Mistaken Identity by Shyla Colt

Today I welcome the wonderful Shyla Colt to The Eclectic Zaftig Chick. Just one of the many authors of Evernight Publishing I am honored to know.

Conventions, Cosplay, and Larping … oh my

I’m sure most of you are wondering what the things mentioned above have to do with my story. Everything !  It’s the very foundation, Kansas, and Jett’s story was built upon. For those who don’t know I’m going to do a quick run through of what those three things are.

LARP – Live action Role play… think Dungeons and Dragons for the future. Fans dress up like their favorite characters, attend get-togethers on a  large scale.

Which leads me into Cos play territory, which is literally when you dress up as a character and pretend to “be them”. I’ve seen some amazing pictures taken.  How many times have you wished you could be one of your favorite characters? Doctor Who, a companion, Wonder woman? Well now you can, and best part you’ll be among friends.

Conventions…. An indoor  carnival for people with special interests. It could be Sci-fi, Comic con, or one of the smaller event’s like Dragoncon.  Here you’ll have a varied mix of cosplayers,  movie stars, and comic artists, to name a few. Some of the bigger conventions do amazing panels, movie  and tv-show premiers.  Imagine being able to ask the stars of you favorite shows questions.

Now that you’re up to snuff on the jargon, I’ll gab about the show. In need of a break from the insanity that is a the Paranormal Investigation she’s attending with her best friend, May.  Kansas Collins slips off to the local bar Cornerstone for a beer, and a little piece and quiet. When she finds herself seated next to a Larper who does a damned good impression of the lead actor, Jett Walker, sparks fly, and passion makes her lose her inhibitions.

Woken by an unexpected visitor, Aidan Archer, co-star of Paranormal Conventions, the bottom drops out of her world. “Jay” isn’t a Larper, he’s the real deal, and everything she thought she felt was based on a lie. A straight shooter by nature, the horrible state of her parents’ marriage over the years has convinced he true love and marriage aren’t up her ally. Sex is to scratch and itch. The instant connection they had  made her think soul mates. Knowing this was all based on a lie starts their road of rocky.


Calling off the wedding to his high school sweetheart has sitcom star, Jett Walker, struggling with a deep depression. Exhausted from feigning happiness for convention goers, he escapes to a dive bar. An unexpected encounter leads him to his salvation in the form of Kansas Collins. A curvaceous beauty with lips that beg to be kissed and a body made for loving.  Smitten, he allows the assumption that he’s a larper to stand.

Scarred by the tug-of-war her dysfunctional parents place her in, relationships are a four letter word to Kansas. Then a charming southern man, sweeps her off her feet, and delivers sex that transcends a simple exchange of pleasure. Her mind screams soul mate, but when his lies surface their fairytale goes south. Uncertain what’s real or ruse Kansas is torn.

Can Jett convince her it’s a once in a lifetime love?


She pushed the cool metal handle down. The door opened with a pop. He nudged it with their bodies and entered the massive suite, kicking the door shut behind them with his booted foot. He turned on the light switch with his elbow. A part of her registered the gigantic California King bed, on the far side of the room, and the elegant navy blue couch with a screen television to their right. A distinctive click broke the silence, and the rest of the details were lost.

That simple sound acted like a buzzer signaling the start of a round. She surged forward, slipped her tongue between his lips and began a tango of tongues. He tasted sweet and fiery, like his drink. Tilting her head to get a better taste, she buried her fingers into the soft, short, dirty-blond hair.  In return he fisted her hair. Tension formed at her scalp. A pleasurable pain swept through her like a forest fire. The back of his legs hit the bed, and he fell back with her on top of him.

With him she was an Amazon woman. There was no self consciousness or awkward pauses. His rigid length and the need in his eyes left no doubt he liked her as is. She placed her legs on either side of him, lined up their pelvises and pulled back to meet his gaze. The power was heady.  Bending over his body, her dark hair fell around them like a dark curtain.

“Me first.”

“We can do it however you want it, Kansas.”

This is crazy. She swiveled her hips. His body jerked in response. Gripping the bottom of his t-shirt she tugged upward.  “This has to go. I want to see you.”

“Only if I can see you.”

She smirked. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”  Sitting up she tried not to drool as he revealed golden skin stretched taut over a chest that would rival a Greek god’s. The heat in his eyes scalded her.  Her hands shook as she removed her shirt before she lost the nerve.

“You are so beautiful, Kansas.” He caressed her sides, worked his way up her soft belly to the underside of her bra. There was no rush inside the tiny bubble they’d created.

“So are you.” She ran her hands down his chest. His muscles contracted, and he grew impossibly hard beneath her.

“I can feel you through your jeans Kansas, and you’re so damn hot. Are you wet for me?”


“I want to feel it.” Grasping her hips with his large hands, he moved her in his lap.

She gasped. The tension built inside her. “Oh God.” She whimpered.

“Do you like that?”


He ground harder. Her heart raced, and her breath caught.

“I-I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”

“Do it.” His voice was lower, husky. “I want to know I can make you come without even touching you.”

The words took her higher, and the rough material pressed into her clit did the rest. She screamed, spiraling over the edge fast and hard. Her body convulsed, and she clutched the sheets beneath her for purchase.

“Damn, you are even sexier when you’re screaming my name while you come.” His voice wasn’t arrogant. It was reverent, and full of pride and pleasure. She gave him a shy smile. Impossible to be bashful when he looks at me like that.  He sat up and unbuckled the back of her bra helping her slide it down her arms. Her nipples stood at attention under his intense stare.

“I think we’re both wearing too much clothing, darling,” he whispered.


He rolled her onto her back. “I want to undress you.”  Unbuttoning the top of her jeans, he and slid his fingers beneath her waist band into her underwear.

“So hot.” He swirled his thumb around her clit. “And wet.”   Sparks of pleasure shot through her core, and he slid a finger in and she bucked.

“That’s it, Sas. Let me see you come again.”

He circled her entrance, pulled out, and pushed back inside.


“You’re so tight, Kansas. Imagine how you’ll grip my cock.”

She moaned.

“You like it when I talk dirty, don’t you?” He added another finger and pumped harder, stretching her walls. Blood rushed back to her core. Her muscles quivered, and she lifted her hips in time with his hand.

“That’s it, Sas, fuck my fingers, I want you to come apart for me.”

Unable to stave off the explosion she clamped down on his fingers. A bright blaze of white light detonated behind her lids. For a moment she held her breath, caught up in the intensity of an orgasm she didn’t want to end. Her lungs burned, and she took a breath of air scented with musk, as she floated in the white space of pleasure. When she could refocus they were both nude and he was fisting his swollen dick in his hand. A fresh gush of juices flowed. He was beautiful, flushed, thick, and long with a steady stream of pre-cum pouring from his slit, and running down his hands. His breath rattled in his chest and his hips pumped. The masculine grunts and moans were music to her ear.

“Don’t you dare come.”

He smirked. “I-I wasn’t planning on it, Beauty.”

“Good.”  She gathered her strength, rolled onto her belly, and rose to her knees.  “I think it’s my turn to have a little fun.” Crawling to the center of the bed, she paused to lick the sticky, white substance from his hands, careful to trace the knuckles and the sensitive hollows between each finger before she moved on to flick her tongue over the head.  His hands stilled.

She glanced up. “Don’t stop. I like watching you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He resumed his strokes, and she dipped the tip of her tongue into his slit, tangy, saltiness danced along her taste buds. Opening her mouth she sucked his head into her mouth.

He growled. “If you don’t stop that soon it’s going to be over before it really starts.”

She removed her lips and sighed. “Later?”



“On the night stand.”

She arched a brow. Had he been trolling around looking for an able body?

“I did it when you blanked on me.”

“Ahh, I like a man who thinks on his feet.” She winked, rolled over to the nightstand, grabbed the square foil, and came back. Her sure movements had the rubber on and in place in moments. He twitched in her hand and she squeezed him gently.

“Lay back, I owe you a ride.” She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Saddle up, little filly.”  He exaggerated his accent and wiggled his eyes.

The humor swept away the nervousness edging in, and she chuckled.

“There’s the smile.”  His lips twitched upward.

She climbed onto him, guided him inside her achy entrance, and sank down onto his swollen cock.


Told once ‘You have to be an author, then you’re craziness becomes eccentrics’, Shyla Colt has always been in love with the written word and possessed a desire to write. Named after Super Girl in the comics, she often mistakes her mortality for super hero status. So, she holds many hats, Mother, Marine Wife, and writer are her top three.  Writing allows her to explore new venues, face her demons, and touch others. A huge practitioner of paying it forward, and putting in what you want to get out, she hopes to inspire, enlighten, move, and entertain you with her work. Mixing humor, drama, and strong women, often with a paranormal element, she continues to soldier ahead in the writing field from her Socal home. One of her favorite things is talking to fans

You can find Shyla here

Website: www.shylacolt.com

Twitter: @shylacolt

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/authorshyla.colt

Blog: Www.shylacoltsstraightshot.wordpress.com


Release Day: The Forest Maiden

I love twisting fairytales. My very first naughty fairytale was based on my favorite–Little Red Riding Hood. So for my next endeavor, I went with Snow White. Again, like The Wolves of Argonne, I went the fantasy route with The Forest Maiden. Fantasy setting will always be my first love. As I am huge on research, I looked for the origins of Snow White. The most prominent thing in any of the stories was the apple. That, you see, posed a problem. I found the apple an iconic symbol of the story. My editor, however, had a very valid point when she told me–in so many words–that the apple was overdone. Oh I pouted, I can’t deny it. I thought it was an important element along with the others things in the original story that almost took Snow White’s life. Needless to say, I changed it. I’m not going to say to what but I will say this–I researched the country of origin and what fruit was indigenous to the area. I do like my details.

Enough babbling….on with the meat!

TFMBLURB: Eirlys Edurne wants nothing to do with the prim and proper world her title endows her. When her father attempts to force her to marry a vile Prince from a neighboring kingdom, she takes flight into the forest. Only the thrill of the hunt and the call of wildlife can tame her until a mysterious man invades her campsite.

The guest at her fire mistakes her as one of Earth Mother’s forest maidens. Eirlys uses her feminine wiles to seduce him only to find that her heart has other plans for her mighty warrior. When her father perishes, Eirlys is thrust back into the world she loathes by her stepmother. Will she break free of the woman’s clutches and once again reunite with the man who holds her heart?


Alone, Eirlys dipped one foot into the pool, swirling the water around to test the temperature. Pleased, she slid down into the bath to her neck, sighing. The water rippled as her arms moved to grab the soap. The lather foamed when she dunked the lavender scented soap into the bath. She inhaled the wonderful aroma, shifting forward onto her knees.

Alone in her part of the castle past the age most of the royal ladies of the court would be married off, she learned the intimate strokes to set her body ablaze. She had no hope of finding a suitable husband, one that allowed her to be the free spirit her father had raised.

Slowly she rubbed the soap against her dark curls as her legs parted. Gentle strokes eased away the tension rippling through her muscles from feeling less than worthy to stand alongside men. She gasped as she brushed against her sensitive nub. The soap dropped from her grasp, and she explored every inch of her private flesh.

Her fantasies did not dwell on a handsome prince whisking her away and making mad passionate love to her under the stars. They bordered on the delightful scents of pine and freshly overturned earth of the forest. The blooming heather and strands of lime-green moss hanging from the branches far over her head blossomed. The mystery man in her vision was a mere shadow against the pale glow of the moon.

Her finger circled her labia, delving in deeper. Pleasure spread like a fiery blaze through her core. Another finger joined the first, and she explored the depths of her pussy. Her palm slapped on the side of the pool as her breath staggered. Again she teased her swollen flower, her legs trembling. She jerked as she came but continued to rub her clit on a wave of ecstasy. She snared her lip with her teeth to stifle the blissful scream edging toward the top of her throat. Her self-gratification was for her and her alone. She would not give any other man the satisfaction of knowing her nightly activities.

The soap traveled along the rest of her skin, washing away any evidence of her arousal. In her heart she believed men could sniff out a woman’s desire in the sack from miles away. She had no want of a man desiring her as a prize to bed.



Want another teaser? Follow the link below!

Available for a limited time at Evernight Publishing for $2.99.

Also available for purchase at: Amazon | All Romance | Bookstrand

Now for a little fun in these hard economic times but nothing is completely free, right? If you’d like to win a copy of The Forest Maiden, just do the following in the comment section:

  • Tell me your favorite fairytale
  • Tell me why, as in, what element is your favorite. Example: I love Little Red Riding Hood because no matter how cunning the wolf thought he was, Red still found a way to defeat him etc.
  • Please make sure I have way to contact you by leaving your email address in the comment section along with your answer or attached to your login. Otherwise, I won’t be able to send you a copy.

Good Luck!

The Nine Writing Circles of Hell: Part II

Welcome to Part II in the Series! Feel free to jump back to Part I if you haven’t read it. Today we continue our journey of hacking and slashing our way through the process of the coveted publishing process a writer wades through. Have your flame retardant panties on? Good!

The Fourth Circle: Acceptance

Hold that manuscript up like you’re presenting a lion cub to the pride. Dance a jig! Ignore the spouse waving a dollar bill in your face for attention. It’s ‘you’ time! Hold on to that elation with two fists and a couple of toes. It truly is a great experience. It’s just the beginning, however, of a quest of mass proportions. I’m not going to wade through the short stories and whatnot.  Most of those better be spot-on perfect because they get slapped in as soon as to sign the contract.

Once you’re out of breath, and on the floor trying to fend off your spouse’s insistence of giving you mouth to mouth to ‘save’ you, clear your mind because there’s a few things you want to make clear before signing the contract. Read it over carefully. Take an hour if you need to. What’s your take? Who is responsible for what? Are they charging you anything? Psst…if they are, RUN! Make sure you understand the terms and don’t hesitate to ask questions. Putting a shaky pen to paper and signing your soul to a publisher forever could be your own private level of Hell if you’re not careful. Fine print is everything. If it looks good, fill out all the paperwork and relax. Your bumpy ride has just begun.

Le Cover Art Mock

Another design of mine.

The Fifth Circle: The Perfect Cover

This sometimes can make or break an author. We all have that vision of the perfect cover. Hell, I’ve stalked photo image sites looking for them and never seem to find that perfect one. I had a beautiful idea in my head for The Romance Novel Book Club. No way in hell, without a lot of money, was it even possible. If you haven’t notice, I don’t have a shit ton of money to work with and I certainly am not going to expect my publisher to go out on a limb and fork over a huge amount. I can honestly say I’ve never settled. I’ve liked every cover. Don’t throw a fit if the heroine’s lip color isn’t the shade of pink you wanted. Keep in mind that you want it to be eye-catching and look good thumbnail size. That’s how big they are on selling sites. What matters: Does it represent what you’re book is about? Will it catch the eye of the reader to get to the blurb of what the story is about? Give the cover artist a break and only give one element that’s important to see on the cover. That one thing that simply has to be there or you’ll faint. For me and The Romance Novel Book Club, the heroine had to have that cheeky smile. They got that spot on.

The Sixth Circle: #6 Editing and More Editing

Most companies should at least give you two rounds of editing. AT LEAST. You should have given them a pretty clean manuscript to begin with. I’ve had companies requesting a pre-edit before they’ll even hand it to the editor in charge of beating me with a virtual red pen. Don’t cry in the corner and blindly go through the line edits. I did that once and–to no fault of the editor–it’s an error nightmare. I let my pwecious wittle feewings get in the way of having the best damn book out there. Go through and take care of any changes the editor has for you, even if you don’t agree. Once the changes are made, leave them but go ahead and debate (NICELY!) why you had it that way with a comment bubble. It’s important to have a good relationship with your editor, especially if you plan on staying with a publisher. I get the same editor at Evernight and I love her to death.

You’re going to find mistakes that make you cringe and wonder how you missed it in the first place. No worries, it happens. Catching it is the best thing. Most edits, they give you two weeks on the first run through, one week on the second, and less for any others. Take your time and make sure you’ve nailed the door shut where you write to decrease distractions. Oh and headphones to muffle out those annoying “When’s dinner going to be ready” rants. 😉

My final segment is only a week away! Congratulations! You’ve almost made it through your personal hell. Soon you’ll be an old hat with this process.