My Writing Style

When a gorgeous woman asks for you help, one would be an idiot to ignore her. When that woman is Julie Particka, author of the New Adult novel, Fall With Me? Well, let’s just say that I would never say no to her, especially when the word “please” is uttered from her perfect lips.


I could stare in her eyes for hours, my fingers tangled in her hair.

Oh yes. Where was I? I was…distracted.

Yes, questions. You can read my answers while I gaze at Julie some more.


What am I working?

I am currently working on a Historical Erotica novella series involving Paul Revere. It was originally going to be in an anthology, but I ultimately decided to withdraw the story (originally a short story) in order to pursue this concept further. Paul, and the other characters in the original story, wanted more. And being the giver that I am, I decided to give them more. I was never a big history fan growing up, but something about making a beloved American Icon a smutty hero appeals to me. Currently it is at three parts, but I could probably do more. It depends on whether I can find a good home for him. Backing out of the anthology was a big risk, but sometimes you have to jump off a burning bridge to learn to fly.


How does my work differ from others in my genre?

Hm. This is a tough question. I think what’s different is that I don’t hesitate to wrench out my reader’s hearts. I think tragedy can be very sexy and ultimately, the story is primary for me. As I’ve said before, I view sex as an extra. This isn’t to say I won’t write the hottest sex scene I can, quite the contrary, but I won’t put it in there if it doesn’t fit the story.


Why do I write what I do?

She loves to tease me with this difficult questions. Honestly, I don’t think about it much. I write what comes out (no pun intended…maybe). Originally the Paul Revere story started as my other me was joking with one of his favorite authors. Ultimately, she encouraged him to write this story and then I showed up. Who knew my “innocent” YA self was such a closet perv? So, he gets to write the angsty YA and I get to write the historical smut.


How does my writing process work?

I’m still developing that process. Unlike my YA side, who is unabashedly a pantser, I am hoping to forgo pants. The big difference is that I have to research the time period I’m writing in. I can’t just pick something randomly out of the air and pretend it makes sense. So there is more preparation. I also plan on doing some outlining before I write. Something my other side is learning as well.

When I get done with the outlines, I plan on writing on a daily basis. How much that entails, we’ll see. I like music while I’m writing, but what I listen to depends on the story I’m writing. It has to fit the mood or I will get distracted. I doubt that means I’ll be listening to Barry White or something like that when I’m writing about Paul and his lover ripping each others clothes off. That, would be silly and cliche.

That’s all I have for now. I will hopefully have more updates on Paul Revere when get further into him…I mean, his story. I was supposed to tag some people in this, but most of the ones I know are from my YA side and let’s just say that I am trying to keep the two halves of myself separate as long as I can.

Smutfully Yours,


Sex is sex. Gender is an adjective.

I made this comment on twitter to very little response (read, I need more followers). Anyway, this popped into my head rather abruptly and kind of stuck. It makes sense to me in a way.

Yes. I know gender isn’t really and adjective. However in a smexy or hot scene, gender is not, or should not, be the focal point. Just as the color of someone’s hair is not the focal point. The focus should be on the emotions themselves. That’s what makes the scene sexy and hot. Yes, you need to know if person X has penis and how it will respond to the situation, however, that’s the mechanical aspects.

The one response I did get, came from the deliciously lovely Tara. Who said.

She made a good point. I think that’s also why I have no problem writing scenes with two men without having any physical desire towards men. Because it isn’t about the gender.

When I first started writing erotica, I was encouraged to write an M/M short story by the luscious Tiffany Reisz. I did write it and got a lot of amazing feedback. I remember mentioning to Tiffany that I had a physical response to some of the M/M scenes even though I wasn’t gay. Her response was that she writes a lot of scenes that she personally has no interest in, but are still hot.

So basically what I’m saying is, you can write scene between two (or more) people that is very hot, erotic, or whatever, without you, or the reader, having any desire to engage in those situations.

Hot is hot.
Sex is sex.
Gender is an adjective. It’s an extra. It’s an addon. A spice you add to a dish.

Smutfully yours,

Angel Paradise

ImageA quiet vacation away from the stress, the work, the incessant traffic, the long drive. That’s what Quinn needed. So, he dumped the job, cashed in his stock, and jetted off to a small island in the pacific. The brochures said it was a quiet paradise. Quinn called it heaven.

It was a quiet night; the moon hanging low over the beach as the waves rolled in. Quinn sat in his beach chair, drink in hand, a sense of bliss floating over him. It was paradise, it was heaven. If only it had a few angels. So far, Quinn had seen no one else. The beach-side bungalow was always stocked with food and fresh bedding, but he never saw anyone. After the last few years of the rat race, Quinn didn’t have a problem not seeing another soul.

The woman materialized out of the darkness. Her jet black hair hung loosely to her narrow waist. Her hips flared perfectly into long shapely legs. The bathing suit only enhanced her sensuality, hugging every curve, drawing the eye toward her ample breasts straining against the thin fabric.

Quinn nearly choked on his drink when he saw her. After weeks of solitude, there she was, a woman out of his dreams. She walked slowly over the sand towards him, her movements slow and graceful. Quinn was mesmerized, his body wasn’t.

The woman smiled, a seductive glint in her eye as she watched Quinn shift in his chair. The smile turned into a throaty laugh as a blush crept up his neck. Her laugh was rich, dark, and full of honey. She walked up to Quinn and stopped before him. Legs slightly parted, her hands on her hips. She looked at him with an expectant look.

“Um…” Quinn started to say before she leaned over him and placed a finger to his lips. Her skin smelled of salt and flowers.  Quinn’s tongue moved forward and lightly licked her finger, eliciting a sigh like the ocean waves.

The woman placed her hands on the chair arms, pinning him to his seat. She leaned forward, her red velvety tongue lightly licking her parted lips. Quinn wanted to taste them, but couldn’t move. She leaned in close, her lips lightly brushing his, sending a shudder through his body. Quinn felt like he would burst, he wanted her so badly. That he didn’t know her name or where she came from only added to his desire.

A smile whine escaped his throat as her tongue lightly brushed his lips. Her laughter cascaded over him and down his spine. Her breath caressed his face as she brought her mouth to his. The kiss was gentle and soft. Quinn tried to explore deeper, but she pulled back, separating her luscious mouth from his. Another whine escaped him, this one animalistic with need.

He tried to move his arms, but refused to let him move, her hands pinning him securely. Quinn’s heart raced from fear and desire. This woman could do anything and he would be powerless to stop her. The very thought made his member strain against his swimming suit, throbbing with need.

Her mouth sought his again, pressing into him. Her tongue slowly explored his mouth, her lips hungry against his. Still holding his hands firm, she straddled his thighs and rubbed up against him. Once more a shudder ran through him as he nearly came.

The woman pulled his hands up to her breasts as she continued to move her hips against his. Quinn moaned as his hands captured her breasts, his fingers finding the hard nipples through her bathing suit.

Her hands trailed down his arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She trailed her fingernails down his chest until she reached where his thick shaft pushed desperately for release. He moaned as her fingers slowly traced around the bulge until her hands met her own body.

The woman groaned as her hands slid under her swimsuit, fingering her wet slit. Quinn moved his hands down her body, every nerve alive. His hand slipped under her waistband. He moved them around under he felt the ties holding the bikini in place. With a slight tug, he undid the knot.

The woman whimpered and pushed one of her fingers deep within her slit, moving it in and out, her body bucking against his. The woman took her other hand and tugged at his swim suit. Quinn lifted his hips and she pulled it off, releasing his throbbing member. Quinn’s mouth was frantic against hers as he pulled the bikini off.

The woman pulled her finger from her slit and rubbed her juices along his length wetting it. She wrapped a firm hand around its base and guided it toward her slick hole. With a quick thrust of her hips, she buried him deep within her. Quinn’s body bucked as she begin moving her hips rhythmically as she rode him. In and out, faster and faster. Quinn’s heart felt like it would burst. He refused to let go. This was heaven and he refused to let it end too soon.

Her breathing quickened as she arched back from him, placing her hands on his knees, her breasts pointed to the night sky. Her moans turned to quick gasps as she moved her hips faster and faster. Quinn shouted in triumph as he came pumping within her. Her cry mingled with his as she crested.

When their spasms had ceased, the woman slid off of Quinn. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “This was heaven.”

The woman bent and retrieved her discarded bikini, draped it over her shoulder, blew Quinn a kiss and disappeared into the night.

Room 408



My heart is pounding in my chest, and my palms are sweaty.  My hands shake as I desperately try to pull off my wedding ring.  I shouldn’t be here, but here I am, standing in front of Room 408.  On the other side lies damnation and ecstasy.  Who knew a girls night out would lead me here?

As I finally get the ring off my hand, thoughts of Robert float to the surface.  I shouldn’t be here, I tell myself again.  He would be devastated if he found out.  Fifteen years of marriage and I am willing to risk it all for one night with the man of my dreams.

Before I can raise my hand to knock, the door swings open.  The ring tumbles to floor, forgotten.  He’s standing there, shirt undone, exposing his smooth, hard, chest.  My hungry eyes rove over his body.  His lips quirk in a knowing smile and I want to melt into him and taste their soft perfection.  The fire burning in the pit of my stomach roars to an inferno when I look into his brown eyes, so dark they are almost black.  They are like dark obsidian pools, both frightening and inviting at the same time.  I could lose my soul in those eyes and love each moment of it, all the while begging for more.

My breath stutters and my heart lurches in my chest.  His body beckons and I am a slave to my desire.  My steps are slow and unsteady, my eyes drowning in his, as I enter the den of my ruin.  His strong arms draw me close, his luscious lips a hairsbreadth from mine.  I don’t even notice the door closing behind me.  His eyes, his lips, his body pressed against mine are all that I want.

I ache to caress his lips with mine, to let his tongue explore me, but as I move forward, he moves back, teasing.  His breath warms my lips and my tongue runs along their trembling surface wanting, desiring.  I want to run my hands through his hair and shove my tongue down his throat, but still he teases me.  He wants me to beg.  I want to beg for release.  I’m about to explode into a million pieces with desire.

It’s a game; I move forward, and he draws me further into his domain, always tempting, yet no release.  I moan in desperation.  His laugh is dark and smoky and the sound of it makes my knees buckle.  His arms tighten around me, holding me tight.  His lips brush mine.  The tip of his tongue tastes my lips and I shudder.

His mouth captures mine and my soul explodes.  Tremors cascade over my body as his tongue explores my mouth, twining with my tongue, teasing, tasting.  I melt into his mouth and moan.  My hands frantically claw at his shirt, my nails scratching the perfection of his chest.  My skirt is loosened and falls to the floor, his hand cupping my ass through the sheer fabric of my panties.

His insistent mouth moves down my neck, his tongue tracing along my collar bone as he deftly opens my blouse.  His hand brushes my nipples as they strain through the fabric of my satin bra.  My heart is slamming into my ribcage so hard it feels like it is about to explode out of my chest.  I groan and wrap my fingers through his hair, guiding his head lower.  Wanting, no, needing more of him.

His hardness strains against the fabric of his pants and I shudder with desire.  His hands explore my body, and I purr.  He hooks a finger in my bra strap, pulling it down my arm, exposing my breast.  His lips draw my nipple into his mouth and I gasp in pleasure, his tongue teasing the tip.

His strong arms lift me up and I wrap my thighs around his waist as I pull his lips up to mine.  Our lips move in a rhythm, hot and deep.  He lowers me on to the bed, my legs still around his waist.  He looks down on me, his eyes glittering with desire.  I desperately claw at his clothes, legs dropping to the bed as I pull myself up.  My hungry mouth finds his flat stomach and tastes his skin, my tongue exploring his belly button.  I take a playful bite of his soft skin and he growls deep in his throat and my body quivers in anticipation.

Finally, I loosen his belt and open his pants, releasing his straining member.  He gasps as I take it into my mouth and run my tongue over its velvety tip.  He groans as I take its length into my mouth, slowly moving up and down.  I look up and meet his eyes. They bore into me as I draw him deeper into my mouth.

He withdraws from me and I cry out.  I want him inside of me, filling me, my body aches for him.  He gently pushes me back into the bed and moves between my quivering thighs.  He slips a finger inside my panties and touches my wet mound.  I cry out as the questing finger slips inside me.  My body arches as he draws my panties down my thighs and casually tosses them aside.

I reach out to him, a plea for release from this agony.  His hot mouth finds mine and I cry out as his hard member enters me.  My cries grow as he moves deep inside and then draws out before plunging deeper inside of me.  My breath becomes ragged as I feel the wave of pleasure cresting over me.  I wrap my legs around his waist and draw him deeper still as I scream, my fingernails leaving fiery tracks down his back.  I feel him shudder as he too finds release.

He collapses against me, spent, my legs still firmly locked around his waist.  I kiss him deeply as the flames bank to a simmer.  Slowly we disentangle ourselves and he draws me to his chest as tiny tremors cascade along my body.  No words are said, none are needed.   Tonight is ours.  Tomorrow we go our separate ways.  As I drift to sleep, I realize that I don’t even know his name.