Tuesday, April 01, 2014


Torrid has announced that my story, THE PERSONAL ASSISTANT will be added to its Classic line. With that announcement, it's received a new cover. I'm very excited about this, as Torrid published my first erotic romance, THELMA'S EATERY in 2006!

Check out the new cover and let me know what you think. 

Here's a quick blurb for the book and a short excerpt.

Blurb: Morgan Thomas is MAC Music’s latest “it” girl. With the onset of her successful debut, Morgan was showered with money, parties, and fame. Although she can buy whatever and most often, whomever she wants, she finds herself isolated and alone, unable to trust anyone in the dog-eat-dog world of music. At this level of success, Morgan is a product to be packaged, marketed, and sold.
But to her personal assistant, Tyrone Miller, Morgan is more. A childhood friend, Tyrone’s sole goal is to keep Morgan safe, happy and successful. Yet, when she mysteriously disappears while in New York recording her follow up album, Tyrone discovers that his love for Morgan goes far beyond platonic…to passionate.

Excerpt:(c) 2006 Raelynn Blue
“Please, stand back!” Tyrone shoved yet another video camera out of the way.
The black stretch limousine glistened under the midnight sky. How can reporters be awake all the time? Tyrone wondered as he felt someone scratch his right hand in an attempt to grab Morgan.

“Excuse me! Please step back from the limousine!” he demanded, roughly pushing people away as if he’d become a human battering ram.

As if unable to hear him or his demands, a young blonde woman to his left obviously didn’t understand English. She reached out and grabbed Morgan Thomas’ jacket sleeve, her face set with determination.

“Let go!” Tyrone firmly grabbed the reporter’s hand and tried to separate her from Morgan. All the while, hordes of others tried to snag a piece of the music star.

“No! Not until I get an interview,” the reporter roared, her face setting into an intense frown mixed with determination.

“Ms. Thomas is not giving interviews. Now let go!”

Without waiting for a reply, Tyrone raised his arm and hacked the reporter on the wrist. Her grasp stayed firm. But she glared with fuming blue eyes at him before turning to Morgan.

“That interview, Ms. Thomas, or you will not make your engagement tonight!”

Morgan gently struggled against the reporter’s vice-like grip. With her bodyguard approaching, Morgan patiently waited as a whirl of cameras, reporters and screaming fans circled around like a raging tornado. She pressed her full, bee-stung lips together and rolled her eyes, though Tyrone could see that a twinge of fear sparkled.

“Tony, hurry up and get over here!” Tyrone screamed for the six foot four bodyguard. Resembling a solid brick wall, Tony bench-pressed about three hundred pounds, biked daily and served as Morgan’s personal trainer.

When Tony arrived, all pretense of being polite ended on the spot.

“Yeah, Ty, what is it?” His gruff voice, heavy beard and large torso were sometimes enough to intimidate overzealous fans and hungry reporters.

But not this reporter.

“Please escort,” Tyrone leaned over to read the reporter’s press badge, “Ms. Sumners away from the limo.”

“Don’t you come near me!” Ms. Sumners shrieked at Tony, backpedaling while still attached to Morgan’s sleeve.

“Come with me, Miss,” Tony said as he lifted Ms. Sumners by her elbow, squeezing it painfully hard in his wide hand.

Unable to do more than squeak in pain, Ms. Sumners walked on her tiptoes as Tony half carried, half dragged her away from the buzzing scene.

“Let’s go, Mo!” Tyrone opened the limousine door and helped Morgan inside. His eyes followed her full hips as she bent to enter the vehicle.

Once inside the quiet of the limo with the doors shut safely behind her, Morgan moved her sunglasses up to her hair and smiled. She lay back in her seat and closed her eyes; her smile did not falter.

The limo always calmed her in ways no one else would ever really understand or even want to know about. Large public events always irritated her and made her more than a little uneasy.

She sighed and unbuttoned the top button on her sheer blue blouse. Something about the black interior, the leather seats and the minibar indicated comfort and relaxation, a sexiness few other cars could obtain. And despite the pounding of fists and screams of the paparazzi outside, Morgan felt better.

“Wasn’t scared, were you?” Tyrone asked as he lifted her right foot, removed her sandal and began to massage it.

“No, I trust Tony,” she said without opening her eyes, and then added, “…and I trust you.”

“You sure about that?”

Tyrone’s smile, which Morgan could see in her mind’s eye and hear in his voice, revealed a dimple and his strong white teeth gave his dark skin a shimmer. “For just a minute there, you looked really spooked.”

Morgan made absolutely certain she could trust her staff to protect and take care of her. 

She had surrounded herself with people she knew; people she’d grown up and hung around with since her youth. Those who were not easily startled or seduced by her fame. 

She had known Tyrone since she was sixteen, a high school sophomore.

She slowly opened one eye, spying at him through her lashes.

Ty, as she commonly called him, drew invisible circles on her foot, his eyes stared off into the distance—at the rearview of the limo as it sped across town—just behind her. She imagined cars packed with photographers tailing them, and temporarily, a flash of the twisted wreck of Princess Diana’s limo after being chased by the paparazzi flashed in front of Morgan’s eyes.

She took a deep breath and tried to get a hold of herself. She needed to take her mind off that. Her eyes landed on Tyrone, and as so often happened when she looked at him, her libido kicked into overdrive pumping bursts of lust into her system, flooding her with desire.

He sat, her foot in his hand, his eyes staring out the window, his suit and tie coordinating as perfectly as any male fashion model. Even his socks were color synced. His shoes cost more than some of Morgan’s and his teeth, hair, and mustache had been groomed to perfection. Tyrone probably had as many face creams as she did.

At that moment, etched into his face was an expression of such dreaminess, that for a moment, Morgan saw the teenage boy she’d first fallen in love with.

It made her smile and a warm rush fluttered through her body.

“What are you thinking about?” Morgan asked. She moved to the seat beside him and kissed his ear slowly with one long, wet smooch. Gently, as if the chaos had calmed outside, she ever so softly ran her tongue down the side of his throat and behind his neck—tasting him.

“Mo…” he began and immediately used his hands to shift her back away from him. He scooted to an upright position and Morgan returned to her seat across from him.

She sighed as she crossed her legs at the ankles, and cast her gaze out the window as the sweeping city landscape flew by in a whirl of concrete and colors. She’d always been attracted to Ty, ever since they were in high school. But then, very much like now, he’d 
rejected her advances and so they had settled for being friends.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Tyrone asked, his voice smooth like silk and deep, like the rumbling of a faraway storm—as if the incident didn’t just happen.

“Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t so famous.” Morgan pulled out a glass from the minibar and poured herself some white wine. She sipped a little and then closed her eyes as if savoring the sweet nectar of the gods. “I mean, look how that reporter grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. Stalkers, death threats…”

“I know, Mo, but that comes with being a star.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said without opening her eyes. “But tonight, that woman scared me!”

“People grab you all the time,” Tyrone noted as he folded his hands in front of him.

“Yeah, but those people are fans. They love my music. True, some of them can be a little nutty, but, generally, they mean me no harm.”

She opened her eyes again and Tyrone marveled again at how blue they were, like the sky on a nice, clear day. He watched as she slipped her foot back into the sandal. With nimble fingers, she tied up the strings around her ankle having set the drink into a holder along the door.

“But that lady was all about business and she didn’t give a damn about me, only her interview.”

Before Tyrone could respond, Tony said through the parted window, “Ms. Thomas, we’re at the Madison House. I got your luggage.”

As if anyone else would. The hotel staff sometimes stole some of her things when they carried her luggage to her room and those items had found their way to an online auction website.

Tony parked in the underground garage and sure enough, there were a crowd of people who hadn’t been fooled by the flyer and public press release stating that Morgan would be staying at an alternate location. Her truly devoted fans knew where to find her.

“Okay.” Morgan checked her make-up in the vanity mirror, readjusted her bra and exited the limo, giving Tyrone another shot of her ample ass.

“What room?” Tony asked quietly, just before Tyrone got out of the vehicle.

“Three-ten. The same room she always has,” Tyrone growled over the roaring screams of the crowd before getting out of the vehicle.

“Okay!” Tony shouted back before getting out himself.

Flashes from all types of cameras—digital, phones, and regular cameras—sparkled in the dim parking garage like stars that twinkled in the sky just before dusk.

Tony set about transferring luggage from the trunk to the pavement. Already a hotel bellboy and security guards were there to help him and to keep the people at a safe distance away from Morgan and her belongings.

This proved to be a daunting task.

Morgan glanced back and licked her lips as she watched Tony’s muscles ripple under his tight white tee shirt. Tony huffed as he pulled a boxy, square trunk from the limo.
She didn’t stand around long. Tyrone was already calling for her to follow him.

She’d slipped her sunglasses on, and she grinned brightly at the people, despite the groan rising in her throat. They were fans, most of them anyway, and she knew that without them, she wouldn’t be in the position she now held. Fatigued from the magazine photo shoot and four interviews, two on television shows and the others with local radio stations, Morgan didn’t want to sign autographs. Regardless, she left Tony and walked over to the circle of excited fans to begin signing.

Later, Tyrone handled the front desk clerk and handed Morgan her keycard to her room. She went ahead, leaving him to set up her alias and arrange payment.

Anxious to escape, Morgan took the elevator up to her room. She slumped against the rear wall, thankful no one had gotten on—and for the silence. Her room wasn’t the penthouse suite and she was glad. Rock stars were known to take the most expensive room and thus, fans would stake those areas out, if they could. On the other hand, her room was large and incognito. She never got used to the sneaking around and false names. It didn’t feel like her, but someone else—some stranger who had taken up residence in her body. Even worse, it made her sometimes forget who she really was…inside. Her grip on her true self would slip…just a little.

She reached her floor in relatively good time, and as soon as she opened the door, a moist feeling dampened her panties as she remembered the last time she had stayed in this particular room.

Dropping her purse onto the plush white carpet, Morgan hastily untied the ribbons to her sandals, kicking them off at last. She proceeded to strip off her pants, panties, bra and blouse as she strutted to the bed. As she walked, the cool air felt soothing on her naked ass sending chills up her spine and forcing her skin to prickle.

A gigantic king-size bed decorated in silver toned linens occupied much of the room. The sleigh bed, with dark mahogany wood and a sturdy frame, held up well since Morgan’s last visit.

The matching silk drapes on the three windows looked out over sections of downtown Chicago. Regardless of the hour, traffic on Michigan Avenue could be faintly heard. Fresh cut tulips had been brought in and placed in the crystal vase in the adjoining living room, which contained the door that connected Tyrone’s room to Morgan’s in the two bedroom suite.

Oh she loved this room, well it was actually a suite, but she still enjoyed it.

Climbing on the bed, Morgan wriggled in the comforting smoothness of satin sheets—which she had ordered ahead of time. Squirming, she closed her eyes and thought back to the party for three she’d had in this room. In this very bed, she’d made love to an Irish actor she met at the after-party of her last CD release some ten months prior.

Well, not in the bed.

His name had been Orlando, and he had piercing gray eyes, fire engine red hair and a well-rounded knowledge of how to please a woman.

Oh, yes, she remembered.

He stroked her cheek, and then kissed her playfully on the nose as they exited the limo. 

He was calm and in control.

She played it cool, like the music star she was, but beneath her wool pants, her thong was drenched, and she ached to feel him inside her, pounding, filling and grinding until she exploded.

By the time they reached three-ten, her hands were shaking with anticipation inside her jacket pockets. Every kiss, lick or wink drove her passion higher, yet she played the cool fish in his presence. The longer she waited, the better it would be when it finally happened.

She remembered that her friend had shared the second bedroom with her, for Allison hated sleeping alone while on tour. It had been late and Allison retired early to bed that night.

As soon as they crossed the threshold door and entered the suite, her actor immediately pulled her close and eagerly devoured her mouth, greedily stealing her kisses. He started to remove his shirt, for they had lost his jacket long before they even reached the room, when suddenly, there was another pair of delicate hands massaging his round buttocks.

“Allison,” Morgan uttered before the actor could seal her lips with his.
Without waiting for a response, Morgan sank to her knees and jerkily unzipped his zipper. She had some difficulty due to his arousal—his cock was rigid and hard as a brick. Undeterred, she unzipped him quickly.

Finally freeing him from his trousers, she wet her full lips and ravenously began to lick, kiss and suck the bobbing, hard tool.

This lasted for only a few moments—until, unable to contain himself anymore, Orlando stripped off the remainder of his shirt, and temporarily pulling himself from Morgan’s greedy mouth, hurriedly removed his pants.

While Allison placed soft, wet kisses on his back, he forced Morgan onto the floor and hastily snatched off her pants. Morgan’s pants ripped as the button went flying and the actor moved her thong sideways to get at her treasure.

All the while, a naked and amused Allison, who crouched just behind the actor, casually and with slow, teasing licks to his anus, forced his breath to catch. Her braids tickled his back as they slipped over her shoulders. The tips brushed against his skin.

Morgan had removed her shirt and lay clad only in her black lace bra and thong. “A delectable dish,” Orlando muttered before slowly entering her hot, slippery warmth.

Pulling a small dildo from her purse, Allison returned to the actor and she moistened it with her already slick mouth. Without waiting or warning, she gently inserted the dildo into Orlando’s unsuspecting ass.

“What!” he squealed as it entered him. “Oh!”

With no restrictions, he thrust himself into Morgan with ease, filling her up and making her sigh with each powerful push.

“Ahhh…” he moaned as Morgan’s voice screamed for more.

Allison’s giggles, coupled with Morgan’s sighs and the actor’s grunts, made a new kind of song.

End Excerpt

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