Friday, September 18, 2009


Sounds like an odd, but fun way to combat a little known disease that strikes thousands of people worldwide.

September 19, 2009
8:00pm to Midnight
Molly Malone’s Irish Pub
7652 Madison Street
Forest Park, IL

The donation for this event is $50.00 per person and includes all your drinks and food.

Drink for a Cure began in 1998 when Christian Banke was diagnosed with Marfan syndrome. Christian died in 2002 while undergoing surgery. He was the second person stricken in the Banke family. They soon learned most people, including doctors, had not heard of Marfan syndrome. Millions of people across all geographical and racial groups can have Marfan syndrome. To make the world more aware and raise money for this under-funded disease, the Banke and Yario families hold a yearly fundraiser that raises awareness for this silent killer by donate the funds to the National Marfan Foundation.

Here’s a little background on the disease.
Marfan syndrome is a disorder of connective tissue. Connective tissue holds all parts of the body together and helps control how our bodies grow. Because connective tissue is found throughout out bodies, Marfan syndrome can occur in many different parts of us. The features are most often found in the heart, blood vessels, bones, joints, and eyes. The lungs and skin may also be affected. Marfan syndrome does not affect intelligence.

How does someone contract Marfan syndrome, you might ask?
Each child of a Marfan victim has a 50 percent chance to inherit the disorder. Sometimes a spontaneous mutation occurs during the formation of sperm or egg cells, resulting in a baby with Marfan syndrome. Two unaffected parents have only a 1 in 10,000 chance of having a child with Marfan syndrome. Approximately 25% of cases are due to a spontaneous mutation at the time of conception.

Your donations do help.
Pediatric Awareness and Educational Programs are in place to make the medical community, all health professional, the media and the public conscious of this disease for early detection. Your contribution, not matter what size, is greatly appreciated. The National Marfan Foundation is a 501 © (3) charitable organization therefore all donations are tax deductable. Their Tax ID Number is 52-1265361. To learn more, please go to or call 1-800-862-7326.

I hope you can join us Sept. 19. You’ll have a great time while helping with an excellent cause.

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


Join me today from 10:00 am - Noon CST at Love Romances Cafe for cool recipes and hot books.

Hope to see you there!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


I met Clare London several years back by sheer good luck. Her's was the first m/m book I'd ever read, and I was impressed. Clare's work is tasteful, filled with romance and a strong plot. Not only is my good friend a brilliant writer, she also has a terrific sense of humor.

Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant.

She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. Clare says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind...she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.

All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today at her web site and say hello!

Here's a little on Clare's newest release. I think you'll enjoy it.

by Clare London

Amber Allure
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-574-4 (Electronic)

Genres: Gay / Contemporary / Romantic Comedy
Heat Level: 3
Length: Extended Amber Kiss (15k words)


Dylan admits it himself, he's a relentlessly single man in a small town, consoled only by being a good teacher and a devoted nephew to his Great-Aunts.

When the Aunts take a hand in matchmaking him with Josie, the girl down the street, Dylan doesn't tell them what kind of soulmate he's really looking for—and the fact that he's already found the man in question, Josie's brother Neal. But a secret affair can't go on forever, can it?

Faced with a heart-wrenching decision when his chance at love seems to be moving even farther out of his reach, Dylan knows it's time for him to own up to what he wants...and what kind of man he really is...

...I walked up the drive to the Whitman house, the gravel crunching under my boots. There was no sign of life anywhere, either in the gardens or from inside the house. My heavy footsteps broke the silence, my presence a gauche human intervention in the cool calm of nature. Because the house was at the far end of the street, it had no neighbor on the other side and this allowed it far more grounds than any of the other properties. The front garden was bordered with flourishing, dark-green ornamental hedges. Between them and the high gate and wall, the house was sheltered from both the street and prying eyes. Or at least, I’d always thought it was.

I stopped a few feet away from the front steps and took a deep breath. The contrast between this and my own family home was very marked. I suspected the Whitmans were considerably stronger financially than I was, but I was also sure Josie was better at keeping on top of the repairs and maintenance. It was the same size house, but in far better condition. The brickwork was neat, the paint wasn’t peeling, and the lawn was neatly trimmed at the edges of the path. My house aimed for faded charm. Theirs aimed obviously for elegance, and met it, too.

I knocked loudly at the front door, making my gestures very obvious. After all, I didn’t want the Aunts to miss a second of my visiting routine, did I? Now I knew of their secret voyeurism, I could imagine Mitzi at the window of my top floor guestroom, from which she’d obviously found a view of the Whitman’s home over the wall. I was pretty sure she had to stand on a chair and peer over the curtain rail, but that wouldn’t have discouraged her. I worried she’d hurt herself, at the same time wondering how the hell she got up and down the stairs so easily and swiftly at her age. And I also knew that if I turned back now to look up at my house and caught her at that very window, she’d drop back into an innocent, languid pose as if yearning for a faraway suitor, rather than spying on her former ward.

I smiled to myself and clutched the overblown bunch of blooms Bess had insisted I take with me. I felt hot and awkward in my jacket and smart shirt. Hoping that Mitzi might have tired of staring at me, I ran a hand through my hastily combed hair, ruffling it back up.

Damned if I couldn’t hear in my mind Bess’s snort of disapproval at my slovenly behavior.

The door opened abruptly. For a few seconds, I just stared. My heart was hammering, fierce as anything. But the smile that greeted me was broad and mischievous and full of a welcoming love for life. It was also very familiar. Dark, strong features. With a mental nod to the Aunts, I stepped inside. My sight began to adjust to the change, the hallway furniture throwing elongated shadows across the pale, waning sunlight, and then the front door slammed behind me as if cutting me off from the life outside…

And I was plunged into another one.

I never had a chance to speak. The bouquet was snatched from my hands and flung onto the low table by the door. I was pushed back against the wall and a hard, flat chest pressed against mine, hot breath panting in my ear, broad hands reaching to push my jacket off my shoulders. Strong hands. Impatient.

“Fuck.” The voice was harsh and masculine. A man’s face brushed against mine, the jawline rough with a half-day’s stubble, the eyes gazing hungrily at me. “You’re early! I thought we said tomorrow.”

I laughed aloud, partly from protest, partly from the sheer joy of the touch. He was a few inches taller than I was, his body stocky, his shoulders broad. As he opened his arms to wrap them around me, the faded fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his chest, accentuating the sinewy planes of his torso.

“The Aunts insisted I come over today. I didn’t know when you were planning to arrive. If you were. Look, I can go…”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he snapped, but his eyes danced with pleasure, not anger. The hallway smelled of furniture polish and the lingering aroma of warm toast. Up close, I could also smell strong coffee on his breath, but then he always drank too much of it, a symptom of his commitment to ridiculously long hours of writing and traveling. His face nuzzled into my neck, his skin warm, his thick curls uncombed and brushing his shoulders, just the way I liked it. I ran my fingers into it, tangling tightly, tugging back his head. Hard, just the way he liked it...


I'll be back later this week. Until then...

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Monday, September 14, 2009


by Sloane Taylor

ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-572-0 (Electronic)
Genres: Contemporary / Romantic Comedy / BDSM (Light) / Exhibitionism / Public Places / Contains Some Bisexual (F/F) and Ménage (F/F/M) Activity
Heat Level: 3
Length: Novella (28k words)

Buy Link


Being Maid of Honor in Finland over Midsummer’s Eve is supposed to be fun, but for jingle writer Kate Adams it’s a nightmare. Things go from bad to worse when her high-priced rental car dies on an endless ribbon of bone-dry country road. Help arrives in the form of a delicious-looking, blue-collar local who just might make it all worthwhile.

Rurik Jaacko knows better than to stop for the princess perched on the hood of a Mercedes. Hot women and expensive cars are trouble, but he’s a sucker for any damsel in distress. The last thing he expects is to play bellhop to the sensual American, and love every sizzling moment.

A rustic pig farm and a friend who isn’t combine with deception to create the backdrop for earthy passion and international fraud...


...With his hard-on raging, Rurik watched her nipples harden and peak through the thin knit shirt and wondered if was their heated exchange that excited her, or the fact he had taken control.

Women want to be dominated.

“There are times a man must take a stand with an unruly woman.” He caught her wrist and tugged her closer.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Color drained from her cheeks, but was that a sparkle in her eyes?

He stopped for a moment and thought about the consequences of his action. Either it would be a beautiful success or Kate would pack her bags right after she rang the police.

“Yes, today I would.” He dropped onto a birch stump and, with a quick yank, upended her over his knees. Her perfect ass across his lap was too tempting to stop.

“You’d better stop before it’s too late, buddy.” She turned her head and shot him a glare that could melt steel.

“It already is.” His palm came down with a resounding smack.

“Ouch.” She kicked her legs and wrestled beneath him.

He laid an arm over her shoulders to keep her in place, praying he had made the right decision.

“Rurik, you are so going to pay for this,” she wailed, startling the birds from the trees.

And he knew he would, right after he laid another open-palm swat on her firm ass.


She yelped at the contact, and he loved it. He may have been wrong about her being a spoiled, over-privileged woman, but a good spanking seemed in order to assert his authority. But then again, he had better run like hell when he finally let her up because she was going to murder him.

His hand came down again, not quite as hard, and lingered on her sexy rear, petting away the sting. He ran his fingers along the curve of her cheeks hidden under the tight denim shorts, wondering what his handprint would look like on her milky flesh. A stirring below his belt pressed against his fly, forcing him to shift unsuccessfully under her weight.

She wiggled against his cock, enhancing his torture, and he could not stifle the groan.

“Are you through beating me into submission?” Her words came out breathlessly, reminding him of how her lips had purred against his balls the night before.

“No. I do not think so.” His hand smacked solid on her ass, pleased with her shriek.

He grazed a finger under the ragged edge of her shorts, inching up the inside of her thigh, seeking the heat beneath her damp thong. He hooked the lacey strap and tugged, drawing it tight against her swollen labia, released it and yanked up again. Her soft gasp carried to him on a gentle breeze.

The scent of her arousal drifted up, encouraging him to please her. He glided closer to her folds, teasing along the way with light pinches to her flesh. His finger slipped inside and he smiled, pleased by her wetness. Her pussy flexed against him, clenching—relaxing, milking him, like her mouth had done to his cock.

“I think you like this, Kate.” He knew he did.

A whimper rose up like a caress, her hair tumbling free as she nodded.

He pulled out, then slid back in with two fingers, pressing firmer against her wall.

“Should I continue your torture or”— he continued massaging up and down, until she bucked against him. —“take you into the house and fuck you fast and hard?”

A soft gurgle washed her words away and his balls tightened...


Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
TEDDI TURNS ON 2009 EPPIE Finalist - Erotica