Just finishing the first round of copy edits for Avelynn2!
So… close. 😉
I was fortunate enough to visit Blue Heron Books in Uxbridge, Ontario this past Thursday, June 23rd for their annual event Babes Shop Brock. What a hoot that was! I signed copies with my amazing Viking guests and chatted with all the wonderful shoppers strolling along Brock St. If you haven’t had a chance to check out this quaint bookseller (voted number #1 Independent Bookseller in Canada) you’re missing out! Tell them Marissa sent you. 😀
Here’s some photos from the event.
And always, don’t forget to support your local independent booksellers!
Did #Vikings have scissors? Why, yes. Yes, they did.
An excerpt from #Avelynn2
“Tell me what to do.” Angharad surveyed the room.
I pulled out the vellum and, using a pair of scissors, cut two small sections away. I handed her one, kept the other piece, and placed the rest back in my satchel.
My photo from the #Viking Exhibit at the Canadian Museum of History #Ottawa
An excerpt from #Aveynn2. Perhaps Avelynn would drink from a vessel such as these.
The smell of meat and broth filled the cottage with a warm robust scent, and my stomach growled. Over the hearth, a heavy iron cauldron rested on its tripod, a brew of thick bubbling stew simmered within. A platter of bread trenchers sat on the table. A jug of wine and two fine glass beakers had been set beside them. I smiled at Angharad’s thoughtfulness. I’d eaten little since I broke my fast this morning at St. Dogmael’s.
My photos from the #Viking Exhibit at the Canadian Museum of History #Ottawa
DISCLAIMER: Just a reminder this is first draft stuff. 😀 Enjoy!
Mrs. Murphy handed me the envelope. The package lacked panache. Just a plain white #10, 20lb, standard, letter-sized utilitarian vessel. One would think for a clandestine hookup, it should have been black, or slipped to me under a magazine or something.
“Thanks,” I said, tucking it in my briefcase.
“Enjoy your encounter, Pamela.” Mrs. Murphy stood, her tailored pant suit wrinkled along her thighs from sitting.
I shook her hand and left the office. As I rode the elevator to the lobby, I wondered where Pleasure Incorporated found their ‘personal attendants.’ My criteria was very specific. I wanted a blue collar guy, clean, neat, with a solid bank of muscles, and actual hair on his chest. None of this waxed pecs shit. I wanted a plumber, or at least some guy to play the part of a plumber. Perhaps, it harkened back to my days playing Luigi to my older brother’s Mario, but I had a thing for a descent ass crack. When I was about seven years old, I walked into the kitchen one morning, still in my Hello Kitty pyjamas, to discover my mom leaning against the kitchen counter puffing away on a cigarette.
Our neighbor Thomas O’Malley had his head buried under our sink, his ass presented for all to see. At the time, I didn’t understand what I had walked in on, but I could sense the electricity in the air. In a cut-off tube top and tight jeans, my mom giggled and tossed her hair. Rarely up before noon, she even had on her heels—in the kitchen, at breakfast!
I blame my childhood for my obsession with plumbers and construction workers… frankly, anyone willing to drop to their knees and get dirty.
I hadn’t been able to find a spot right outside the building and had to park in the grocery store lot across the street. I swung into the driver’s seat, tossed my briefcase onto the passenger side, and pulled out the envelope.
I skimmed for the pertinent details: the Gladrock Hotel, Aqua Suite, 7pm. The room was ready immediately, and tomorrow morning a spa appointment had been arranged as requested. Thankfully, there wasn’t any information about my special guest for the evening. I had asked them to withhold a photo. I wanted the surprise. I grew bored easily and needed the excitement and rush of new experiences. I tucked the envelope away. This was going to be fun.
Of Pleasure Inc.’s ability to fulfill my fantasies, I had no doubt. How they planned on going about them created delicious anticipation and tension. I shifted in my leather seat. My body perked up, roused and ready to play.
The Gladrock stood on a prominent crossroads in the city, its front door almost colliding with the sidewalk. The lobby paired a sleek, curved walnut check-in area with oil paintings hung around graffiti inspired walls.
With my arrival expected, I checked in and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, room key in hand. I’d never stayed in the hotel before. The owners held events every night, and each room had its own theme. Given my plans, I would miss tonight’s Burlesque show, where they teach you how to dance. The concierge assured me it would happen again, and I had made a mental note to pop in to that one in the future.
I swiped my key card and stepped into a groovy world of sculptures meant to look like coral, and soft ripples of light undulating across a deep-blue tiled floor. I dropped the card key on a side table and left my luggage at the door.
Tucked off the left side of the main entrance, a plush white loveseat and two matching arm chairs reclined around an inviting living area. I declined the offer and padded into the bedroom.
A low, sleek king-sized bed with a solid black headboard commanded focus. I flopped onto the bed and sunk, half the mattress cresting away from me. I turned and stared in awe. An honest to God waterbed. I hadn’t seen one of those since I was a teenager. I couldn’t believe they still made them. I studied the design and narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine having sex on the thing. Though, perhaps if the rhythm flowed just right. I enjoyed a good challenge.
Curious what wonders awaited me in the bathroom, I rounded a bend at the far end of the room and stopped, slack jawed. Tucked away behind a curved glass block wall, the bathroom stretched behind towering floor to ceiling windows that looked out on to the bustling cityscape beyond, a sleek white lounge chair positioned to take advantage of the view. On the back wall, a waterfall trickled between ledges of glossy black tile, tumbling into an infinity pool. A built-in alcove housed several sconces, their light flickering like candles. I dipped a forefinger into the pool. The water was luxuriously warm. I couldn’t wait to dive in.
A generous stand up shower encased in glass stood opposite the pool, and a toilet and low vanity curved along the block wall. The room exceeded my wildest expectations. I’d asked for water features. This took the cake.
I stripped off and slipped into the pool. Experimenting with several dials, I adjusting the strength and number of jets before I found a setting that would allow me to swim in one place, like a water treadmill. Eager to burn off some restless energy, I spent a good half hour fighting the current with a strong front crawl then hopped into the shower.
I pulled out a matching black lace thong and bra and paired those with a tight LBD. With more time to kill, and deciding I needed a little sustenance to keep up my stamina, I ordered some room service. By the time I’d finished eating, fixed my hair, and applied my makeup, it was 6:59pm.
The knock at the door sent a thrill through me. I liked my men punctual. I swung the door wide, revealing a tall, broad shouldered pillar of testosterone with golden eyes and a cocky grin. He filled out a pair of blue jeans, the buttons of his shirt undone showing off a chiselled chest, dusted with just the right amount of dark curly hair. Off his hips slung a tool belt, and he packed a very large wrench.
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