whatever he does. It’s not like anyone can see me through the mesh barrier, right? And who sneaks into a church past midnight to purge their sins? I’ve got my Red Bull strawberry smoothie, a bag of black licorice, and the latest Cosmo. This few-week gig will be a piece of cake and then I can wipe the Ramon slate clean.
I scooch back and prop against the particle board wall. Priests should really work on making these seats comfier. They’re like plastic chairs with cardboard cushions. Hope Ramon doesn’t mind my combat boots on his bench. Snort. Who am I kidding? I hope the dirty print I leave puts his robe in a twist. Now, onto learning the best way to please the man I don’t have.
The door on the other side squeaks open, followed by a leather creak.
I toss Cosmo aside and gulp down my mouthful of licorice. What the hell? I hadn’t even got to the page telling me how to master his man bits. Useful info there, I’m sure. Crap. I should’ve asked Father Ramon how this works. Am I supposed to say something, or do I wait for whoever’s breathing over there to speak up?
I clear my throat and lower my voice to a raspy, smoked-too-much man growl. “Speak what weighs on your soul tonight, my son.” I cough. “Or daughter.”
A mutter emerges from the darkness on the other side, sounding an awful lot like “Oh, crap”, and quickly followed with a louder, “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
No duh. Isn’t that why people come to confessional booths? I roll my eyes but keep my tone polite. Somehow. “Speak up, my child. Confessions can’t be forgiven if they’re not heard.” I have no idea if that’s true or not, but it sounds good.
I cock my head. While the voice is husky, almost as if the vocal chords are damaged or something, it’s definitely a woman on the other side of the mesh. Her voice wavers in a way that isn’t fear or shame. Oh, yeah. This something that happened is super-juicy. I tap my fingernail on my boot, running through the dirty possibilities. Too many to pick from. I definitely need more info. “Go on. Spill, er, disclose your troubles. Start at the beginning.” I grab my pen and notebook and get comfortable. This is bound to be good.
“I got caught.” The hiss of jeans sounds like she crosses and uncrosses her legs, definitely fidgeting. Because of guilt or something else? “I-I don’t remember how it happened. It’s all a haze. One minute I opened the door to a dimly lit room and the next, I’m tied to one of those tall bed posts for interrupting him.”
I pause in my documenting. Whoa, wait. Tied to a bed post? For interrupting him? I almost ask if his name is any shade of color, but she keeps talking, stronger and faster, as if she’s genuinely purging her soul by reliving the moment.
“My stomach hollows out…I feel helpless as he watches me from a few feet away. I don’t feel fear, but I’m so aware his jeans are still unzipped.” An audible swallow follows her pause, and she continues in a rush. “He asks why I had come there, but I don’t answer…because I don’t want to admit the truth. My body tenses as he approaches me, and without another word, he grasps the modest neckline of my sleepshirt and rips it right down the center. Shock ripples through me as he spreads my ruined shirt, exposing me. Worse, I have no bra on.”
My grip on the pen tightens as shock ripples through me too. Holy crap. This is like a real life bodice-ripping romance. Awesome. Father Ramon has the best job ever. What a perv.
The woman continues, breathless. “His eyes linger on my breasts and my nipples harden. I have no idea if it’s from the cool air there or the way his gaze heats up and goes all dark and intense. But I’m truly shocked. He’d never shown that kind of interest in me before. It excites me, and I feel myself getting damp. He steps back and his gaze sweeps over me. My body trembles. A deep ache starts to build in my lower parts.”
I squirm on the hard bench. Who needs Cosmo when you have midnight confessions?
“Then he says, ‘Very nice. Beneath that snippy attitude, there is a female lurking.’” A soft thump follows, as if she dropped her head back against the booth in surrender. But she forges on with her story without any prompting. “I scowl, I really try to, but then he crouches before me, and the spit dries out in my mouth. Maybe I’m panting, I don’t know. I’m only aware that he strokes my inner thigh with a long callused finger. My blood buzzes like a lit fuse. I glare at him, trying not to let show him how much his touch affects me. He shifts on his heels, removes a switchblade from his pocket and flicks it open.”
The pen drops from my fingers, forgotten. Not that I can write fast enough to keep up anyway, but dude. A knife anywhere near the V-zone is a big hell no. I take a swig of my smoothie. It’s cool on my dry throat, and I consider offering her a drink. Nah. I’m good with listening to secrets, but not sharing my treats.
“I’m wary of the weapon in his hand, but instinctively I know he won’t hurt me. I tell him to let me go and yank the ties restraining me. Feeling as if I swallowed a handful of grit, I say ‘I don’t want this or you.’ He merely cocks a brow. Deliberately, he slides that finger along the edges of my panties and slips beneath it. My heart literally stops. He parts my cleft and strokes me. Oh, God! I know he feels my moistness as he circles my clit.”
I scramble for my pen again. This definitely deserves to be in my journal of filth and other good stuff. I start scribbling, but she’s already way ahead of me, so I jot down the best parts.
“He removes his finger and I feel bereft, but my wetness gleams on it. I bit my lips, refusing to say a word. Slowly, he licks the moisture clean, and says, ‘You don’t want this, huh?’”
When she pauses, I lean closer to the mesh separating us and catch a whiff of sweetness, like strawberries and cinnamon. Or maybe that’s just my smoothie. All I know is if she stops here, I’ll have to kick through the mesh and strangle her. No absolution for confessions unless they’re told in full. Kat Krangle’s fake priest rule number one.
Luckily, she escapes that fate by continuing. “A moan creeps to my throat. Would it be so wrong if I just told him to shut up and fuck me?”
I’d like to tell her that no, no that isn’t wrong at all. In fact, it’s so right, but she doesn’t give me the chance, talking all breathless and quick, as if she’s fully in the moment. I’m glad for the mesh between us. I really don’t want to know what she’s doing on her side of the booth.
“When I meet his knowing gaze, it irritates me that I would feel this way. Before I can say a word, he slices my panties on both sides and the silk falls away.” Her last words are nothing but a slow whisper. “His gaze is on me. There. I like it…and he knows.”
I sense she’s not going to finish this without encouragement, so I take another smoothie swig and dutifully speak up. “Keep going. No absolution without full disclosure.” I grin. My rule rocks.
She moves on with her story, her tone taut, filled with hunger. “He sets the blade aside and warns me not to make a sound…he-he spreads my feet with his splayed knees, and opens me to his gaze. He spreads me apart with his fingers and he leans in, then his warm tongue flicks my clit.”
I nearly fall off the poor excuse of a bench, my face ten degrees hotter. She did not just say that, did she? No wonder priests live such pious lives. They had audible porn on a daily basis.
“I jerk as impossible desire burns though my veins…my thoughts scatter. My shackled hands grab onto the post. All I’m aware of is what he’s doing to me. He picks up my leg and hooks it over his shoulder—opening me even farther. He runs his tongue down my cleft and back up again…he licks around my clit, he does this repeatedly. I’m almost out of my mind with no release in sight because he drags me to the edge and keeps me there for an excruciatingly long time.”
My eyebrows hit my bangs. Dang. When I agreed to this confessional booth gig, I expected petty theft and lies, not bow-chicka-wow-wow.
“Then he lightly brushes the tip of my clit with his tongue. At the intensity of it, I jerk and bite my lip to keep from crying out. He pulls back a little, eyes narrowing. He flicks my clit hard with his finger in reprisal. At the sharp, erotic little sting, my blood thunders through my veins and crashes in my ear. His lips grip my swollen bundle of nerves and his teeth graze me, he sucks. Hard. And I break, screaming as I fall …”
I release the breath I’m holding and fan myself with a now-uninteresting Cosmo. It’s a good thing she isn’t asking for forgiveness right now. I’m not sure I can talk.
“After another lingering lick on my super sensitive core—I’m a quivering mess—he slowly rises. His eyes stay on mine for a long moment. I see the glint of warning there, probably for breaking his decree of not leaving my room at night. Right then I don’t even care.”
For the second time, my eyebrows brush my bangs. Punished for sneaking out of her room? What is she, twelve? Or is this guy her bodyguard or something? I want to know, but she’s already babbling on, apparently basking in the post-coitus glow.
“He swipes his wet mouth then lowers his hand. My gaze follows it to his unfastened jeans. His sex pokes out from between the unzipped fly. It’s thick, rigid, and so mouth-wateringly tempting as he fists his hard length. ‘Do you want me?’ he asks in that deeply sexy voice. ‘After all, you like watching me…’”
She breaks off and when she speaks again, there’s definitely a hint of guilt there. “Truth is, Father, I went looking for him. I don’t like the dark, and came across him lying on his bed. His jeans were unfastened, and he was stroking his…his cock.”
I perform a chair dance with a silent squee. Two C words in one night!
“I should have walked away, but I couldn’t.” Defiance replaces the guilt in her tone. “It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I was transfixed. Maybe I’m going to the devil for this, but I don’t regret it. He was just so beautiful. And now all I want is for him to fuck me. I want his thick cock buried deep inside of me so that I will stop thinking about everything, about my shitty life and the people after me.”
My grin fades. Crap. She must have it rough.
She flips back to the boudoir scene and her object of lust. “He steps closer. ‘Do you want me?’ he asks again with that dark glint, languidly stroking himself. His cock is a whisper way from where I desperately want him…” She breaks off and her swallow is loud.
I sense she’s almost done, and I need more. I need to know who this guy is. I remember to disguise my voice just in time. “What happened next?”
“Then he tucks himself away, refastens his jeans, and tells me the next time I walk into his room without knocking, I will be truly fucked.”
That’s one way to keep girls in their rooms. Or not. The least I can do for her is give her a verbal high five. “Thank you for disclosing your troubles, my child. Although you have not sinned in my eyes, confession is good for the soul, soothing to the mind.” Hey, that sounds insightful. This priest thing is a snap, no penis or divine appointment required. “Go in peace.”
“Thank you, Father,” she whispers, but the earlier weight is gone, her tone lighter. “I came here with the intention of hiding, not confession. Sorry if I burned your ears.”
So she was hiding right now? From him? I can’t help but ask, even if it’s something a priest wouldn’t do. “Who is he?”
“My…damn conscientious Protector.” With a creak of leather, the door on the opposite side of the mesh clicks open. A slight scrape, another snick shut, and she’s gone.
Whew. I feel like I need a cigarette or something. So what if I don’t smoke. I settle for a smoothie swig and a bite of black licorice. I know I can’t go after her, can’t demand all the answers I want. Maybe that’s the penalty priests pay—they get all the gory details with none of the conclusion.
I stretch my legs out and sigh, ready for the next midnight confession. Almost.
END OF MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONS – EPISODE 1
An immortal Guardian of the mortal realm, Aethan has walked alone for millennia, trapped in a hell of his own. Until a feisty mortal crosses his path. A female he shouldn’t even look at, one who shakes the precarious foundations of all that he is, and one who’s determined to walk the edge of danger.
All her life, Echo Carter wanted “normal”, an impossible feat given that she can see demons. Drawn back to the alleys of New York, she’s determined to hunt down the one responsible for the death of her friend. And no man, no matter how sexy, will stop her. Until she discovers a horrifying truth about herself, forcing her to turn to the one man she should avoid. Aethan.
But when two stubborn wills collide, a dangerous passion ignites…
As evil closes in, Aethan has to overcome his darkest fears and claim Echo as his. If he doesn’t, he just could lose her to a far more sinister fate…
A Fallen Guardian Novella–companion book to Absolute Surrender
After a horrifying incident that left her in a coma for several long months, Echo now has to get used to a different life. As a descendant of a powerful angel, her days waver between training as the new Healer and convincing her mate she’s strong enough to match him in life and in bed.
A surprise date night gives her the perfect opportunity to do both. But plans have a way of coming unraveled. One disaster leads to another, and Echo accepts that nothing in their lives will ever be normal.
But the biggest revelation of the night comes after she kills a dangerous demonii. Sparks fly between her and her mate, proving that normal is most definitely overrated…
An immortal without a soul is bad enough. But when his only tether to remaining honorable is his addiction to bone-crushing pain, it makes Blaéz a dangerously loose cannon.
A Guardian sworn to protect mortals from supernatural evil, Blaéz straddles the edge of darkness as his needs grow. When a good deed brings him to the doorstep of a female unlike any other, one whose touch ignites emotions long lost in the hellish pits of Tartarus, he’s determined not to lose her. She belongs to him. But she’s human. Forbidden. And bringing her into his life may just destroy them both.
Darci Callahan has given up on love.
When a lethally handsome stranger suddenly appears late one night, she finds herself inexplicably drawn to the captivating man with the pale, empty eyes—a man who awakens in her a desire she never believed possible. Except Blaéz brings more than unexpected passion to her life, he brings danger.
In this treacherous new world of gods and demons, Darci soon discovers a heart-shattering truth and the twisted games the gods play. Caught in the crosshairs, she’s forced to accept that, sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you have to love them enough to let them go…
A fading realm, a warrior bound, and the woman who will save them both…
Bound to a vengeful goddess, immortal warrior, Reynner, has little time for the fairer sex. The last thing he wants is to be aligned with another female, even if she is the key to finding an artifact and saving his realm. But his stone-cold resistance is tested, his attraction undeniable for the feisty mortal, until she demands the one thing he cannot give her…his trust.
Eve Leighton keeps away from intimacy of any sort after an accident in her teens left her with a painful ability to see into another’s mind through physical contact. When an ice-cold warrior claims she is his world’s savior, she’s intrigued, until she dares a look into his soul and sees a man who’s been cruelly betrayed. She agrees to help him and loses her heart. But the man is an unassailable fortress. With quiet determination, she chips away his barriers and a passion darker than night pulls them under.
As his enemies close in on the hunt for the artifact, Reynner must overcome his own personal demons as battles are fought to claim the woman he loves or lose her forever. And Eve has to face her own mortality and fight for a love of a lifetime.
Lost to the outside world, I live in my jammies and forget to eat, until my stomach goes to war in protest. And my water bottle next to my laptop is miles too far to stop and take a drink… and yes, I’m ashamed to say, several times I was late (reads forgot) to pick up my 15-year-old from school, which the darling boy forgave me for.
Part Sagittarian and a free spirit, I can’t be chained to one spot and that aggravates my Capricorn half. Thankfully, we’ve come to an agreement and now co-exist. With Archer, my free spirit is unleashed and let’s me create while ‘ol Cappie help me stay put and write. Ta-da! Harmony!
I’ve always been an avid reader–and don’t care much for TV. My family has to abduct me to watch movies. My love affair with books began as a young child. I inhaled everything and anything I could, but even then I always wanted something more. Then I read my first paranormal romance.
This dark, mystical genre seduced me right out of reading to create my own sensual love stories emerging from the darkest of times. Yeah, I’m an hopeless romantic.
My favorite heroes? Simple. Dark loners, who believe they don’t need anyone, until their ‘don’t take no crap’ heroines come along and knock them right off their gorgeous assess
I’m ecstatic to finally be able to follow my dream and the extraordinary journey my imagination takes me to. When I’m not writing or plotting my next novel, I love trolling flea markets, buying things I’d never use (because they’re so pretty) travelling, and being with my family.
Catch Georgia on these sites: