To day we welcome Katherine Rhodes to CJ’s Book Corner. Katherine is an author of erotica, light BDSM erotica and paranormal erotica. Expert in the profundities of bad movies and awful literature. Armed with her Bachelors of English, Literature she has set her mind to writing erotic romances which are kinky, dirty, and fun. A lackadaisical laundry goddess, Katherine resides in Philadelphia with her husband, three cats and a betta named Fishtian Grey. Facebook Amazon Goodreads Blog
CJ ~ Tell us a little about yourself and your background
KR ~ I’ve been writing since I was very young—it all started on a chalkboard my parent bought me. I wrote my way through school, grammar, high school, and into college. I earned Bachelor’s in English Lit and wound up becoming a journalist.
CJ ~ What inspired you to write your first book?
KR ~ It was a dare. Our librarian dared us to write a book. Mine was bad, but it was the only one that was written.
CJ ~ What books have influenced your life most?
KR ~ A little book very few people have heard of. It’s called “Woman at Point Zero” by Nawal El Saadawi, and I still dream of writing a book with that much passion and emotion that it leaves such a toll.
CJ ~ How much truth is in your fiction.?
KR ~ A bit. I will admit to killing off characters based on people I don’t like, though.
CJ ~ If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor and why?
KR ~ No secret, no hard choice. Stephen King, hands down. The man can weave a tale. But I would like to mentor him back—his endings need a little more… well. Ending.
CJ ~ Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
This is an unfair question. I have too many authors I love to pick one. How about, I name a few authors who have impacted me instead: Toni Morrison, Frank Herbert, Ray Bradbury, Sherri Tepper, Anne McCaffrey, Philip K Dick, Kurt Vonnegut. Did I mention that I read A LOT?
CJ ~ Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
KR ~ Sticking to one story. I, at all times, have about 4 to 5 works in progress. I manuscript hop until one sticks.
CJ ~ What are you working on now? What is your next project?
KR ~ I’m trying to get Book 3 of Club Imperial to the publisher so I can get back to writing book 4. I also have another manuscript I’m editing, but I’m not saying anything about that one save to acknowledge that it’s there and being worked.
CJ ~ Do you have any strange writing habits (like standing on your head or writing in the shower)?
KR ~ I work out dialogue in the car. Out loud. Bluetooth is wonderful—people don’t think I’m weird when I appear to be talking to myself.
CJ ~ How important are names to you in your books? Do you choose the names based on liking the way it sounds or the meaning? Do you have any name choosing resources you recommend?
KR ~ Names can be very important—or not at all. It really depends on my mood and how serious I am about writing the book at that point. Sometimes, I will spend hours looking through baby name books, or flipping through my Facebook for just the perfect name with the perfect meaning. Other times it’s like throwing a dart at a list.
CJ ~ Are you a plotter or a pantster? What do you consider to be your best accomplishment?
KR ~ I usually start out as a pantser—just seeing what flies off the fingertips. But a brilliant plot point will pop up and I have to start making a very brief plot outline. I’m more likely to make a summary than an outline though.
CJ ~ Is there a certain type of scene that’s harder for you to write than others? Love? Action? Racy?
KR ~ Steamy love scenes grind me to halt because I tread carefully through them. And oddly enough, so do the action scenes. I have to be able to work through the action in my head with the characters and sometimes that takes a while.
CJ ~ What writing advice do you have for other aspiring authors?
KR ~ I’m going to step out of the box—because so many people say things like “don’t give up” and “follow your dreams” I’m going to be more practical: after you do all that, get yourself an editor. And for all that’s holy, listen to them. There’s a reason you’re working with them! They only want to see your story be the best that it can be.
CJ ~ Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
KR ~ Still writing. Maybe finally own my dream home: an old farm house on acres of land and heirloom farm…
Just some fun questions:
CJ ~ Characters often find themselves in situations they aren’t sure they can get themselves out of. When was the last time you found yourself in a situation that was hard to get out of and what did you do?
KR ~ For some reason I’m generally good at keeping out of situations like that! But I guess it was the time I had 2 flat tires at the same time – and only 1 spare. I managed to change the more damaged one and get myself off the highway. Then—I called dad to bring his spare down. Ha.
CJ ~ Does your significant other recognize his moves in your writing.
KR ~ He might kill me if I answer this… 😛
CJ ~ If you were a super hero, what would your name be? What costume would you wear?
KR ~ I can’t answer this right now; you’ll find out… soon enough…
CJ ~ What secret talents do you have?
KR ~ I’m a quilter and photographer. I LOVE to do both; I’m planning a photo safari on Sunday.
CJ ~ Where is one place you want to visit that you haven’t been before?
KR ~ China. I want to see Xian, and the Terracotta Warriors
CJ ~ If you were an animal in a zoo, what would you be?
KR ~ A cat of some sort. A clouded leopard, perhaps… they lay around most of the day, right? They have wicked cool tails too, just as long if not longer than their body. So elegant.
CJ ~ Do you dream? If so, what do you dream about.
KR ~ Oh, this question. I dream about my stories, about scary things that aren’t really scary. And I dream about people I haven’t met yet. It’s creepy. I get a snapshot in my head, and one by one over the next few years, I meet everyone in that photo.
From the moment Nathaniel laid eyes on Emmy Westerly, he wanted her in his life. He would do anything to get her there and keep her there. To his surprise, Nathaniel found himself quickly pulled into Emmy’s dark world of whips and blindfolds, kink and submission. He was intrigued not only by the thrill of it, but by the enigma which led Emmy there as well.
Emmy could not resist Nathaniel Walsh. She couldn’t deny the electricity between them, the utter animal magnetism she felt for him. Emmy was mystified by someone as honest and uncomplicated as Nathaniel allowing her to lead him into the dark. She adored having him at the tip of her lash.
But Emmy had secrets – deep, cruel truths which led her to Club Imperial, and staying with Nathaniel would mean telling him everything. He wasn’t ready for that.
Neither was she.
** Content Warning: Contains explicit content with BDSM, Erotica, and strong language. Not intended for all audiences. 18+ Audience
“Consensual: A Club Imperial Novel, Book 1”
He followed Emmy down the hall to the kitchen, where he found her with her face pressed into the flowers, inhaling deeply. His blood pressure rose as he openly stared at her backside, shapely and firm in the gorgeous blue dress. It was all he could do to keep from walking up to her and cupping that incredible heart-shaped ass in his hands. She had put the two desserts on the breakfast bar, and her coat was tossed over the chair.
With a sigh, she stepped back from the flowers, but didn’t turn around. “I never got flowers, ever, and now three times in the past three months.”
“I’ll buy you flowers everyday if you want them,” Nathaniel said, walking up behind her and putting his hands on her arms, trailing up and down.
“They make me feel like…” Her voice drifted off. She turned and smiled at him. “Dessert?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. God, no. No. I want to strip you out of this dress, lay you on the couch and have you for dessert.
She walked around him, going to the fridge. “Wine?”
He turned and looked at her. “Actually, do you have a beer?”
She pursed her lips and sighed. “I do, but…”
“I don’t have normal beer,” she said. “I don’t drink macro-brewed piss water. It’s Troeg’s Flying Mouflan.”
His jaw dropped. “You know beers?” She nodded. “And you keep Troeg’s in the house?”
“It’s in rotation,” she said.
“Oh, dear God, marry me.” He laughed.
“I thought you liked wine?” Emmy asked.
“I like good wine just fine, but I’d rather have a beer when I’m not eating at exclusive restaurants,” he said. “I didn’t peg you as the kind of woman who would enjoy beer.”
“A good beer can be just as complicated as a good wine,” she said, pulling out two bottles and putting them on the counter. “And you have to know how to pair the flavors and styles with the food. Troeg’s is a great after-dinner beer.” She handed him the bottle opener and Nathaniel opened the two bottles as she turned to get the plates for the dessert.
He watched her lean up to grab the plates and her leg popped up off the ground. The shoes looked so incredible on her feet. She had lovely long legs and he found himself dreaming about licking them from her ankles to her pussy. He took a deep breath and stilled himself. Down. Down. Not yet.
She plated the fruit and chocolate desserts and joined him at the table. Looking around, she laughed. “I almost never eat here. I prefer the den.”
He stood from the stool. “Then let’s eat there, if that’s where you’re more comfortable.”
“So agreeable. I like that.” She smiled and hopped back down, leading the way from the kitchen to the den where there was a coffee table for them to put their plates on. Emmy took the over-stuffed chair and with a private note of disappointment, Nathaniel sat on the love seat. She picked up a remote and turned on the sound system. An achingly gorgeous aria wafted out of the speakers, and it took Nathaniel a moment to place it.
“Ach, ich fühl’s?” he asked.
“Very good,” she said. “I sang this at one of my recitals. This and Gretchen am Spinnrade are two of my favorite pieces.” She ate a piece of the confection with an unnerving grace.
“You sing too?” he asked. She nodded with her mouthful. “Dear God, Emmy. The cello and a voice?”
“It’s not a good voice,” she said. “It’s merely adequate.”
“If you can sing Papagena, I don’t think you’re merely adequate.”
“Well, no one seemed to agree with you.”
Again he could hear the bitterness in her voice, the sound of someone who had been always left behind and ignored by those around her. She had run a business where she had only been an admin for three days. That was not a woman who was incapable, or merely adequate. He cut off a piece of the dessert and chewed it thoughtfully for a minute, letting the voice from the aria fill the room.
“Oh, damn!” Emmy exclaimed. He looked over and found the latest forkful had cascaded down the front of her dress, leaving a huge chocolate and raspberry stain. “Oh, damn.” She put the plate on the table, and stood. “I have to change, I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” he said. “Go get it off before the raspberry sets.”
She walked out of the room to the bathroom just on the other side of the den. “I’m sorry,” she called.
“It’s fine, Emmy,” he said, sitting back and taking a sip of the beer.
“I was…going to ask you about Imperial,” she called a moment later.
He shrugged, confused. “What about it?”
“Did you like it?”
“I think I was too pissed at Jillian to really care,” he said. “I saw some things that were intriguing, but…well, I have to consider my place in the community. Mostly, though, I was pissed at Jillian.” He paused. “It was a beautiful building on the inside. If I remember anything from that night, it was that woman…”
“You liked her?”
He shook his head. “What’s not to like about leather and lace? But it was more than that. It was the way she walked across that floor, consumed with such fiery anger. She knew who she was and someone had crossed her. She took steps.” He took a sip of the beer. “The outfit was just the icing on the cake.” He took a quick bite of his dessert, and didn’t want to think about that woman. She was an untouchable in a place he didn’t want to make a habit. And was tainted by Jillian. He turned down his lip.
“Would you go back?” Emmy asked, the question floating down the hall.
“I don’t think I will,” he said. “It was kind of a bad ending to a bad week.”
He paused, and looked at Emmy’s dessert. “I can’t say never,” he replied. “I don’t want to think about it right now. It’s probably a very nice place for an interesting distraction.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?” Emmy called.
What is going on here? “Emmy, don’t tell me you want to go there.” She didn’t answer right away and he could feel himself cringing. He heard a heel click on the wood flooring and then another, then two more. She stopped just out of view. “Please, don’t tell me you want to go there,” he said.
“Well, no,” she said. “I was just thinking I could bring a bit of that here.”
She stepped out from behind the wall and Nathaniel dropped his fork loudly on to the plate.
“Fuck.” He gasped.
Emmy was wearing the same black silver-button-up boots, black lace and satin outfit, opera gloves and choker. Her hair was now up, and the only things missing were the whip and the crop.
He stared for a long minute, then rose and walked over to her, where she stood, arms folded, waiting for some sort of response from him. He looked straight into her eyes. “It was you. You were there.”
She nodded once. “It was me.”
After the vicious attack on Emmy, Nathaniel has enlisted the help of his brother and Club Imperial’s owner to make sure her secret life doesn’t make the headlines, or interfere with the justice her attackers deserve. And to make matters worse, Emmy wakes up with absolutely no memory of what she has been through.
Recovering from her injuries at Nathaniel’s sprawling estate, Emmy deals with all of the changes in her world: new friends, a different lifestyle, a new boyfriend and a brand new threat.
With a simple phone call, her past crashes head-long into her present. Her mother suddenly reappears in her life and brings with her all the terrible things she thought she’d left behind. Old scars are ripped open and Emmy’s not sure she can survive the pain again.
She has to let Nathaniel go to protect him from the hell of her past…
But he’s not walking away.
Content Warning: Intended for 18+ Audience, may contain explicit details or scenes
There were acres of manicured lawns between them and the house. There was a stand of trees half way there with a pond surrounded by carefully maintained cattails and native grasses that were starting to perk from their winter rest. She thought she saw a spigot in the middle for a fountain.
Beyond was an enormous white and brick Jacobean-style mansion. Three floors tall with huge windows over-looking the lawns, the front door was set back from the driveway, giving the house a u-shape to the front. There was tower—a tower—above the main entrance which rose to a fourth floor. The top of the house was lined with white cement railing and each of the two front wings had a parapet on the corners. She started counting chimneys and finally had to stop at twenty-five. As they drove further, she caught glimpses of the depth of the house, and there were more chimneys she hadn’t seen earlier. All of the windows were three panes wide and seemed to be floor to ceiling. Part of the back of the house looked newer, but had been added on in the style of the original. It had the traditional white puzzle cornering and there was some ivy on one wing, but it was carefully maintained.
Emmy looked at him. “Is there a ballroom?”
“Of course,” he said dismissively.
“You live in this?”
“Quite.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the whole tour when you’re feeling up to it. Your room is in the back overlooking one of the gardens and the pool house.”
“Pool house,” she mumbled. “You have a pool house.” She turned back and pressed her hand to the window. “It looks like Hatfield House.”
With that thought, the pang of loss hit her so hard she had tears streaming down her cheeks before she even realized what was going on. It had been years since she had thought about Hatfield House and the sudden realization that it was the last time she saw her father was like a bolt of lightning.
“Oh, my God.” Nathaniel pushed over to put his arm around her. “What’s wrong? Holy crap, please stop crying.”
She tried, she really did. But she couldn’t stop the gasps and hiccups that went along with the emotion. She looked at him. “You want to know more about me? The last time I saw my father was at Hatfield House outside of London. We were there for a benefit to try and save the Ukrainian Symphony Orchestra. He was there with Sarinya and had just proposed to her. I left the next day to go back to Boston, and he was killed in a car accident three months later, after playing out the season with the London Symphony. They were going to see Sarinya’s family for holiday, and he never made it.”
He just held her a moment while letting her cry. “I’m so sorry, Emmy.”
“I didn’t think a stupid house could do this to me,” she said, smearing the tears away indelicately. “I mean, I like your house, I just didn’t think it was going to make me think of my dad and get me all worked up like this.”
“You have had a very traumatic two weeks, Em.” He tried to console her. “I suspect most anything will set you off.”
“I hate being emotional,” she hiccupped.
“I can’t imagine why.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back, starting to feel a little more balanced. “You have a beautiful house.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He lowered his voice and continued, “But you can’t go in the West Wing.”
“Why not,” she asked, confused.
“Because that’s where I keep my secret magical rose.” He laughed. “And sometimes the teapots talk.”
Emmy giggled. “So you’re telling me this is a reverse fairytale castle? What does that make Quinn? Or you for that matter?”
“I’m a handsome equine.”
“Oh, so you’re full of horseshit.”