The first four books of Alison Tyler's exciting new erotic anthology series are now shipping!
"From Amour to Zippers, this alphabetical extravaganza of erotic delights features 26 hot volumes of explicit, playful stories."
I loved the idea for this series, so very collectable, and with the most gorgeous covers. I'm so pleased to be part of it! I've got stories in A IS FOR AMOUR and D IS FOR DRESS UP. The first 4 books in the series are now shipping from Amazon, and will be with Amazon UK and on bookshelves here soon.
Here's a brief snippet from "Arran's Lure" my story in A IS FOR AMOUR:
Alone in her bed, Juliet lay with her sheets twisted between her arms and legs, thinking about Christopher. Wanting him. Craving him. There was a point where her physical desire for him had turned into an all-consuming hunger. Since then, she had been continually restless with need. Finding sleep was no longer easy. The longing she felt for that one person whose shared passion would provide her lifeline, her relief, had long since become overwhelming.
“Christopher Bardsley, what on earth have you done to me?” she whispered into the night, and a smile passed over her lips.
She felt high at times, at others wretched. Her fierce physical desire also manifested itself in a painful, gnawing ache that emanated out from between her thighs, through her core, as far as her throat and mind, where she was tortured with memory and longing. Her fingers tightened on her rumpled sheets, as did her thighs too, her body rolling restlessly. Masturbation just left her hungry for what she couldn’t have, a particularly cruel twist of fate. She needed to express herself to him, to join their bodies together again. And he was so far away. Over four hundred miles, to be precise. It might as well have been ten thousand, the way she felt. She was at home in London, trying unsuccessfully to focus on her freelance journalism—that which had been her one and only love, before she met him—and he was off the coast of Scotland, on the Isle of Arran.
And here's a taste of "Skin on Skin" from D IS FOR DRESS UP:
“Deep breaths,” Jade whispered to herself, as she attempted to quell her erratic breathing. Walking down the narrow passageway, she eyed the purple-painted walls that were lit occasionally by triangles of hazy light. The beat of a bass guitar sounded through the walls and the floor. The atmosphere grew heavier as she reached the door at the end of the passage, resonant with a heady mix of heat, sound, and scent. Her heart rate quickened. She paused, noticing that the paint was cracked in the top left-hand corner of the heavy black door, lifting and peeling away, revealing the bare wood beneath. Jade had a keen eye for such things. That was why she had come to The Cave that night, to relish the surface coverings, as well as that which lay beneath.
She glanced down at her outfit, hoping it would blend in with what she would find beyond the door. A cut-off latex top, sleeveless and skin-tight, left her midriff bare. A leather miniskirt was cinched around her hips, zippered from waist to hem at both front and back. Shiny soft plastic boots clung to her legs, like skins on her own skin. The decadent outfit gave her cover; it also gave her nerve. She lifted her chin. Jade was a shy but deep-down determined sort. She had an insatiable curiosity for all things sexual, which was inevitably leading her on, and she could insinuate herself into most places with utter stealth.
The door opened and a figure darted past her. Jade took a deep breath at the scene beyond. The room was full of bodies, moving, dancing, whispering against one another. The sound was vibrant, industrial dance music that sliced through the senses. It invaded her body with its powerful, undulating rhythms. A pulse point rapidly began to pound inside of her. Flashes of brilliant color broke the pools of darkness that met her eyes: a transparent neon shirt flickering with movement, a streak of deep-scarlet satin hanging low on a tattooed back; white skin shining beneath the black straps buckled across a dancer’s back.
Strobe lights sprang to life, flashing a series of frozen images of the crowd in negative versions of themselves, before submerging them again into a heaving, dark mass of dancing. Fetish. Alternative. Jade smiled. How could she not love a fashion that revealed the body with such erotic candor? A wave of heat was building between her thighs.
She slipped easily among the bodies, unseen, brushing against them, her eyes taking in each and every clinging fabric, wistfully peeling them away in her mind. There was nothing like luxurious, fetishistic fabrics to reveal the erotic potential of the body beneath. After seeing a TV feature on the London fetish and alternative scene, Jade had abandoned the mainstream clubs she used to go to with her girlfriends or the gang from the office. She was working her way through a list of London alt.clubs with a mixture of arousal and trepidation. Had she known how tempting an eager innocent was to the fetish generation, her arousal might have reached boiling point before she’d even set foot inside one of the venues.
A woman in PVC sidled past her. Jade closed her eyes and breathed appreciatively. Like latex, PVC molded to the skin by virtue of the heat it met. The material outlined the body, emphasizing every naked inch of skin beneath, every curve, every ridge. Peeling warm PVC or latex off after a night constricted in the body-hugging material was one of Jade’s most pleasurable indulgences. The way the malleable, synthetic material lifted away from the skin beneath was exquisite. Shocked naked, every square inch of the skin felt the cold air racing over it, every nerve ending felt wired with sensation. It was one of the most delicious sensations she could imagine, and she wrestled with fantasies about sharing it with another, allowing someone else to peel back her synthetic skins and reveal what lay beneath.
See details about the first four books at the Cleis Press website.