Hi peeps, we have Quinn Anderson popping in today with her new release Hotline, we have a interesting guest post where Quinn chats about writers block, we have a great excerpt and there’s a brilliant giveaway, so guys, check out the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~

Hotline

Quinn Anderson

Zack never intended to become a phone sex operator, but with half a college degree and a smart mouth, his options were limited. It helps that he has a knack for thinking on his feet and a willingness to roll with whatever his clients throw at him. Sure, he gets his fair share of creeps and unconventional requests, but it pays the bills, and he’s in no danger of breaking his one rule: never fall for a client.

Until a man named “John” starts calling, and Zack finds himself interested in more than a paycheck. It’s not just that John has money, or that his rumbling baritone drives Zack wild. He’s everything Zack isn’t: educated, poised, and in total control of his life.

A twist of fate brings them face-to-face, and now that they’ve seen each other—and spent an unforgettable night together—they can’t go back to the way things were. A sex worker and a trust fund brat . . . It’s like Romeo and Juliet, but with less stabbing and slightly fewer dick jokes. Hopefully they can pull off a more successful ending.

Quinn Anderson!

Hello, everyone! This is Quinn Anderson, author of the Murmur Inc. series, and I’m here to share some inside information about, Hotline, coming out October 31st. Stay tuned to hear about where I get my ideas, writing comedy, and how I went “undercover” as a sex worker to research my novels. Leave comments on the tour posts for a chance to win a $10 Riptide Publishing gift card! 

How do you Avoid Writer’s Block?

Personally, I swear by outlines. I know those are just about the most controversial and most arguable writing tool, but I don’t understand how anyone writes a book without knowing where it’s going to go. At least have a skeleton planned out so you know generally where you’re going. I’ve written myself into a corner before, and believe me when I say it’s unpleasant and it was due to improper planning.

I do a chapter-by-chapter breakdown with all sorts of dialogue snippets and descriptions. Big parts of it change along the way, but it keeps me from feeling like I forgot that awesome idea I had for chapter eight while I was still buried in chapter one. There’s nothing worse than feeling like your initial idea for a scene is so much better than what you ended up writing once you got there because you didn’t outline it while it was fresh.

My other advice is to read. If you can’t think of what to do next in your story, read a similar book by someone else and see if you can’t glean some ideas. Don’t copy them exactly, of course, but you’ll be surprised how much it helps to see how someone else did it. Especially if you disagree with them. The next thing you know, you’ll be saying, “I would have done it this way,” and then bam! You have your story idea.

Another kind of block is when you can’t seem to sit down and write. I don’t often have that problem, so I’m perhaps not the best person to ask for how to “un-stick” it, but I will say this: don’t spend three hours staring at a blank page trying to think of the perfect way to phrase one sentence. Keep going. You will think of it later, and you have a whole book to get to in the meanwhile. Write a basic outline of what you’re trying to say and some ideas for how to say it in brackets and then move on. I promise, nine times out of ten, when you come back to edit that chapter later, you’ll think of what you want to say.

Excerpt

Zack checked the time and cursed under his breath. He was three minutes late. In any other industry it wouldn’t matter, but in the world of phone sex, time literally translated to money.

Zack snatched up his phone and dialed the number for the call center. From there, the operators would redirect him to the client, which kept the call anonymous on both ends. As the lines clicked over, Zack mentally prepared himself for another bout of unimaginative sex.

On the second ring, a male voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Zack said, lowering his voice to a smooth rumble. “My name’s Wesley. I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” Zack rolled his eyes at the company tagline, as he always did. He understood the purpose of it, of course. It wasn’t like he could just come out and say, Hi, did someone order some phone sex? but he wished Colette had chosen something less corny.

Zack continued, “What’s your name?”

“John,” the man answered.

Zack almost laughed. Of all the fake names to use with a sex worker—and the names were always fake—John was certainly appropriate.

“Tell me about yourself, Wesley.”

Zack opened his desk drawer and pulled out a memo with his fake information written on it. He pretty much had it memorized, but he liked to have it out for quick reference just in case something tripped him up.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, just to be coy.

“The usual,” John replied. “Where did you grow up? What are your hobbies? What are your deepest, darkest secrets?” John laughed, a low vibration on the other end of the line, and Zack’s skin prickled. It occurred to him that John had a sexy voice: deep and reverberant like the purr of an engine.

Zack switched the receiver to his other ear and leaned forward, getting into character. “I’ve lived in LA my whole life. I love everything about the city: the noise, the people, how alive it feels even in the dead of night. I play guitar in a band in my free time. We book gigs in local dive bars sometimes, but for the most part we play for fun.” Everything he’d said was partially true. Zack did play guitar, and he’d always lived in LA, but he’d never been in a band. He liked this particular persona. It was easy to remember and the perfect mixture of Boy Next Door and Rock Star.

John seemed to like it as well. He made a sound under his breath that was halfway between a moan and a sigh. Zack’s body warmed in response.

“As for my deep, dark secrets,” Zack said, “you’ll have to find those out for yourself.”

“I look forward to it. So, Wesley, do you have a last name?”

Zack froze. Shit. No one had ever asked him that before. He quickly racked his brain, and a moment later a bit of a poem he’d read during his one year of college popped into his head.

“Darkling,” he answered. “My name is Wesley Darkling.”

John moaned again, and the hair on the nape of Zack’s neck stood up. Fuck, why was that so hot? Maybe this was going to be interesting after all.

“Wesley Darkling,” John repeated, like he was tasting it. “That’s quite a name. It goes perfectly with that sexy voice of yours.”

Zack licked his lips. Why did he feel like he was the one being seduced?

“Thanks,” he said for lack of anything better. He made a note of his new fake last name on his memo before continuing, “Allow me to return the compliment. With a voice like yours, you could put me out of a job.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The line crackled with rustling fabric. A pillow being fluffed? Zack pictured John reclining on top of a large, luxurious bed. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? I want you to talk to me, Wesley. Tell me what you like for men to do to you, or what you like to do to yourself.”

Zack smirked. He only ever got such benign requests from first-timers. John seemed a lot less intimidating now that he’d shown his hand.

“I like to take my time,” he drawled, falling easily into his usual routine. He’d perfected the art of talking slowly enough to drag out the call but not so slowly that the client caught on. “And I like to be very thorough. I always start with kissing, and sometimes I’ll spend hours on just that. I’ve heard it said that you can tell everything you need to know about a man from his car and how he treats waiters, but there’s a much better way.”

“Oh?” John asked. “What’s that?”

“Betty Everett had it right: everything you need to know is in his kiss. Does he start out with slow, light kisses or shove his tongue down your throat? Is he desperate and messy, or do you have to coax him into it? Does he like to be in control, or would he rather someone pushed him up against the nearest flat surface and took what they wanted?” Zack paused for effect and all but breathed, “I bet you like to be pinned down and kissed until you can’t think straight.”

There was a beat of absolute silence. Then John made a sweet, languid sound like honey dripping from his lips. This time, Zack didn’t even try to suppress the arousal that pulsed through him. He could listen to John moan like that for hours.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” John said. He seemed a little unsteady, and his breathing had quickened. “Keep talking. Tell me what you’d do next.”

Zack heard a pop followed by a squirt. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say John had just opened a bottle of lube. Or he was shampooing his hair, but that seemed less likely. Zack knew what was coming next from experience, but that didn’t lessen the anticipation. An image of a generic attractive man jerking off floated through his mind. He held his breath and listened. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a slick fist moving rhythmically. Even if he weren’t a PSO, he’d recognize that from his teenage years alone, and it had no business being as hot as it was.

“I’d kiss you until you were weak and pliant against me,” Zack continued. “I’d start out slow and then deepen the kiss until the taste of me filled your mouth. I wouldn’t stop until you were a quivering mess, begging me to touch you. I’d start to remove your clothes. What are you wearing?” Zack knew it was a cliché, but he had to ask so he didn’t describe the wrong thing and ruin the fantasy.

“Button-down shirt and jeans.” It sounded like John was answering through gritted teeth.

“I’d work on your shirt first,” Zack said, keeping his voice low and velvety. “I’d pop the buttons open one by one and stop to touch every inch of skin as it was revealed. Once I’d undone enough of them, I’d play with your nipples.”

John blurted out, “Calluses.”

Zack hesitated. “What?”

“You said you play guitar,” John murmured. “You must have calluses on your fingers from the strings. I bet they feel amazing.”

Zack blinked. He’d never thought about it like that, but John was right. Zack did have calluses from pressing on the fretboard. He’d have to keep that in mind the next time he masturbated.

“Is that what you want me to do to you, John?” Zack moaned. “Wrap my hand around you and stroke you with my rough skin? Most of my calluses are on my fingertips. What if I dragged them up your length? It would be just a little too much, almost too intense, but you would love it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, please, so good,” John whimpered.

Zack’s jeans were suddenly much too tight. With supreme effort, he forced himself not to squirm. Perhaps John wasn’t a first-timer after all.

“John, you’re so hot.” For once, he meant it. “You love it when it’s rough, don’t you? I bet you love to push your boundaries when you touch yourself: too fast, too hard, squeeze just a bit too much until you’re right on the edge between pleasure and pain.”

“Yes—God yes,” John stammered. “Do you?”

Zack grunted in affirmation. “Sometimes I don’t use enough lube on purpose so I can get that extra friction, and fuck, it almost hurts, but I come so hard every time.”

John made a helpless noise, and Zack’s cock throbbed in response.

Before he could say anything more, John breathed, “Jesus, I love your voice. It’s like it’s touching me, resonating against my skin. Please don’t stop. I’m close. I want to come to the sound of your voice. I want to burn it into my memory so I can still hear it for days after.”

“Oh shit, yes,” Zack blurted out before he could stop himself. “I want that too.” Desire, sharp and raw, flooded into him unchecked.

John seemed like he was about to fall apart. “Keep talking, Wesley. I’m so close.”

Zack couldn’t hold back anymore. He let himself get immersed in the fantasy. “Jesus, John, I’m so hard right now. I want to hear you come. I need to hear you come undone. I’m going to think about you when I’m lying in bed tonight. I’m going to remember all the little, needy noises you make, and I’m going to fuck my own fist until I come so hard I can’t move.” It wasn’t the first time Zack had said something like this to a client, but it was definitely the first time he’d meant it. “Christ, John, come for me, please.”

A second later, John made a ragged noise, like pleasure was being torn from his lips. Need spiked into Zack so intensely he had to bite his lip to distract himself. The knowledge that John was orgasming right now was almost unbearably hot. After a few seconds, the line filled with John’s labored breathing.

Zack fell silent. He was turned on to the point of discomfort, and despite John’s heavy breathing, he was pretty sure there was no oxygen left on Earth. He didn’t usually get hard on the job, let alone straining-in-his-jeans hard. The temptation to palm himself through the denim was almost too much. No matter how badly he wanted relief, however, he had a job to finish.

John’s breathing had quieted, which meant Zack needed to speak before things got awkward. He cast about for something appropriate to say. All his usual contrived good-byes seemed cheap, considering how genuine their session had been. But what else could he say? Thank you? Please call back soon? Was it good for you too?

He’d just settled on a simple compliment—Hey, man, that was fun. Let’s do it again sometime—when he heard a distinct click, followed by dead air.

It took Zack’s arousal-laden brain a moment to process what that meant.

John had hung up. Without saying good-bye.

Zack pulled the receiver away from his ear and looked blankly at it, as if expecting it to explain itself. After a solid thirty seconds, he placed it back in its cradle.

He stared at it for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to his clock.

He and John had been on the phone for eighteen minutes.

Read more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/hotline (just click the excerpt tab)

About Quinn

Quinn Anderson is an alumna of the University of Dublin in Ireland and has a master’s degree in psychology. She wrote her dissertation on sexuality in popular literature and continues to explore evolving themes in erotica in her professional life.

A nerd extraordinaire, she was raised on an unhealthy diet of video games, anime, pop culture, and comics from infancy. She stays true to her nerd roots in writing and in life and frequently draws inspiration from her many fandoms, which include Sherlock, Harry Potter, Supernatural, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Buffy, Marvel, and more. You will often find her interacting with fellow fans online and offline via conventions and tumblr, and she is happy to talk about anything from nerd life to writing tips. She has attended conventions on three separate continents and now considers herself a career geek. She advises anyone who attends pop culture events in the UK to watch out for Weeping Angels, as they are everywhere.

Her favorite television show is Avatar: the Last Airbender, her favorite film is Tangled, and her favorite book is Ella Enchanted. She can often be spotted at conventions, comic shops, and midnight book releases. If you’re at an event, and you see a 6’2” redhead wandering around with a vague look on her face, that’s probably her. Her favorite authors include J.K. Rowling, Gail Carson Levine, Libba Bray, and Tamora Pierce. When she’s not writing, she enjoys traveling, cooking, spending too much time on the internet, screwing the rules, finding the Master Sword, guided falling, consulting for the NYPD, guarding the galaxy, boldly going, and catching ’em all.

Connect with Quinn:

• Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorQuinnAnderson/
• Tumblr: quinnandersonwrites

Giveaway!

To celebrate the release of Hotline, one lucky winner will receive $10 in Riptide credit! 

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