Title: MALEDICTION: Rise of the Crimson Confessions
Series: Crimson Confessions, #1
Author: J.D. Lexx
Genres: Erotic Romance, Romantic Suspense
Release Date: March 20, 2016
Some devote a lifetime to the endless pursuit of love. Others spend even longer trying to outrun it. Between the shimmering lights of Paris and New Orleans' commercialized sin, author J.D. Lexx embarks on his latest hunt. Once content to walk blindly in the light, these days he prowls a different world, one of shadow and sensuality where flesh yields to the probing hungers of fantasy. Driven by painful reminders of opportunity left unseized, he roams, tirelessly seeking the next in a growing collection of Crimson Confessions.
Yet these tales of conquest and seduction which have brought such notoriety are merely bait for a more transcendent prey. The one he truly stalks is infinitely more elusive, and lethal in her charms. To win her over, and write the happy ending to this unfinished story, an infamous collector of secrets must now lay his own bare for all to see. Chasing a trail of enticing exploits stretching from Sin City to Prague, every stop leads him back to the beginning...and one step closer to her.
As soon as I penetrated the sweltering heat between her lips, I sprung to life across her tongue, engorging with the very blood that fled my extremities until her mouth strained to contain me. First, my eyes rolled back in sheer bliss at the all-consuming warmth, and then at the skill with which she applied it. With each stifled moan that vibrated through her throat and into my flesh, she not only enhanced her raw sexual value but left me increasingly curious about the kind of bad decisions that lead a woman like this here, of all places.
Pulled free from a descending haze of my own, I looked down to marvel at her enthusiasm, only to find those eyes still locked on mine. Damn, the girl learned quickly. Flashing a glint of bravado that endeared her all the more, she pulled me briefly from her pursed lips and asked again, just as earlier in the day, “You like, yes?”
As if empowered by my approval, she immediately doubled her efforts, tightening her grip and flicking her tongue in playfully erratic lashes. With the slightest shift, she adjusted her angle and drove down with even greater force, burying my entire length and swallowing deeply to engage muscles that sent me reeling.
Only once I opened my eyes again did I notice the burning attention cast down from our host and his illustrious, voyeuristic gathering—a handful of whom wore outfits virtually identical to those ladies on the floor. It seemed that even a few fellow guests had opted to stay behind and ogle, having long since cast their own conquests aside.
While it has never been my style to put on a public exhibition, it’s not like I could drag her to a more secluded location. As much as I cringed at the barbaric notion, she was not mine to take. I had to respect the reality that, in such a strictly supervised environment, she was borrowed property to be enjoyed at the watchful discretion of the master.
With the reasoning centers of my brain already thoroughly frozen and my inhibition drunken at best, our audience could have ordered pizza and called over friends for all I cared. I had a hotter, tighter, and infinitely more gripping engagement ready to drop in my lap.
“Get off that cold floor,” I urged, coaxing myself free of her insatiable grip and ordering her upright—vulnerable, exposed, and simpering at my whim. “Turn around.” Of all the commands so far laid down, I found it fascinating that only this one prompted a distinct moment of hesitation.
“Yes, sir.” She spoke to the ground as she turned away, tightening every muscle as if preparing for an unseen but inevitable assault.
Leaning forward, I rested one outstretched hand over the small of her back. Feeling the raised lash marks for the first time only triggered further anger toward any beast that would so irreparably desecrate such a treasure. My other hand dug firmly into her hip as I pushed forward, forcing her over at the waist and then lifting the tattered dress to expose her entirely.
With her legs spread slightly, she struggled to maintain balance against the pressure of my palm, sparking the more wicked recesses of my imagination even as I battled to differentiate myself from the men behind those marks. Try as I might, I simply couldn’t help myself. Did that make me a monster as well?
Food Lust (A Crimson Confessions)
Two Way Glass (A Crimson Confession)
Order of the Orchidarion (A Crimson Confession)
Just like every author I know, there’s always a favorite spot where the inspiration simply flows. Perhaps it’s a nook at the far end of a flower garden or a spare room to which others are barred from entry. Personally, I find my best writing takes place over the writhing skin of a naked, glistening Micronesian princess as she’s pleasured by three nubile ladies-in-waiting.
When that option is unavailable—unfortunately quite often—I do most of my writing outdoors, where there are no walls to close in around me. It’s amazing how effectively the rustle of a breeze can spark thoughts and visuals in the mind. It tends to liberate and helps the words flow unencumbered. But then, that’s just me.
Sometimes I’m not quite sure what the message is until I’m done writing and start reading back through to find a distinct theme or moral—even if it’s simply the virtues of immorality. When I set out to write the Crimson Confessions series, it was always intended as far more than a quick and passing thrill. I wanted purpose, intent, a thread of commonality running through it all.
In Malediction, I feel that message is boiled down to a few core elements: seize the indulgence now rather than wait and linger in fear of judgment; take the road less traveled, even if it requires combat boots and a machete to navigate it; and please, for the love of God, embrace your imagination and all that comes with it. Never settle for less.
Oftentimes, I like to give my characters a name that playfully nods to their personality, past or future. Nothing too overt or obvious, because I feel like that can become campy and a bit too archetypal. But if I’m laying the groundwork for a new character who closely resembles someone from my life, I like to name them in a way that shines a light on those characteristics—good or bad—that earned them a spot in literary infamy.
In all honesty, nothing inspires me more than the chance to interact with my readers and to hear the elements and aspects that made them fall in love. I think we all have times when we step back and wonder if there’s any purpose or benefit to our writing, and to hear that our thoughts and work resonated in a substantial way with someone else is the greatest compliment possible.
Any food that requires flooding a bog and raking up the bits that float is an instant ‘pass’ in my book.
ALL of them. When I’m engaged in a project, I’m either actively writing or thinking about the next stage pretty much constantly. It’s when I’m between projects that I begin to feel a little lost now and then.
Invisibility, without a doubt. To be a fly on the wall, anywhere and everywhere. Time travel would be nice too, I suppose. Actually, could we combine both powers into one so I can covertly watch how some of history’s great moments really went down?
If you’ve read my work, you probably realize I’m a big fan of cooking and the cultural inroads it can bring. I just love the sensory exploration of a new dish and the way it plays on your tongue. Not as many people know it, but I’m also a passionate photographer. Portraits, nudes, wildlife, architecture…I love it all. There is beauty in everything, isn’t there? In the chips and the cracks and the scars. It’s all about how we perceive it, and how it’s captured through a lens.
The biggest surprise, by far, in the book world has got to be the immense support just waiting to be heaped on a new author who earns it. The passion. The obsession for some. As a writer, sometimes it’s easy to begin to feel like you’re an outcast with nowhere you fit in. But then you meet a few readers who share your particular blend of insanity and you realize that your place was there along, just waiting for you to find it.
I have tried both methods and to some degree I hybridize the two, but I find my stories flow much better if I loosen the grip and let them flow as they want to. I have an idea where it’s going at the start, with a very loose outline of sorts, but when it’s all said and done, if it comes down to letting the story take a direction it suddenly wants to go in or strangle it to follow my lead, I’ll always choose the former and be as surprised as the rest of you where it takes me.
International attorney, award-winning journalist and last of a modest raconteur bloodline, J.D. Lexx has been a storyteller for most of his life and a student of humanity for even longer. Perhaps it's no wonder that he takes such pleasure in the subtle tease of the written word, in kindling curiosity with every shared tale, then daring the imagination to continue on beyond The End.
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