Archive for the ‘naughty’ Category

My Spies, Lies & Naked Thighs Spice novel is being released today in Italy in a three-in-one book set with Lori Foster and Amanda McIntryre!
I’ve always loved trains and the mystery and adventure of the Orient Express. Even James Bond got it on with a beautiful Russian spy aboard the train to Istanbul in From Russia with Love.
When I wanted my heroine in my erotic spy thriller, Spies, Lies and Naked Thighs (Bionda Vendetta in Italian), to take control of the situation with a sexy man she perceived to be a dangerous terrorist, she went one step further than 007: she tied him up and performed delicious torture on him (including oral sex) on the night train to Paris:
He attempts to rip apart his restraints, arching and groaning and gritting his teeth.
“You can avoid further frustration if you tell me what I want to know.” I smooth his dark hair back from his sweating brow, avoiding touching his eye patch, knowing he’s anticipating me ripping it off. I don’t, adding to his tension. “Who do you work for?”
“I told you. I work alone.”
“I don’t believe you.” I slide my hand between his legs, feeling him. “Maybe this will loosen your tongue because I have no intention of loosening the rope around your cock.” This elicits a distinct erotic charge in him that jolts him. He thrusts into my hand, struggling madly to free himself, his shoulders heaving in his attempt to escape from captivity.
“You’ll get no information from me,” he snorts.
“Won’t I? I know the Russian had money,” I persist, knowing I have to give him a convincing story. “I want my share.”
He closes his eyes. I see his exhaustion. He’s not giving up as easily as I first believed. It’s not easy on me either. I exist in a situation of emotional and sexual intensity in which I’m deeply implicated, yet I can do nothing to satisfy my own needs. This is no lovers’ game, but a tug-of-war involving the intense energy of ritual and passionate SM where one of us will lose.
The question is: Which one?
I also made a short 30-second promo for Spies, Lies and Naked Thighs in both English and Italian.



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Do you love a quickie?

Oh, you say, you mean hot, sweaty sex with my man? Down and dirty and do-it-to-me before the kids come home or my mother calls back. (God help me if she tracks the GPS on my cell phone to the bedroom).

No…not exactly.

I mean quickie shorts.

Oh, you say again, you mean the shorts that cut into my butt crack that I haven’t been able to zip up since high school?

No…still not right.

I mean a quick fix for what ails you.

Oh, you say, trying again, biting on a hangnail, you mean a mocha cookie crumble frappuccino®?

No…but you’re making me crazy for a quick trip to Starbucks after I finish writing this blog, so I’ll make it short.

As in Short Story.

Today is International Short Story Day. According to their website: “On the shortest night of the year, June 20th 2012, writers, readers and publishers are again joining forces to celebrate the short story on International Short Story Day.”

To celebrate, I’ve listed my erotic short story “Breaking the Rules” as FREE on Amazon Kindle.

Elaine is a rules-kind-of-girl, whether it’s at work or in the bedroom. She sets out on a journey of self-discovery when she meets the Hunter, who shows her that rules are made to be broken.

This erotic short story is about a working girl who learns you have to ask for what you want.

At work…or in bed.


He whispered in her ear what he wanted her to do, and it was naughty, so naughty. In response, she pushed her pussy up toward him in rhythmic thrusts, allowing her to get lost in the moment. Elaine didn’t care what happened as long as he continued to rub her hard bud glowing deep within her. The sensations were almost more than she could bear, her body swaying back and forth, reeling with the sublime pleasure this man gave her.

“Oh, it feels good, so good,” she moaned.

“Do you want me to keep going, Elaine?” asked the Hunter, slowing down. The burning flame inside her started to ebb…flicker. “I can stop, if you’re uncomfortable.”

She froze. No, he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t! Not when she was experiencing such delicious sensations.

“I–I…” she sputtered. Nothing more came out.

Say it, girl! Tell him you want him to keep going.

But she couldn’t.

For all her bravado, Elaine couldn’t ask for what she wanted.

Writing a short story is an art, like making a soufflé or perfect scrambled eggs or giving your man oral sex that drives him crazy. Here are some short story writers whose works are timeless: 

Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote sixty-five short stories, including The Pit and the Pendulum; O. Henry’s witty shorts, including The Last Leaf; F. Scott Fitzgerald, who coined the term the Jazz Age; Dorothy Parker’s timeless lament of every single girl, The Telephone Call; and my personal fave, Anita Loos, whose Gentleman Prefer Blondes began as a series of short stories in Harper’s Bazaar with a naughty chick heroine named Lorelei Lee.

So the next time you want a quickie, let your fingers do the work (and his, too, if you’re into that while you’re reading), and download a short story.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear there’s a frappuccino® with my name on it waiting for me…

Ciao and happy reading!

Click here to get your FREE download of my erotic short story, “Breaking the Rules,” on Amazon Kindle.

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ROSSOFUOCO“Fire Red” with ROSE M.J., BACARR JINA, ANDERSEN SUSAN — 3 books in 1 from Harlequin Italy, http://www.eharmony.it/, including my book, Naughty Paris.

My Harlequin Spice time travel about 1889 Paris, “Naughty Paris,” is being re-released in Italy as part of a not-to-be-missed 3-book Special Edition along with novels by M.J. Rose and Susan Andersen.

After being jilted by her fiancé, Autumn Maguire uses her nonrefundable honeymoon tickets to exploreParison her own. Eager to experience the true bohemian lifestyle, she answers an ad for an artist’s model. When she exchanges her clothes for the artist’s lush red cloak, something strange happens…a feeling of intense sensual reawakening overcomes her. Suddenly lightning strikes and through the power of black magic she’s thrust back into…

…the nineteenth century where the scandalous painter Paul Borquet is insisting she become his Titian-haired muse. Between everyone’s strange clothing, the claustrophobic Parisian streets and the overpowering pull of sexual desire, Autumn can’t process…just where the heck is she and how did she get here? And frankly, with Paul’s expert caresses imprinted on her body, does she really care about going back to present day?

Click here to read an excerpt of “Naughty Paris.” (also available as an eBook)

I hope you enjoy my video!

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Click here if you missed Episode 1 of “A Naughty Christmas Carol.”


When we left Sir Harry, he had no Christmas spirit. No wreaths, no caroling, none at all. He refused to help the poor as his lady love, Lady Florentine requested. Worse yet, he ordered his mistress Nellie Rose to his residence on Christmas morning for his own pleasure, ignoring her request to visit her sick mother who lived near the docks in East London.

Then Sir Harry is visited by the ghost of Lord Buckley, the Master of Whippingate…

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Last week Lady Eve was about to get paddled when she met a monocled gentleman with a secret fetish.

This week Eve gets her paddling…

(Click here to listen to Episode 1 audio podcast.)

 “The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe” is an audio podcast series Prequel to my Spice novel, Cleopatra’s Perfume.

Before Lady Eve Marlowe married a member of the British peerage, she was a cabaret dancer in Berlin in the late 1920s during the wild days of the Weimar Republic.

 Episode 2: Eve discovers the sublime delights of paddling 


Written, produced and hosted by Jina Bacarr. Music: “Paris” Composer/ publisher: Dan Graham, PRS, Shockwave. Visit http://www.jinabacarr.com


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Cleopatra's Perfume by Jina Bacarr

“The Berlin Sex Diary of Lady Eve Marlowe” is an audio podcast series Prequel to my Spice novel, Cleopatra’s Perfume

Before Lady Eve Marlowe married a member of the British peerage, she was a cabaret dancer in Berlin in the late 1920s during the wild days of the Weimar Republic. 


Episode 1: Eve meets a monocled gentleman with a secret fetish. 

Written, produced and hosted by Jina Bacarr.  Music: “Paris” Composer/ publisher: Dan Graham, PRS, Shockwave.  Visit http://www.jinabacarr.com  

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When Lady Carlton–Katie–wrote her memoir, The Blonde Samurai, she inscribed it in first person. But for her own pleasure, she was curious about what Shintaro thought about her, a Western woman who had come to Japan as a virgin bride in 1873.

She decided to find out.

By asking him.

During the late afternoons when a titillating breeze cooled the day and the passing of time stopped for the drinking of tea, Katie and Shintaro sat under the flowering cherry blossoms and warmed their hands around tiny tea cups and talked about their first encounter at the Imperial Palace.

What follows next is the third of three episodes of “Tea with My Samurai,” depicting this scene that appears in Katie’s memoir but instead told from Shintaro’s point of view as he related it to her during their teatime conversations.

Lord Shintaro speaks of the first time he saw Katie outside the emperor’s Imperial Palace in Tokyo (spelled Tokio at that time).

(Katie’s POV of the same scene appears in “The Blonde Samurai” on pages 154-156.)

 To read episode one, click here

To read episode two, click here.  



Then another performer entered this outdoor Kabuki play, undoing the samurai’s fun with the beautiful female.
    A portly Englishman.
    Wiping his forehead with a tissue and panting as he struggled to catch up to the woman.
    Legs spread apart, Shintaro stood watching the man make the long walk up to the gate, bowing and calling out in the language native to the samurai. The man was a go-between, he decided, acknowledging  the intruder’s language fluency when he did his best at introductions.
    Shintaro grunted again, then barely nodded. He had no doubt the woman understood his lack of a low bow indicated his superior status to her. Tapping his fingers on his scabbard, he waited to see what she would do next.
    To his surprise, she mimicked his gesture then turned her back on him.
    By the gods, she was insane.
    His left hand went to his short sword stuffed into his sash belt. He squeezed the handle tight. Had they encountered each other on a country road, he had no doubt he would have carried her off and seduced her into his futon. Stroked her pale flesh with loving caresses and licked her full breasts before biting on her hard nipples and arousing her until she begged him to fuck her.
    Protocol prohibited him from doing so at the gate of Imperial Palace.
    Eyes flashing, he barely controlled his rage. He could not understand this particular madness that made the woman defy him so openly. She must be taught a lesson. Here. Now.
    Without another thought, he grabbed onto the long train of her dress and pulled on its velvet folds, the nearness of her tempting him to rip it off her and run his hands up and down her nude body.
    To his delight, she stopped short and lunged backward, nearly losing her balance.
    Would the gods deliver her into his arms? he wondered.   
    A seedless cloud passed overhead, casting a shadow over the scene, as if the deities ignored his primal need. Instead the Englishwoman regained her balance, but not before dropping her parasol. It clattered down on the hard ground behind her. She ignored it. Instead she turned and glared at him, but he wouldn’t let go of her dress. Laughing, he pulled on it hard, so hard she couldn’t move.
    “Release me at once,” she yelled, hands on her hips, then she said words in English he didn’t understand, though he imagined they were of a defamatory nature since the go-between, fanning himself with his hat, apologized many times over for her. 
    Shintaro grinned wide at her, enjoying watching her helpless. For a moment, he forgot he was samurai and she was gaijin. Foreigner. That he was most likely under surveillance by his enemies at court. Men who would see him ruined.
    They were two people caught in a game of attraction that sparked a passion in him. In her, too. He could see it in her eyes, defiant yet curious. His mood changed. Such a game was dangerous. Both to him and to her. For reasons he didn’t understand, he cared about what happened to her.
    Reluctantly, he let her go. Lips parted, she looked back at him, questioning, then, with a quick movement, she picked up her parasol and raced toward the pavilion with the Englishman close behind her.
    Shintaro remained still for many minutes, his hand still on his sword. The moment between them had passed, but not the feelings she had aroused in him. Hot, tempestuous. She was a firebrand. Yet he knew the gods would not look kindly upon him if he dared to meet her again.
    He gritted his teeth. Never again would he allow himself to get close to her. But it was already too late.    
    That moment at the palace gate he knew his fate.
    Shintaro burst out laughing as only a condemned man could when he knew his time had come, for he was condemned never to forget her.


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