Author T.P. Miller~Guest Post~A Woman Scorned.

Author T.P. Miller will be taking over my blog today. Please welcome her with loving arms…

TPMillerAuthorPicHello, everyone! I’m T.P. Miller and usually I would be coming to you and letting you all read my newest paranormal fiction, but tonight…TONIGHT…I’m going to be letting you read another side of T.P.  as a writer. Tonight, you’re going to get the chance to read a bit of my erotic short story, A Woman Scorned.

Think back to a time when a man has done you wrong, twisted your world and threw it all away for just a cheap thrill. That is what Zena is going through when she finds out that her boyfriend is cheating on her.

So sit back, get comfy and get ready for the hot and steamy world of A Woman Scorned…

~*A Woman Scorned*~

I looked at the clock that sat on the side of my bed. It was almost three in the morning and Malik wasn’t back yet. I was done. His cheating ass couls stay under the ho he just climbed from under. My fingers clenched together into fists as I imagined taking them and punching him in the face. Oh well. That’s what you get.

I watched the lights of the Vegas strip illuminate the rest of the city as I lay stretched across the bed. My curves were barely covered in the black bra and panty set that I’d stripped down to. It was still 89 degrees outside and the air conditioning was out again. I would deal with that later. The heat had me boiling hot in more ways than one.

Malik had until 3:30 to get his tired ass in this house before he found his shit spread in front of 66 Purgatory Blvd. I didn’t care. I watched the clock face change and the bead of water slowly descend the glass of ice water that I’d gotten. Forgive me. My name is Zena Hudson. I’m twenty-six and I’ve been in Vegas for six years now. I came to Vegas to find my chance at dancing. I ended up becoming a bartender at the Luxor casino. That’s where I met Malik. That’s where I’ve been for our two year relationship.

Just as I was about to grab his shit, I heard the front door open. The bedroom door was next and the man that I thought I loved stood in the doorway.

“Baby, what are you doing?”

“I’m packing your shit.” I say as I grab another duffle bag and start tossing underwear in.

“Why? Baby, what’s wrong?” He tried to walk up to me and grab me but I moved away.

“Since you want to stay out with nasty ass hos all night, you can stay with them bitches. Get the hell outta my house.”

He did the exact opposite. He took the bag I was holding and walked over to the bed, putting the bag by the bed.

“I haven’t been cheating on you.”

“Really? Then where have you been since,” I looked at the clock, “3:28 in the morning?”

“I was hanging with the guys.” He sat back a little and looked at me.

“I’m not stupid, Malik!” I could feel my nails dig into my palms as I yelled. “I’m not some stupid chick that just met you. Your ass has been out with some cheap trick.” I turned back to the bag and started throwing stuff back in. “And you want to come in here and act like the shit is all cool. Nah, it ain’t gonna happen.”

“Zena, I’m…I…” he stuttered. That’s how I knew his trifling ass was guilty.

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Was she any good?”

“Zena, baby. Come on. You know I-“

“Was she any good,Malik?” I yelled.

I was a big girl. I could take it if the tramp was better. Even though I knew that she wasn’t. Malik grew silent, making me turn around.

“Well? You gonna sit and look stupid or are you gonna answer? I ain’t got all night?” I threw the bag at him as hard as I could. It hit him in the shoulder and fell to the floor.

“No. No, she wasn’t better.”

I slapped him. I slapped him as hard as I could and it felt good.

He grabbed his cheek where his chestnut colored skin was reddening from my hit. I didn’t care. All I saw was red. His six foot body towered over my five eight frame but I pushed him on the bed as hard as I could. He looked at me like I was crazy. He didn’t know how to react or if he should worried that I was going to kill him. Good.

“Since you want to stick your shit in every bitch you see, I’mma show you want you’re going to be missing when I put your ass out.” I sat on top of him, still watching him in the glow of the neon light. Neither of us said a word. Just when I thought that enough time had gone by, I slapped his other cheek. It wasn’t as hard as the first one, but it got the reaction I wanted.

“Zena, you gon’ stop slappin’—“ he stopped because I slapped the shit out of him again.

“Shut up.” I started taking off the wife beater that he wore. I laughed at the irony that I was the one beating his ass right now. I tossed the sweat soaked fabric to the floor. I had to admit. Malik always made me hot and nothing changed even though I was pissed.

“So, who was she?” I asked as I pulled at the buckle of his belt.

“Come on, Zena. Don’t do this.” He said as I pushed him back on the bed.

“I asked you a question.” I said as I continued working on his belt. As much as I hated him right now, I needed him. One more time I needed to get him out of my system. I let go of his belt and leaned over him. My face was inches from his cause I wanted him to look me in the eye. When he didn’t say anything I started to kiss him on the neck, something I knew would melt him. My lips on the sensitive skin of his neck and come out that sounded something between a grunt and a moan. The harder I sucked, the louder he seemed to get. He better enjoy what he got ‘cause he would never get this from me again. I pulled away from his neck and placed my lips on his. He brought his arms around me to hold me but I knocked them away. Tonight he’d lost all rights to this body of mine. Tonight I would torture him with what he couldn’t claim and kick him out when I was done.

I pulled my lips from his and stood up. The buckle of his pants were undone and I pulled the jeans he wore down to his ankles. The underwear that he wore were gone. Evidence that he’d gotten of them before coming back to my house. That only made me madder.

“Malik, you still ain’t answered me.” I said this while pulling the bra from my chest. My breasts bounced free, relieved to be away from their confines. The panties were next. I wanted him to see me in all my glory. Cause when his ass hit the door, that would be the last thing he would see.

“Zena, I’m sorry. I lo-“

“Shut up, Malik.” I straddled him again. “Who is the bitch? You owe me that at least.”

He sighed. He must have finally gotten the message that I was done. I could see the wheels in his mind moving, his wondering how to answer the question. I made it hard for him by kissing him. I ran my tongue from the tip of his chin to his chest. I stopped at his nipples, licking them each before tracing down to his belly button. I knew his mind was at a blank for any name right now. But before I was done, I would have one.

“Zena, let’s talk about this. I love you. You know that.”

I looked at him. “I don’t know shit. What I know is, my boyfriend decided to go fuck another bitch while I was at home waiting for him. That’s all I know. Since you want with them instead of me you can go.” He didn’t respond because I was close to the place that he wanted me to go. I made him suffer. I went everywhere besides that piece of flesh that stood up between his legs. There was no way I was rewarding him for what he’s done to me.

I sniffed his crouch as I passed it. At least he had the decency to clean it before he came home. Just shows how sneaky he really was. Even though I didn’t want this grimy negro to touch me, I let him pull me back to his face and position me over his shit. I smiled.

“Baby, we can work this out. Just know that I’m sorry.” He said this as he slid inside of me. For one brief moment, I almost believed him. The lies he told me almost made me believe him. But common sense took over. I shook my head as he continued to pump his member in me. That’s one thing I could count on. He was giving his all to make me change my mind and win me back.

I didn’t care when he sat up and stood, my legs locked around his waist and I enjoyed the ride. I looked at him and still wondered who the hell was his side chick. That though was interrupted when my back hit the wall of my apartment with enough force to knock over the pictures that lined them. My cries were loud enough to wake the dead. I still didn’t care. Nothing mattered. Cause I was in my own world of unbelievable sex and outside this world didn’t matter.

Just when everything was getting good, there was a loud knock on my door. That had to me Ms. Delilah, my landlady. She lived on the sixth floor and always stuck her nose in shit that didn’t involve her. Every time so much as a peep came out of an apartment, she was there. Was it so hard to screw my ex-boyfriend without someone butting in?

I blocked out the excessive knocking and focused on the fact that Malik had one of my chocolaty nipples in his mouth. My moans bounced around the bedroom and hit me intensifying the feelings that flooded me.

Malik pulled my legs from around from around his waist. He kissed me before turning me around and making me face the wall. I smiled to myself as I assumed the position. My favorite position. When he entered me again, it was instinct for me to push back on him. He just didn’t know. He hit all the right spots like this. I stood on my tippy toes so he could hit me just right and my hands stayed spread across the wall.

“Who was she?” I yelled at him as the tingle of an orgasm crept over me. The look on his face told me he couldn’t answer. Mouth opened and eyes rolled back, I questioned him again.

“She can’t do it like me, can she?” I said with a smile as he almost knocked my head into the wall. Again, he said nothing so I clenched my muscles, making him groan out loud again.

“Answer me. She can’t do this she like me, can she?” I was confident in what I had.

“No.” He whispered.

I threw it back at him harder this time.

“I didn’t hear you.” I smiled at his moan. “What did you say?”

“No. No, Zena. She can’t do it like you.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He grabbed ahold of my hips and pounded me as I felt that feeling again. Out moans were competing with each other for the loudest award and I was determined to make him my bitch. I used every muscle I could as I clenched my muscles together again, pulling and pushing back on him as hard as I could.

“Oh is this how you did that chick before you walked in my house? I asked through a moan. That seemed to make him mad and again, he was taking it all out on me. I could tell that that he was on the verge of losing it but I kept talking shit.

“Who was she, Malik?” I yelled as I started hearing pounding on my front door again. That damn landlady. I looked him in the eyes again. His pace had the speed of a jackhammer as the words spilled out of his mouth.

“Misha.” He huffed when he came.

A smile crossed my lips. I stood up and pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” I whispered in his ear.

Thank you for taking the time to check out  A Woman Scorned! If you’re interested in A Woman Scorned, it’s available on Kindle right now for .99.  Paranormal fans, Out for Blood: The Chosen One Has Come, my first novel will be available again for sale again this year.

T.P. Miller, a new comer to the literary game has been writing since she could remember. As a long time reader, she decided that she would start picking up her pen as just a hobby and soon decided that she wanted more. She sat down and penned her first novel, “Out for Blood: The Chosen One Has Come” was signed to Anexander Books. She’s currently Co-CEO of Kemet Books and is working on more paranormal drama . She lives in a hole somewhere in Birmingham with her husband and two kids.

Contact her:


Twitter: @vampyrequeen14

Email: OR


Facebook Fan Page:

A Woman Scorned (Amazon) :

Love it! Thanks for stopping by, T.P. Please come again soon.

What Would You Do?~Deatri King-Bey [Author] Guest Post

Author Deatri King-Bey is guest posting on my blog today about her latest romance novel, Stolen Heart:

What Would You Do?

I love the show What Would You Do. In it, everyday people witness something that should illicit a reaction. They don’t know they are being taped to see what their reaction will be. For example, they had an actress break an expensive bottle of wine in front of a customer when the manager was away. The manager comes back and the actress then blames the dropped bottle on the non-English speaking janitor (another actor). The actor is then fired! Will the customer speak up? Some did, some didn’t.

We all love to believe we would do the right thing, but that’s often easier said than done.

What would you be willing to do for the well-being of your family? Would you lie, cheat, steal, murder? Did you have the gut reaction of saying no, no, no, no to all four? Are there circumstances you can imagine where you’d step onto that slippery slope?

That’s where the heroine in my latest romance novel, Stolen Heart, finds herself. She’s done things in her past for the survival of her family. She wants to believe she’s doing the right thing, but is she? When you fall in love, do you reveal all of your past and when? Even if you’ve given up that life? What if your past comes back to haunt you?

What would you do?

Stolen Heart: Desperate times call for desperate measures!

In the midst of a desperate time, Taylor Paige reverts to a life of crime; however, the tables have turned and it’s Taylor who ends up missing a most valuable possession. She falls in love with her target, and he steals her heart.

As CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, Mike Hughes appears to be at the top of the world. In reality, he longs for something he has never had, a loving family. When Taylor Paige drops into his life he thinks his prayers have been answered, but then he discovers her extra-curricular activities and sets out to save the woman he loves from herself. The problem—she doesn’t believe she needs saving.

Purchase in the following formats: KindleNook or Print.

I’d love to discuss the dilemma Taylor finds herself in and what you would have done. I hope to hear from you after you finish reading Stolen Heart. Visit me online at

Thank you for guest posting, Dee! I like the show What Would You Do?, so naturally, Stolen Heart seems like an interesting read. I wish you much success in your writing career.

Age Ain’t Nothing But A Number.

I’ve mentioned that I didn’t write SHAMEFUL with the intent to advocate for, promote, or encourage infidelity or statutory rape. You can read where I previously addressed this accusation here. It is merely entertainment for those who find it entertaining. An escape for those interested in living vicariously through fictional characters without experiencing the consequences of their actions.

Today, I’ve opened my blog to Houston family law attorney, Tasha Wilson, to discuss her take on statutory rape. I think she does the subject justice considering she is one of my beta readers and deals with family legal issues on a regular basis. This is what she had to say:

Age Ain’t Nothing But A Number. Really?

The phrase statutory rape is a term used in some jurisdictions to describe sexual contact where one person is below the age required to legally consent to the sexual act. It generally refers to sex between an adult and a minor past the age of puberty. Statutory rape is different from forcible rape in that overt force or threat need not be present. The laws presume coercion, because a minor is legally incapable of giving consent to the act.

In Texas, it is illegal to have sexual contact with a person under the age of 17 years of age. The defense to sex with a minor is that the alleged perpetrator is not more than three years older than the alleged victim and the alleged victim must be 14 years or older. In other words, it is not illegal for a 19 year old girl to have sex with a 16 year old boy, but it is illegal for a 20 year old woman to have sex with a 16 year old boy.
Now that I’ve gotten all the legal jargon out of the way, I want to get to the meat of the issue…sex with minors! Just typing the words makes me feel uneasy. 

But why? Is it because America has told me that it is wrong for an adult to have sex with a minor? Is it the instinctive desire to be a protector and mother-like/father-like figure to the young and less experienced? Had I grown up in a different part of the world, I am sure my thought process would be different. In some cultures, it is not uncommon for a man to marry a much younger woman or girl. This is sometimes due to importance placed upon female virginity, the inability of women to earn a living outside of the home, and to women’s shorter reproductive life period relative to men’s.  In any event, being born and raised in the USA has shaped me into a person that knows and feels that an adult having sex with a minor is just SHAMEFUL.

In the novel “Shameful” author Dicey Grenor captures the essence of the American thought pattern when her main character Joanne internally defends age of consent laws during a somewhat heated family discussion saying, “Chad had to understand kids were impressionable. Our laws protected us, helped us peaceably co-exist. Age of consent laws protected children who may be exploited by adults. If Chad got them thinking everything was culturally-defined, they’d start questioning all authority, missing the point of our legal system. It was our job as parents to help them understand the difference between right and wrong. Some things were right because they were legal. Other things were wrong because they were illegal. Doing illegal things made the acts wrong.”

Joanne thinks like most of America. The age of consent laws were established to protect the predator from preying on the young and unsuspecting. With the recent Penn State child abuse scandal, it is clear that the old prey on the young and poor. With the experience, power, prestige, and manipulation that some adults possess, gullible minors can be easily targeted and taken advantage of. One victim’s mom stated that the boy could not tell the Coach Jerry Sandusky “no” to sex.

So, is age just a number? It depends. If a 21 year old wants to marry a 40 year old, then it should be their prerogative. But if a 21 year old wants to marry a 12 year old, then that is shameful and the law needs to step in. The only thing a 21 year old may have in common with a 40 year old is sex, but at 21, a person should have the experience and savvy to make informed decisions.

There has to be a line drawn in the sand to protect minors from adults. Texas hits the nail on the head by making that age 17. Some may argue the age of consent should be lowered since minors are making grown-up decisions daily by being sexually active and having children. Others argue that the age should be raised to 21. Regardless, we as adults have to do everything possible to protect the youth of today. I cannot argue against the fact that experience is the best teacher and there’s not an ample substitute; however, to allow minors to “learn the hard way” is foolish and our nation suffers the cost.

If you’re looking for a dedicated family law attorney in Harris, Fort Bend, Brazoria or surrounding Texas counties, check out Tasha’s website or her Facebook page for more information.

If you’ve read SHAMEFUL, have a strong opinion about it, and would like to express your thoughts, leave a comment. All opinions are welcomed.

Real Life Paranormal Activity.

I find the fantasy fiction genre fun and exciting because I get to stretch the limits of my imagination. Incidentally, I’ve found that I have no limits…but that’s another story for another day.

My point is–the paranormal elements I write about originate from my brain. Right off the top of my head. But my brain is stimulated by outside forces. Environmental influences. Conscious and subconscious input…and real life experiences.

Now, where was I going with that… Ah, yes. Paranormal activity. We’ve probably all encountered something we couldn’t explain with science. Or thought we saw someone standing in the corner when there was really no one there. Or maybe we’ve had a dream that actually came true.

While I have yet to meet a vampire (keeping hope alive) or ghost or goblin or angel (not that I know of), I have to say I believe both friendly and unfriendly spirits walk among us. The unexplainable happens. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, even dreamt events before they occurred.

But enough about me. I read and write the stuff. Maybe that makes me more prone to belief. There’s a chicken or egg debate in there somewhere, but let’s get on to more important things…

I wanted to know whether someone, who didn’t usually write or read paranormal/ fantasy books, believed in real life paranormal activity.

Today, I have an answer from CJ Johnson (copywriter, ghostwriter, researcher, and blogger):

“New Orleans is an experience. It always begins with the tingling that makes its way down my spine, every time that I step foot on its soil. That tingling, the warmth, the sense of unsettled harmony from our past. It just creeps up on me and then past me in all of seconds, and then again, until I just accept it and embrace it. For me that tingling is just not the physical and emotional joy of vacationing. It’s the metaphysical. I symbol it to mean that “we” welcome you, “we” being those from another time. I know that all of this country, the world even, has its pockets of mysticism, but New Orleans is its own world, in of itself. It has a history that’s complex and mixed. Its people are born from those hailing from the Caribbean, France, Canada, Africa, and Spain. And up until today, a lot of Shit has went down (pardon my French) in regards to New Orleans history.

It is no wonder that the paranormal can be accepted, and almost expected in such a city. It is the largest city in the United States where one can visit a plantation. I mean can you imagine the sense of unsettledness there? So many people from today traipsing around on quarters that should be closed chapters of our historic fabric. In my opinion those spirits just travel the city, roaming, and in their subtle way letting each passerby and resident know that we are all just “visitors” in their world.

One of my favorite books is, The Feast of All Saints, by Ann Rice, and she writes with clarity on the lives of the Creoles of color in New Orleans in the early 19th century. Those Creoles have maintained a haunted existence and their legacy is spirit filled. The paranormal in New Orleans, is not from just the ordinary, it’s not “Ghost Busters” or other cheesy Hollywood dreamed of notions of the paranormal. It is very real and unfortunately derived from sorrow, miscegenation, and broken promises. But is also real because it celebrates a city with a long history of people that are resilient, unbroken, and authentic. All of that culminates to a city bursting with people from times past laying claim to their city. The paranormal of New Orleans is dreamy but real, nuanced but arresting. I can’t quite describe it, but its real, its here to stay, and it’s their world, and the city’s Grandfathers will never let anyone forget just how much the city is their own. So the tingling down my back will never cease when I visit New Orleans, and I am sure each of us can claim a little truth in the same sentiment.

How does New Orleans put you in a paranormal state of mind?”

A-ha! So I’m really not crazy.

Leave a comment. And if you missed her interview with me, check it out here.