Asides

November is a huge month. Breaking Dawn comes out in 9 days, I’m speaking at Camp Mighty next week, Thanksgiving is coming up, something random I feel like I am forgetting happened yesterday… oh and books from authors I would positively devour should I find them covered in chocolate, dipped in batter, and fried will be released, and I was very, very lucky to get my hands on them.

For weeks you’ve been hearing me rave about Tiffany Reisz and her two novels, The Siren and The Angel. Both of them were brilliantly written and thoroughly addicting, and by the end of Angel, I was salivating to see where everything was going.

Then, The Prince happened, and everything changed in a wonderfully dramatic way. We see Nora with Wes in Kentucky, and Soren and Kingsley back at home, and I thought all that would make me happy, but it’s not that easy. History begins to seep out, and then I’m starting to have…I don’t know…emotions.

I think that happens with series like these. In the first book, everyone is shiny and new, but as things go on, life makes them darker, more raw, and you’re suddenly deeply invested in these twisted pieces of novel.

While The Prince was every bit as addicting as the first two books, I love it in an entirely separate way. First of all, it’s written completely different. Three realities happening at the same time, each chapter bringing a different timeline, like the Matrix but with more sodomy. And finally, all those moments that had me going WHAT THE FUCK in the first two books, suddenly begin make sense.

No spoilers, but by the end, my mouth was hanging open and I audibly screamed… which is weird because four seconds before it ended, I was swooning. The Prince comes out November 20th. You can pre-order it by clicking here (AND I CANNOT SUGGEST YOU BUY THIS ENOUGH).

And once you read it, let me know, I’m dying to chat about it!

Advance copy courtesy Net Galley

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What’s that, God? The next season of Louis is being delayed?

That’s okay, because guess who hosted Saturday Night Live last night!?

Oh, you stopped watching it when Tina Fey left? I know, and the Obama impersonator is really rough this year, however…

If someone had told me, Brittany, one day you are going to be really attracted to a tall balding ginger man, with freckles on his arms and an obsession with black, I’d have been like, duh.

Louis C.K. on SNL means that it only 30% sucked. I mean, it probably sucked harder, but I refuse to let them ruin him. I didn’t even fast forward through the musical act.

This week:

Cool Shit I saw Online This Week:

OMG somebody make one of these for me!


Fact.
(The Worst Witch)

Next year, Gibbons. Next year.


This is my brother in law, Jason. Jason lives in New Jersey, and everytime I go to NYC, we meet for sushi, wine and chats in Times Square. He’s hilarious, kind, brilliant, dubbed the best uncle ever, and like millions and millions, was left trapped without power, gas, and heat by Hurricane Sandy. Donations, blood, good thoughts, they need it all. If you are interested in helping monestarily, the Red Cross has made it a cinch to help by simply texting the word REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation.

To keep up with everything I love, I suggest joining me on Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, and follow me throughout the day on Instagram @BrittanyHerself!

 

 

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The lovely ladies of Not Your Mother’s Podcast: Alice Clayton, Keili Lefkovitz, Ashley Iglehart; recently asked me to be on their show, along with Ryan McPherson, the hottie who sang at Alec Baldwin’s most recent wedding, so naturally, I said OF COURSE OMG WHAT DID ALEC SMELL LIKE IN REAL LIFE, DID HE LOOK REALLY IN LOVE, OR WOULD HE MAKE OUT WITH ME IF HE WAS DRUNK ENOUGH!?

The episode, When You’re Sliding Into First (yeah, you can already tell how hilarious this is going to be, right!?), is now live and can be found by clicking here.

 

Leave a comment!

You know, there are benefits to being good friends with your favorite erotic humorist. I mean, besides the late night texts when you’re playing Porn Scattergories and you need a name for penis that starts with a T.

She also gives me full access to all the juicy bonus and cutting room floor scenes my libido can handle. If you haven’t read her first two books, The Unidentified Redhead and The Redhead Revealed, I encourage you to stop what you’re doing and devour them right now (Check out my reviews here).

Now, for an extra steamy Halloween treat, Alice Clayton is giving you all a Jack and Grace short story to tide you over until her next book, Wallbanger, drops next month, and the third Redhead book finally comes along this spring. Enjoy!

Hey Nuts Girls! It’s Halloween, and Jack’s got some candy for you. And my favorite Nuts Girl Brittany here was kind enough to host these two crazy kids, she was hungry for some George love so I made sure to keep her happy. And in turn Andy happy too!

Here’s an outtake from The Redhead Series. It’s sexy, it’s steamy, of course it’s a little silly. So fire up the convertible and let’s head into the hills for Halloween, Jack and Grace style…

Alice

xoxo

“Get your face down there.”

“Don’t push me. I’ll do it when I’m good and ready.”

“You’re stalling. Get in there and give me a good one.”

“When did you get so bossy?”

“When I’m being denied what I want. Now get down there and get wet,” I insisted, pushing his face lower and holding it there.

He raised an eyebrow in my direction. “What do I get if I do this?”

“Whatever you want, George. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Nuts Girl. You know I will.”

“Hold this.” I laughed, tangling my fingers in his hair and nudging him farther down. He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes once more in my general direction, and went for it.

Cellphone cameras flashed, and girls squealed as the sexiest man on the planet bobbed for motherloving apples.

Underwater for only seconds, he came splashing back up, squeezing an apple between his teeth. Holly and I applauded his efforts as he took the towel someone handed him and presented the apple to me like a trophy.

“I can’t believe you got him to bob for apples! You know I put this out merely as decoration!” Holly exclaimed.

He shook out his hair, shaggy-dog style, and the gathered crowd laughed. He was much more adjusted to the limelight than he’d been when we first met. But he still didn’t like it.

“Please, he’s under the oonie spell. I can get anything I want right about now.” I giggled as he turned to me, Heineken in hand.

I had my George home with me for exactly three nights—three nights in which to rock his world and screw him senseless. I planned on doing just that.

He’d gotten home the night before, and we didn’t even make it past the foyer. I was plowed in the entryway, ruining the home-cooked meal I’d made for him. And by “ruining” I mean: Who the hell cares? I got plowed in the entryway! We ordered Chinese, and I indulged him by scratching his head as if he were a cat for about an hour. He loved it. That was his second-favorite thing about coming home. Boobies being the first and foremost.

You might think a couple maintaining a long-distance romance wouldn’t want to leave the house for anything. But when Holly told us of her plans for a Halloween party, we couldn’t say no. Or rather, I didn’t allow him to say no.

I’d broached the subject on the phone several weeks ago. He put up a good fight.

“Grace, seriously? Am I the type of guy who enjoys dressing up in costume?”

“Come on, Sweet Nuts. Don’t you fancy a little role playing?”

“Fancy? Am I rubbing off on you?”

“Eh, rub this. I just thought it might be fun to go as something together, that’s all.”

This took some convincing, and quite a bit of negotiation. After several heated arguments, and a rather tense moment in which we almost went as Siegfried and Roy, we decided on something Old Hollywood. Classic. Way cool…

We were James Dean and Natalie Wood, Rebel Without a Cause.

When he came out of the bedroom, it was all I could do to not push him back inside and chain him to the bed. It was stupid how good he looked: Jeans cuffed and rolled over black boots, white T-shirt, red jacket, hair pomped up. Cigarette dangling artfully from his lips, attitude casually cool and detached.

I had to force myself into the car and away from the vibes he was throwing at me.

As for me, I wore a full skirt and pumps, hair flipped under, and cone-shaped boobs (thanks to a vintage lingerie shop). I knew he was trying hard not to imagine what I might or might not have on underneath.

So here we were, perched high in the hills above Hollywood at a Halloween costume party, which was great, as Holly’s always are. Jack ‘o’ lanterns lit the pathway to the house, floating votives made the pool luminous, and creepy music mixed with sexy was piped in every room. Our friends were there, the bar was open, and as Jack relaxed and cocktailed a bit, he got increasingly adventurous. His hands began to roam, and while we were careful as always about showing too much affection around a crowd, at one point James Dean had his Natalie Wood cornered by the bar—pushed up against the wall as he whispered the most delicious things in her ear. Always in the Queen’s English, which should be classified as a deadly weapon. That mouth with that voice and that accent? Illegal.

I managed to contain and maintain, then took a break from the grabby hands while catching up on girl talk with Holly in her kitchen.

“No, no, pumpkin beignets are passed after the hot toddies. Now march.” She laughed as she sent a waiter back out for another round of treats.

“Jesus, this garter is killing me. How the hell did women wear these every day?” I grimaced, lifting my skirt and placing my heel high up on the chair. I leaned down to adjust the offending item, when I heard someone coming.

“Grace you in here?” George called, and he’d rounded the corner before I had a chance to drop the skirt back down. When he came in, my entire leg was exposed, as well as the black lace garter set I’d worn for the evening. “What are you doing?” he said quietly. The eyes darkened, going dangerously green. Holly recognized that look and spun quickly, muttering something about everyone getting laid in this damn house but her.

“Hey,” I whispered, noticing that his hair was becoming unruly, fighting the gel that kept it swept into place. He looked young, and so beautiful.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at my leg.

“Part of my costume. I wanted to look the part,” I answered primly.

“But that part of your costume isn’t for anyone else to see, Grace.”

“Silly Brit, you think I wore this just for me?” I dragged my hands up my thigh and adjusted my stockings, taking care to make it showy.

I saw him clench his jaw once, then twice.

He closed the distance between us quickly. “Apologize to Holly for me tomorrow, would you, love?”

“For what?’ I asked, wide eyed and innocent.

“For leaving her party without saying goodbye,” he whispered, then dragged his tongue from my collarbone all the way behind my ear. I shivered. “Come on,” he said thickly and grabbed my wrist.

He led me out the back door, past the partygoers and loud music, past the dancing fairies and glittery vampires, to my car parked around the corner. He bundled me in quickly and raced us up the hill.

“Aren’t we headed home? Take me home, please,” I whispered, sitting on my knees on the seat and running my hands through his hair.

“Grace, sit down,” he commanded. He was so rarely forceful that I obeyed without question. His right hand left the steering wheel and came to rest on my knee, pushing my skirt up high enough to reveal my stocking. He toyed with the clasp, running his fingers around the top of the silk fabric from inner thigh to outer, never breaking contact with my skin.

Within moments we were on Mulholland, then pulled over to the side in a hidden spot that looked very familiar. He pressed a button on the dash, and the convertible top lifted away.

“Do you remember when you begged me to fuck you here, in this car, on this mountain?” he growled, lifting me suddenly from my seat and placing me on his lap, my legs on either side.

“Yes,” I breathed as he began to unbutton my wholesome little cotton cardigan.

“Get ready to beg, Grace,” he warned, licking another path across the tops of my breasts as I leaned back onto the wheel.

“Oh God,” I moaned.

Aggressive Jack was in the house.

***

She leaned back on the steering wheel, pushing her beautiful chest toward me with a smile and a moan. Her costume was making me shithouse crazy. The way she had her hair flipped, and that damn retro red lipstick? I’d wanted those lips on me all night.

When I’d gotten home the night before, I was exhausted. But as always, when I see my girl, all I can see is her. I took my Crazy on the floor just inside the door, while her dinner burned. She ordered in Chinese, fed me egg rolls, and scratched my head for a thousand years. Later we made nice sweet love in our bed. I loved my Grace. But when I saw her bending over that chair with those fucking garters—garters? Now I needed to hear her say my name.

I slid my hands up under her skirt, angling her hips toward me as they pressed down. She writhed against me. She wouldn’t take long to sort out tonight. I knew my girl, and she was halfway there already. She loved when I got a little pushy with her. My fingers danced up the inside of her thigh, and realized that she was bare beneath.

“Jesus, Grace,” I groaned as she smiled her wicked smile. I lifted her skirt and saw the black lace garter belt around her waist, with nothing beneath. My right hand went to her buttons, and her sweater popped open, revealing a black lace bra. Not overtly sexy, it was old fashioned but very, very hot. I massaged her, bringing forth moan and after moan as she lay back against the wheel, opening herself to me.

“How much do you want me, Grace?” I coaxed, her breasts now bare and heaving as she became further and further unwound. “Touch me, please. Jesus, please!” She practically whined, her hips moving in an attempt to gain friction, any friction. I brought my hands back down, circling closer to where she wanted me most. She caught my eye and began to beg.

Slipping one finger along her, I gently pushed her apart and just barely touched her where she needed me. Her breath came out in one long gasp, and she froze, not moving at all. As I grazed her once more, she drew in another breath and held it, again silent and still. As I touched her, watching closely, her hips barely rocked, and she let out the tiniest of whimpers.

She was mine.

“Beautiful,” I breathed, and with that she began to move. As I pressed my fingers against her, her hands found my shoulders and she began to ride my hand and fingers, bringing them inside her. My mouth fell open as I watched her take pleasure from me. I knew her body so well, knew her sounds and her cues. She was almost ready to orbit the planet, and I’d hardly even tried

“That. Feels. So. Amazing.” she whispered, punctuating each word with a small thrust.

Eyes closed, her head rolled back. I leaned in and took a nipple in my mouth, teasing her with my tongue and teeth and tasting her sweet skin. I felt her clench around me. She was so close.

“Please, Jack. Oh God, please,” she cried.

“What’s that, love?” I asked, pushing into her with another finger.

She hissed with pleasurable pain. “Please,” she moaned, beginning to thrash about.

“Please what?” I growled, holding her hostage with my fingers. I pressed down on her with my thumb, knowing she loved that perfect constant pressure to take her over the edge and outside her body.

“Please, please, please,” she cried, and then she came.

She came in waves around me, skin pink and glowing, mouth parted and moaning, eyes clenched shut, and thighs tight around me. She shuddered and shivered and looked like a sexy little angel. My Crazy.

Before the last wave rocked through her, I brought myself out of my jeans. Like my girl, I’d also gone commando this Halloween. She felt me beneath her, hard and insistent, and smiled through her haze.

“Gracie, you bad girl.” With a growl I pushed myself completely inside her. She gasped as I filled her. She surrounded me, encircled me, and no matter how many times I was inside this woman, her perfect warmth would never cease to amaze me. How good she felt.

“Mmm,” she moaned, and I snapped out of my reverie. I was parked on a semiprivate street in the hills, overlooking Hollywood with a half-naked redheaded Natalie Wood straddling me. Who was getting ready to screw me senseless.

Once again she braced herself against me and began to move. She rocked back and forth, slipping me in and out of her, beginning to ride another wave. I loved her multiples. She could keep going as long as I could, always with me, always coming with me over and over again.

“Fuuucckkk,” she cried in my ear, and that was it. I grabbed her hips and slammed her down hard, feet pushing against the floorboards and threatening to punch through to the gravel below. Her fantastic tits were in my face, and I licked her once more from collarbone to ear and back, nipping with my teeth as she clawed at my hair.

“Every time. Oh my God. Every. Single. Time,” she chanted lustily as her breaths changed into gasps and her hands tightened in my hair. She stared at me, wide eyed and adoring as she came again, her cries changing to screams and echoing throughout the canyon.

I came inside her violently, feeling it through my entire body—starting in my toes and fingers and flowing through me and into her. I shook as she cradled me to her, arms now tender and less frantic, fingers gentle and no longer tugging, now smoothing my hair. I breathed out, the spots fading from my eyes and replaced by a vision of Grace, lipstick smeared and eyes peaceful.

“I could not love you more,” she whispered against my neck as she squeezed me with her legs and arms and other lovely parts all at once.

“Happy Halloween, Gracie,” I whispered, and she giggled.

“Happy Halloween, George. Now let’s go home and get some candy.”

I took my girl home, and she got her candy.

P.S. As an added treat, you get the first look at the new cover for The Unidentified Redhead. Brittany thinks it looks like her. She’s obviously spot on.

Happy Halloween!
-Alice & Brittany

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I spent yesterday in a room above a busy salon with a wine glass in hand, cheering on my friend as she shaved her thinning hair from her head… again. In the words of absolutely everyone, fuck cancer. There were tears at first, but then there were cheers and laughs and cock jokes.

From there, we moseyed our push-up bra’ed posse on over to eat our feelings in wine, pasta and fresh bread. As we do.

This Week:

Cool shit I saw online:


How charming does this movie look!?


My friend Greg Grunberg wants you to TALK ABOUT IT
. And you should be. NOW.


Possibly the best protest sign ever.


I want to buy these, but I have two questions. 1. Are they really wide calf? 2. How much blood plasma do I have to sell to equal $300?


Ever wonder what would happen when Buffy, Bella, Hermione, Katniss, Lisbeth and Michonne lived together in a house? Now you don’t have to. Love it?

To keep up with everything I love, I suggest joining me on Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, and follow me throughout the day on Instagram @BrittanyHerself!

 

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