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Romance Authors and Books / Hermes Online ~ A scorching Reawakening * A bit of Mythological Dabbling

« on: September 22, 2011, 03:01:03 AM »

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Hermes Online by Rose Anderson

Do ancient gods still dabble in the lives of men?
Imagine meeting someone who thoroughly compliments you. You share likes and dislikes, views and outlooks and a soul connection unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It takes your breath, quickens your pulse and consumes your every thought. When you make love for the first time, it's as if every cell in your body confirms this is your twin flame. Now imagine the timing is horribly off. In my first novel, Hermes Online, Vivienne joyfully discovers such a love amid the ancient ruins of Greece - a love so complete and soul satisfying but one that just isn't meant to be.

As surely as seasons change, life moves on. Grieving the love she found and lost beside the impossible blue waters of the Mediterranean, Vivienne eventually takes another chance at happiness but unfortunately her next relationship turns out to be one of betrayal. Her faithless boyfriend intentionally administers a low blow to deflect the attention off of him and on to her - if she weren't so dull in bed he wouldn't have had to look elsewhere. Not being one to deliberately hurt someone herself, his unaccountable words become a yoke of self-doubt that spills over into every aspect of Vivienne's life. Hungering for a good word, on a whim she enters a short story written during happier times to an adult literature site and makes a connection with a compelling man known only as S. The two soon embark upon the world of anonymous Internet communication where their suggestive emails lead her to try erotic chat, where cybersex leads to Skype, and C2C sends both into the arms of a love believed lost forever.

5-Stars from The Heart of Romance

"Hermes Online gets my highest rating, 5 of 5 stars, and is guaranteed to set this summer on fire!"
"Anderson completely won me over early on in the novel."  "There is a huge (but not unrealistic) transformation between Vivienne at the beginning of the novel and the person she grows into by the end of the book." "Hermes Online definitely has all aspects that make up a fantastic can't-put-it-down novel."

5-Stars from Sensual Reads

"I have never read a book quite like this one!  It was a hot read!"

5-Crows from The Fictional Bookshelf

"Hermes Online receives 5 out of 5 red crows, which means it's amazing."
"The heat level is smoking hot" not just a little flame that an itty-bitty fire extinguisher can put out. Imagine a much bigger flame." the kind it would take a slew of men in their fire department gear using the big hoses. Trust me you'll need to find a way to cool down once you read this. "

4-Coffee Cups from Coffee Time Romance & More

"Hermes Online is a wickedly tantalizing tale that overloads your senses." "When it comes to writing erotic romance, Rose Anderson knows how to encase her written words so we can practically see the story instead of just read about it."

4.5 out of 5 from The Book Binge

"I was most pleasantly surprised and found the story one of those a "feel good" kinds of reading experiences.  I think romance fans will find this a creatively different and most enjoyable read.  I highly recommend it. I give this novel a 4.5 out 5 rating."

Hermes Online Excerpt:

I closed the Word document and absently twirled my hair, lost in thought. There was so much of me in there—even the decorations in Jonathan’s house said much about me. The fact that Lily looks identical to me was rather Freudian too, come to think. I laughed out loud at the thought. It’s funny how our subconscious mind tells us what’s what sometimes. The subconscious mind intuits what the conscious mind misses at first glance. Yes, the phone sex story was a whim, and who would have thought six years later, it would help me find my way back to myself? I wished in that moment my pen pal stood right here so I could say thank you. I’d thank him for lighting the match that eventually relit the candle of my self-confidence. I’d kiss him for real.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, imagining this curious and compelling green-eyed, chestnut-haired, large-handed, well-endowed man kissing me. And unbelievably, my panties got soaking wet. I flexed my fingers and crafted a scene from the sizzling phantom fire playing over my lips.

Having experienced amazing kisses in my life added just enough realism to the blend of movie kisses. I told the screen, “So, you want a kiss, eh? Then what will you think of this?”

S,
There is so much more to kissing for the first time than meets the eye. The would-be lovers laugh and smile and delight in each other’s company. They talk, getting to know each other, trying to find the choicest morsels of their life and personality to share. They might hold hands for hours as they wander here and there. And when they sit side by side, perhaps on a bench at a museum, they’ll look in feigned interest at the passersby, glance again and again at the exhibit, but not really seeing it. First, one will turn inward, the movement slight, barely noticeable. And then with no clear knowledge of doing so, the one will magically mirror the other. Their knees may touch, and one set of clasped hands might rest innocently upon a knee. And then a noise, a temporary distraction, might take their attention for a second, and both heads will turn to the sound, inadvertently closer now than before. When one turns back, their faces will be mere inches apart. Their eyes, green and gray, will hold each other’s gazes, darting from one sparkling pupil to the other. They might unfocus to drink in the entire face for a second, perhaps lingering on the person’s smile before meeting the gaze once more, a gaze noticeably warmer than a moment ago.

One face may turn a little, and in mirrored image, the other follows, only slightly tipped in the opposite direction. And the eyes ask the silent question as two thoughts become superimposed—“May I kiss you?”-“Will you kiss me?” The answer is subtle, missed by nearly everyone passing by, everyone save the smiling elder couple holding gnarled hands and assisted by their canes. Perhaps they, too, once shared a kiss sitting there, or plan to again later. But locked in their own world, they don’t notice the elder pair walk by.

They are aware now only of each other, aware of little things, the flush on her cheeks, the gleam in his eye, the color of her moist lips, the imperceptible flare of his nostrils as he subconsciously reminds his body to breathe. They touch now. The kiss is at first soft, the lips asking permission for the firmness they crave. Another kiss grants this and another and another as faces turn to fit around chins and cheeks and noses. And then loose and pliable, those lips part now to make way for tentative tongues. These too begin their searching, gently at first then becoming bolder as they instinctively react to the warmth of each other’s mouths and thrust as hands cup cheeks and arms wind around shoulders, drawing each other ever inward into the private space that shuts the waking world out and lets the dream begin.
V

Little did I realize when I began this kissing scene that I would abandon the amalgamated movie kisses. I stopped and read those words, my words, my kiss. That kiss had been real, as had the love behind it. My eyes filled with tears, but I sent it on. Feeling alone, I rose from my chair and walked away.

* * * *

The next morning there were dozens of legitimate emails waiting for me amid the pile of crap I normally got each day. It wasn’t like me to leave my email program running all night, so it was sort of a surprise to see so many at once. It was Saturday. I had nowhere to go and had only the usual weekend tasks to see to before Monday came rolling around again. Sometime in the mid-afternoon after my groceries were put away and a week’s worth of lunches had been made, I sat down at my computer and took a moment to clear the spam and download another spam chaser with a tighter net for catching those intrusive things. I answered a few emails from friends and saved his for last.

V,
That was extraordinary. I could see your gray eyes, see them dart from one to the other of my own as our faces drew close. That was perfection, dearest V. I could almost feel you upon my lips. And now to kiss you in return, a second kiss…
Feeling breathless, we rose hand in hand from our bench and walked mere blocks away to my apartment. Once inside the door, our eyes locked again, our faces drawing closer, closer. Your lips are parted, your lovely breasts rise and fall, your body waits. My hand rises to brush your autumn-colored hair back from your face. Our kiss from before still lingers, but we need so much more from each other now. And we take it. Just how, I will leave to you.
S
 
Hermes Online - Sizzling Excerpt:

The enigmatic S wanted me to write a scene of mutual oral sex. This wasn’t something I could piece together from old movies like I did for the kiss. No, I would have to rely on my own experience. I had only had such a sexual exchange with two people in my life. Dan never got the hang of it and we abandoned the attempt after our first try. He didn’t realize that foreplay was essential to a woman, orally or otherwise. No sooner had he started with clumsy, groping hands than he’d finished and gone right to seeking his own enjoyment. The thought hit me then. I had never had an orgasm with Dan that I didn’t produce myself.

Remembering my short-lived romance in Greece, I sighed. That was real. I trembled, I shook, I think I even cried out in the throes of passion. It had been glorious and he had been magnificent. My heart fluttered over images I had stored away, keepsakes of wild romantic love and hot sizzling sex. A man who knew how to really make love was a gift. That man was like Christmas morning.

I took care of all the little after-work things that needed to be done then treated myself to a long, leisurely bubble bath in the dark, complete with scented candles and Sacred Arias playing loud from the stereo speakers down the hall.
Closing my eyes, I lay back and conjured images in the hot steam.

I remembered he asked me to lie back then he sensually connected every inch of his body to mine. Everything about him—the way he smelled, the way the hair on his chest felt against my bare skin, the rough, stubbly beard on his chin, the way his breath felt between my legs as he kissed his way over my mound and pressed his tongue between my lips, the way that tongue drew warm circles on my clit, everything—warmed my body as well as my soul. I reached into the water and touched myself, mimicking the sensation of a memory.

He pulled me on top of him, my thighs trapping the full, hot length as his hard cock slid delightfully back and forth in a slippery path. He kissed me hard and said, “Turn for me, little flower. Let me see you.” I rubbed my clit harder under the water, remembering. Yessss... I turned and straddled his head, a completely new position for me. His large hands parted my flesh, his fingers opening me wide to his gaze while his tongue traced all of me from top to bottom. And I couldn’t help but whimper.

I recalled treating him the same. He lay back, and I covered his cock and balls with kisses and licks, my first time sucking and licking a cock, let alone one so big. I took him into my mouth, tasting him, loving him, delighting in the fact that I too could make him moan. And with arms wrapped tight around each other’s legs, we devoured each other for an hour until we both cried out in mutual ecstasy.

The water rippled as my self-induced reenactment cascaded over me. When my climax died down, I lay back fighting the tears that wanted to come again. No use lingering there at the raw edges of my heart. Because I had loved him so, I wanted him to be happy with the life he built without me. I pressed my moon and stars tattoo to my heart and, picturing him happy without me, wished him well.

Thirty minutes later, physically sated yet emotionally hollow, I sought an intimate connection with another living being, albeit in a totally artificial way. I accessed my email program and ignored the full-to-bursting inbox. Instead, I searched for the succor I found in this unusual alliance and painted a scene out of a loving memory.

S,
Lie back and feel my body cover yours, feel the heat of my body along your thighs. Let me lick you to hardness, You know my warm, moist mouth. Feel as I draw you in, so hard, so large, so smooth against my tongue. Did I tell you I’ve a penchant for firm, smooth things? Feel me on the head of your thick cock, so thick, so smooth. Feel me pressing the rim’s tensile firmness. Smooth things make me want to roll them on my tongue. And when you’ve been treated to enough and your mind and body crave more, tell me to turn and offer myself to you.

See me? My smooth alabaster thighs straddle your head. My sex hovers just above like a flower. Raise your eyes. See the dewy petals of me? Part them with your tongue, suck them, dip inside, lap the nectar your words have created. I wonder, are you as scent driven as I? I’m thinking perhaps you are, so allow me to paint an olfactory image for you. The scent is hot, primal, animalistic. Imagine the hottest memory of a woman’s scent your mind has stored away as a sensorial keepsake. This is my scent in this moment. My humble words don’t do it justice.

Feel my breasts as they flatten against your thighs, feel the rake of nipples gone hard with yearning. But there is more, shadow lover, so much more. My mouth covers you again, so hard, so unbelievably hot. That’s right, use your fingers to pry me wide to your gaze, drink in the mystery of me as I will you. The sweep of my red-gold hair brushes your bare skin. I kiss your knees and higher, returning again to the head of your cock where the sensitive, smooth underside beckons my tongue. I feel your nerves dance for me while your body calls upon me to taste flesh exposed and vulnerable. You flex forward as I slowly descend the full length. Feel my lips and chin brush the base as I swallow the impossibly hard length of you. Burst your excitement over my tongue to dribble down wetly. I’ll lick you dry. Feed me, feed us. I would lap you until I feel your body tremble and you would do the same to me. Together we would discover where all the nerve endings lead.

My words had me panting again. I could literally feel him against my flattened breasts, and the downy covering all along his body treated my every nerve. They were only words, weren’t they? If so then why could I see it, why could I feel this so acutely? On impulse I added,
My fingers read you like Braille through the confines of this electronic device. I admit I find it sadly lacking.
V
 
I clicked send and waited.

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Romance Authors and Books / Dreamscape ~ Is it a Love Story * A Ghost Story * A Murder * Or a Mystery?

« on: September 21, 2011, 05:08:34 PM »

My Blog- CalliopesWritingTablet   * Buy My Books Here

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Dreamscape by Rose Anderson

Can a ghost find love among the living?
Written in homage to Agatha Christie, Dreamscape is a reader's Easter egg hunt in the truest sense. Peppered throughout are hints suggesting a story behind the scenes.

5-Stars From Dr. Judith at The Book Binge

"There is not doubt in my mind that this is one heck of a novel, one that had me introspective and thoughtful when I finished, a kind of wonder that someone could have crafted such a wonderful book."

5-Star review by Manic Readers

"Loved Dreamscape! Anderson has woven a 150 year old mystery with a 21st century ghost story, along with a few jealousies, murders, and assorted other intrigues to make a fascinating story."

5-Stars from Author Jane Leopold Quinn

"Lush and lyrical describe the prose — hot and sumptuous the love scenes. While you’re reading Dreamscape, you’ll come up with happily ever after theories. You’ll desperately want to so these two people can triumph over death. My advice? Just read and enjoy the ride to the end."

Blurb:
Unable to deny his own translucence, Dr. Jason Bowen determines his lack of physical substance could only mean one thing—he’s a ghost. Murdered more than a century before, Jason haunts his house and ponders the treachery that took his life. When Lanie O’Keefe arrives with plans to renovate her newly purchased Victorian mansion, Jason discovers, ghost or not, he’s still very much a man. Despite its derelict condition and haunted reputation, Lanie couldn’t be happier with her new home, but then she has no idea a spirit follows her every move throughout the day and shares her captivating warmth at night. Jason soon discovers he can travel through Lanie’s dreams and finds himself reliving the days before his murder with Lanie by his side. It took one hundred and twenty years for love to find them, but there’s that insurmountable little matter of Jason being dead.

Dreamscape Excerpt:
Lanie sat on the stairs, pulling old carpet tacks from the bunching old runner and talking on the phone to Lexie about their dinner plans. She had no idea Jason sat on the stair above carefully contemplating how he might reveal himself without frightening her. Discovering her tack hammer misplaced for the third time, she gave up on the frustrating task and went to get ready for her blind date.
Her bath had the same effect on him as it had the other times he watched her bathe. She stood wrapping hair and body in thick towels, looking for all the world like she’d just emerged from the Turkish baths. Over her shoulder, in the mirror, he watched her fascinating application of tints and lash color, though, in his opinion, she was just as beautiful with as without. His cock grew soft once she began to dry her hair with a gadget he had never seen before. Margaret certainly didn’t have one of these noisy electrical hot air blowers. His body roused again when she put her undergarments on. Her pantalets were nothing more than a Y-shaped piece of material that accented her adorable rounded backside. Her brassiere was crafted from very feminine black lace, low enough that the rosy hue of her areolas slightly peeked above the edge. A French milliner couldn’t have chosen better. She dabbed perfume behind her ears, on the inside of her wrists and at the spot above her heart. Although the fragrance was faint, he was surprised he could smell the familiar floral scent on her as she passed. That sense had been dead as long as he. Holding this piece of clothing or that before her, she appraised her reflection in the mirror with each. After four considerations, the dress she settled on was black and short—too short. He found himself frowning.
The frown persisted as the mantle clock stuck ten o’clock and deepened when it struck eleven. By eleven-thirty-two, he was in a fine pique.
Hearing Lanie’s automobile roll onto the gravel drive, he invisibly materialized downstairs to meet her at the door with his arms folded across his chest in irritation. Leaning against the wall, looking her over from head to toe as she came in talking on her telephone, he thought her lips were a little chafed, a little too swollen. She’d kissed the man she’d just met that night, no doubt more than once. The thought annoyed him more than the late hour.
“No really, I had a nice time with Jim.” She laughed. “Yes, nosy, I let him kiss me. Lexie, I know, but please no more dates until I finish the clinic. Please? I have too much to do to get sidetracked.” She laughed again. “I don’t know, maybe I will see him again. He kissed fine! Of course you can set us up again when I get things done here. I don’t know how long it’s going to be—I have the clinic to open! Yes, I know you do. No, when I’m done you’ll be the first to know. I promise. Love you, too.” She hung up the phone shaking her head. “Sheesh,” she said in exasperation, but the over-kissed smile lingered.
Irritated a great deal, he followed her upstairs and watched as she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her worn, comfortable-looking clothing. Still invisible, he didn’t follow behind her when she went back downstairs. Rather he focused his mind and appeared alongside her at the bottom. Heading to the parlor, she turned on Margaret’s television and took a seat on the sofa directly across. When kissing her date goodnight, he suddenly had the arms of an octopus. She picked up the remote and proceeded to flip through channels, feeling wired from fending off her date’s sweet but unwanted attentions. Watching her, Jason shook his head. “Oh no, sweetheart, I haven’t waited the entire night for you to lose yourself to this contrivance.” With that he projected his spirit energy into the wires that fed the machine electricity. The screen instantly filled with snow.
Lanie frowned at the snowy screen and flipped through channel after channel looking for better reception. “Oh, come on!” she told the television. After another run-through, she gave up and turned it off. “Damn it. All I wanted to do was unwind before bed.” She ran an exasperated hand over her face. There was a lot to do the following day and she knew it would take hours for her to fall asleep. A thought came to her. Most over-the-counter sleep aides were antihistamine-based. Having seasonal allergies, that was something she had readily available. That would certainly make her sleepy. No, I don’t like how my head feels in the morning. Instead she headed to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea.
Jason watched her go, feeling the slightest remorse for haunting her television. He reasoned he didn’t like that noisy box that for all appearances put Margaret into a daily trance. He followed her into the kitchen where he noticed her lips again. His remorse evaporated. Sharing passionate kisses with a man you just met! Annoyed, Jason swept his hand across the counter and knocked the spoon to the floor with a clatter.
Lanie jumped at the sound. Frowning, she reached under the chair where a spoon had inexplicably fallen then looked around for anything that might have knocked it on the floor, hoping she didn’t have large mice or, God forbid, rats. Setting it in the sink, she said, “I think I have ghosts.”
Jason’s anger instantly faded as her statement took him by surprise. Testing her, he slowly opened the cabinet door, the old hinges squeaking and groaning. She turned to the sound of the swinging door, and he watched her face carefully. No fear, just curiosity. The whistling kettle diverted her attention. Once more he found himself wishing he were able to sit over a cup of tea and talk with her. He wanted to know where she’d been tonight and why she’d kissed a man she hardly knew. He wanted to know why she haunted his thoughts as surely as he haunted these halls. But moving a spoon and a cupboard door was a far cry from materializing in full form before her.
Taking a seat in the chair across from her as she scribbled small pictures onto her notepad, flowers mostly, daisies and lily-of-the-valley, he read the messages she wrote to herself regarding what needed to be done the following morning. This list was the shortest yet. Occasionally she’d look at the cabinet door to see if it would actually move again. He was tempted, but a part of him was too afraid she’d leave, never to return. Then the moment he had waited the entire day for happened. She yawned.
“You’re tired, you should rest,” he whispered. He could see the suggestion taking root in her mind. Putting her nearly full cup in the sink, she headed to bed.
Watching her sleep, Jason sat beside her a long while thinking on how lovely she looked tonight. He would have loved to have been the man to take her out on the town, to the theater perhaps. Out for dinner, certainly. If his own kisses had swelled those luscious lips, he would have ventured from her sweet mouth to the tops of those exquisite breasts so tantalizingly displayed in the décolleté of her neckline. His entire being desired to lose himself in the living heat of her. There was simply no stopping himself from caressing her, having lost that particular battle of conscience the first night she lay in his bed. He’d convinced himself that as long as he kept his baser needs to himself, touching her while she was completely unaware was a harmless compulsion.
Materializing just under the linens, his glowing form lit the sheet like a Japanese lantern. He whispered to her unconscious mind as she lay curled on her side, “Lay back for me, sweetheart, let me look at you fully while I feel how warm you are.”
Unconsciously responding to his suggestion, she rolled on her back, one arm tossed casually over her pillow.
Once more marveling that he was able to touch her at all, he swept her raven hair back from her lovely face, his thumb lightly tracing the delicate arch of her eyebrow. Touching her skin was like touching a rose petal in his garden, a warm sun-kissed rose petal. Gliding his hands over her warmth, he caressed her trim belly and arms all the while carefully avoiding the dove-soft breasts as any gentleman might unless given leave. Though it was true she hadn’t granted leave for any touching, the fragment of his gentlemanly comportment quickly faded as her living heat seeped into him.