Today the Book Ninjas are spotlighting A Thin Line Between Love and Lust by C E Long!
Dominique- Louisiana’s most devastating natural disaster tore Dominique from her loved ones. She moved to California to escape the memories and forget the pain. With top-notch looks and a keen business sense, she has all the tools to get what she wants out of life. But the loss she suffered might have crippled her from seeking the one thing she needs most, love.
Angela- A single mother of two young boys, Angela’s overwhelmed with responsibilities. After divorcing a husband who chose the streets over his family, she’s ready to experience life in new ways. When she meets Prince, she sees the opportunity to test her fresh independence. When emotions get involved, will she settle for the fling and move on, independence intact, or allow herself to depend on others for once.
Nyla- Young and strong, yet tender of heart, Nyla jumped into adulthood with both feet. She’s driven by passion and courage, while still hindered by innocence and fear. All men have an agenda. They want the same thing. She quit them all until she met Prince. She didn’t know what he had going on. Something so uncommon can’t be safe. Can she see herself diving into something so bizarre, or has her experiences already left her too jaded to explore the unknown?
Prince- All his life girls thought his friendship was too valuable to risk losing by having sex with him. Tired of being stuck in the friend zone, he thought leaving Mr. Nice Guy behind would be the answer to all his problems. But after meeting Dominique... and Angela... and Nyla, his idea of who he’s supposed to be changes. What he comes to find will challenge our expectations, question the rules of love, and redefine the cliché of Happily Ever After...
Questions From the Ninjas
People wonder if we ninjas are hiding a blush under our masks—something we 100% deny! But it makes us curious--what as an author is the most blush-worthy thing that's ever happened to you?
Talent shows as a kid. I would be flush red, hot, and sweating the entire time.
Ninjas must train in all sorts of things--one of us (who will go unnamed) is even a ninja at decorating cakes. What's your secret ninja skill?
Similar to decorating cakes, I have a secret fetish for HGTV. I even took a couple interior design and architecture classes in college to explore it. I'm all about that Feng Shui.
Do you have any ninja writing tricks you can share with our readers?
Nope, none. I just wait for it. This is how my writing goes... I do EVERYTHING ELSE but write and wait for that moment until I can do NOTHING ELSE but write. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, I’m nourished by coffee and cigarettes. I do nothing but write until the wee hours of the morning until the sun comes up. Then I have to consciously force myself to eat a meal and pass out. Then I wake up and do it all again, having far too much in my mind that needs to come out to sleep any longer than 2 or 3 hours. I repeat this daily until all that inspiration is spent, then I wait for it to happen again. Could last days, could last weeks, could last months, and the wait in between is the same. I know… this all sounds very unhealthy and draining, but it’s the greatest feeling I know in this life when it happens.
She quickly turned from an innocent little girl playing in her ice cream to an experienced grown woman looking for something else to play with.
I couldn’t help it. I blushed. I hid my face by bending down to kiss her hand. Her skin was baby soft and my lips became glued to it at once. I lingered for a long time, felt electricity traveling through me that kept me magnetized to the back of her hand.
After a long while, I finally pulled my lips away. In my mind, it looked different. It held a new glow. I worshipped its radiance, turning her hand over in mine to appreciate it from different angles.
“Damn,” she said, snapping me out of my reverence. She sounded like she just realized how much I was in awe of her, and she was in awe of that. “Why you so different?” she asked while analyzing me with her eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m just me. Why are you?”
“I don’t know. I’m just me.” She taunted back.
“And today we’re us,” I said, interlocking our fingers.
“Hmm” she breathed in agreement, joining me in sliding our fingers back and forth between each other.
I kissed her hand again, planting tiny pecks along each finger and her fingertips. Between each one, I pulled away and looked at the spot I left to see if I changed it. As if each kiss was true loves and every spot would awaken like Snow White being kissed by her prince.
I felt something rub against me under the table. The touch crawled up my leg and landed in my lap. I looked down and saw she’d kicked off her sandals. The side of her foot was rubbing against my crotch and bringing me to full attention.
Since we were in a corner, I turned my chair to block her flirtatious experiment from voyeurs. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her foot out towards me and rubbing harder against my crotch. She watched me with no effort to hide what she was thinking about.
I reached toward her from underneath the table, letting my hand travel up her leg and reach between her thighs. She sank down in her seat, trying to get her body close enough for me to touch her wetness, but the table kept us too far apart.
“You should stop,” she whispered.
“Why?” I looked up from her hand.
“Because I might do something to you,” she said with flirty but grave seriousness.
“There’s nothing you could do to me I wouldn’t like.”
“Is that right?” she challenged. “Je peux donner une bonne pipe. Tu mourrais.”
“Oh, you speak French for real? What does that mean?”