She has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards – mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.
She contributes flash fiction to several blogging collectives and excerpts from work in progress can also be found on her blog. She is active on Facebook and Twitter (@angelicadawson). Her stories don't scrape the surface of BDSM, but go deep.
Favourite Coffee: I love a cappuccino with whole milk which makes the most delicious foam.
Favourite Kink to Read: I'm really picky about my erotica. I want a story that is driven by characters and their relationship through the sex, not just including sex.
Favourite Kink to Write: Menage. I love the idea of someone getting extra special, double treatment, or even better, a full group going together to bring the best out of each other.
Check out Angelica Dawson's latest release in the Blue Moon House series, Gentleman.
Harrold lives an empty life. He has no joy in his marriage, no love of his work. His only reprieve is found at the hands of the whores, the ones he pays to beat and debase him. Upon being accepted into Blue Moon House, he learns the real cost for his desires, and what underlying need is really aching to be filled.
Delores knelt in front of him, putting her hand to his cheek. “No, Harrold. You fear women.”
He snapped up, away from her. “Afraid! I am a man. My wife is mine to do with as I please.”
She shook her head. “You fear letting them down, I think.” Delores' voice was lost as he stormed around the room.
“Keep your whores, woman. I shall have my wife.”
Veronica lay in bed reading when he blustered in. “Good. You're awake.”
“Yes, I've had some thoughts about—” She was cut off by his ferocious kiss.
“Remove that gown, wife. I have need of you.”
Her flinty eyes narrowed. “Have you been in the drink, Harrold?”
He tore back the covers and pushed her dressing gown up to her thighs. “God, I've forgotten how beautiful your legs are.” He fell on them, kissing first her knees then working his way up.
She began beating on his head with her book, the wooden cover making a thump. “Stop it, Harrold! Stop that this minute!”
He lifted his head and put his nose to hers. “I will have my wife tonight.”
Her eyes began to water. “Fine, barbarian. Brutalize me and have done with it. Wipe your ass with my hair. Tear my breasts, bite them, crush them, you brute.” She covered her face as though unable to watch what he did next.
Her tears unmanned him. He pulled down her skirt and returned the covers, moving to the wardrobe to change.
“Are you done?” she asked quietly. “Aren't you going to tear me open with that club of flesh you call a penis?”
Harrold sighed. “Veronica, as much as I appreciate your flattery, it is not as large as that. I was going to ask you to stroke it a while, but never mind.” He'd offered to do the same and more for her. He would gladly suckle her breasts or pussy to please her, if only for a moment. However, it never was enough. He bit, or his chin prickled, or any other of a multitude of reasons she had. Curling on his side, away from her, he waited for her to trim the lamp so he might sleep.
Thursday he would try again at Blue Moon House.