Naughty Wishes Part II: Heart
by Joey W. Hill

The award-winning author of Naughty Bits returns
for the second installment of Naughty Wishes as a
daring woman invites a man she loves to make the next move
in a bold and sensual game for three players.

Samantha and her roommates Geoff and Chris have always loved
each other. But Sam’s always wanted to turn their
casual intimacy into something more. And she wants it from
both men. When Sam took Geoff to the Naughty Bits erotica
shop, she realized his dominant desires were just as strong
as her submissive fantasies—if not stronger. But for
Sam, being claimed by just one of the men she loves
isn’t enough.

Now it’s time for Sam to draw Chris in, and convince
him that her master/sub relationship with Geoff
doesn’t exclude him. Far from it, in fact. When Chris
finally sheds his inhibitions, the possibilities between the
three of them go farther than she ever expected. Because
Chris’s sexual nature is so overwhelming and
unpredictable that he is more than prepared to take their
game in an unexpected new direction.

Includes a teaser for Naughty Wishes III: Mind

Joey W. Hill's Bio

I've always had an aversion to reading, watching or hearing interviews of favorite actors, authors, musicians, etc. because so often the real person doesn't measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their politics or religion are distasteful, or they're shallow and self-absorbed, a vacuous mop-head without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate their craft or art, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, whenever I'm asked to provide personal information about myself for readers, a ball of anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: "Okay, the next couple of paragraphs can change forever the way someone views my stories." Why on earth does a reader want to know about me? It's the story that's important.

So here it is. I've been given more blessings in my life than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I'm a Type A, borderline obsessive-compulsive paranoiac who worries I will never live up to expectations. I've got more phobias than anyone (including myself) has patience to read about. I can't stand talking on the phone, I dread social commitments, and the idea of living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books and writing is as close an idea to paradise as I can imagine. I love chocolate, but with that deeply ingrained, irrational female belief that weight equals worth, I manage to keep it down to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I'm told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never ending "to do" list to snatch a few minutes to write.

Despite all these mediocre and typical qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out of my soul with stories to tell. When I manage to find enough time to write, sufficient enough that the precious "stillness" required rises up and calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear what they are saying, what they're feeling, and put it down on paper. It's a magic beyond description, akin to truly believing my husband loves me, winning the trust of an animal who has known only fear or apathy, making a true connection with someone, or knowing for certain I've given a reader a moment of magic through those written words. It's a magic that reassures me there is Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.

If only I could finish that darned "to do" list.

I welcome feedback from readers—actually, I thrive on it like a vampire, whether it's good or bad. So feel free to visit me through my website.