Can’t Get Enough: Erotica for Women is an erotic anthology filled with fast-paced, intense quickie style stories that go one right after another in such a variety of styles they’ll keep you on your toes (or your knees) for the rest of the summer. It’s all a reader can do to breathlessly keep up. Once you start reading this book, you really Can’t Get Enough. (I read it twice!)

Can't Get Enough

After reading Tenille Brown and Cleis Press’s celebration of pleasurable, smoldering sex that can be performed by anyone anywhere, I got the chance to interview the amazing first time editor. (Ain’t I just the luckiest girl ever?)

1. What was the first erotic piece you ever read and how did you respond to it?

When I was younger, I was given a copy of “Erotique Noire” edited by Miriam Decosta-Willis and Reginald Martin. The cover was certainly provocative, as was the title, but it wasn’t until I flipped through and read “Olive Oil” by Alice Walker that I realized that the purpose of this book (and its gifter) was to entice.

So, I responded with at first, surprise, then intrigue and finally arousal. What turned me on most about this story was the subtlety, the things Ms. Walker didn’t say and didn’t have to. I began to see the sexiness in every day acts of human touch, like, rubbing olive oil on a lover’s scalp.

And folks, this has become my favorite question to ask every erotica editor/writer I interview. The answers are always as unforgettable as the artists who dare answer.

2. If you could have a hot make out session like the ones in Can’t Get Enough with any pop culture icon, who would it be and where?

If I had to pattern a make out session as if it were a tale in “Can’t Get Enough,” I’d have to say it would be with Lenny Kravitz, in the shower on the morning after, when I’m supposed to be leaving his hotel room unseen ;).

3. For those eager for more, what can they starting looking for next from you?

I have three short stories featured in three of Alison Tyler’s upcoming anthologies, but soon, “Summer Loving,” published by Excessica will be released and it includes my story, “An Oven On Broil.”

If you’re feeling the heat like I’m feeling the heat and would like to win a free trade paperback copy of this anthology, leave a comment below and the winner will be chosen randomly on Monday, July 21st. Until then, to wet your taste buds even more:

by JoAnne Kenrick

I’m wet just thinking about him, can’t concentrate on anything other than trying to remember the sensation of his lips pressed against my sex and his sharp whiskers pricking my sensitive skin.

I lose my grip on a half-empty wine goblet. It slips to the floor and shatters, the sounds of breaking glass piercing through me. Damn it. Everyone looks up. My OCD mother in her pristine white skirt-suit rushes to clean up the red liquid soaking into the lush cream carpet, and party guests pile around me, trying to engage me in their conversation about the secrets to a good marriage. Perfect! Now I’ll never get away.

Throwing my arms in the air, I give up. I despise how my cravings have taken over everything, leaving me constantly focused on my wants instead of my needs. Want. Yes, I want him right now, even as my mother mops around my feet.

This is stupid. I’d taken hours to tease my hair into soft, spiraling curls. Pinned it up with cute diamond pins. I want a new dress and shoes. I looked nice. So why would I want to ditch my sister’s engagement party for him? That would be such a waste of a pretty frock. And it would infuriate the bride-to-be, not to mention my mother. Then I remember the pretty peach lace corset squeezing in my waist and giving the girls a boost and I feel a grin spread. Shouldn’t put that to waste, either. Wiggling my butt, I relish in the tight pull of the G-string between my cheeks. He could be yanking that cord, pulling my knickers down to take me from behind.

I give in, can’t stand here any longer pretending I’m all sweet as pie when all I want to do is fuck the best man….again and again. I decide it’s time for a fix and swiftly exit the parlor of my mother’s Victorian semi to go look for him.

He is leaning against the brocade wallpaper decorating the hallway. He smiles at me from behind his long, dark bangs, twirling his bike keys over his decorated ring finger.

I swear, he looks all the more attractive wearing that ring.

Fixing tendrils of hair away from my face, I stand tall and slink toward him. I feel silly; never was one to get that accentuated sexy walk right. With my curves, I probably look more like a wobbling jelly than a sexy vixen. But my pussy leads the way; I am a slave to my cravings and don’t care how I look. He winks, turning me into a quivering pool of mush with the sex drive of a spring bunny.

“Hi, not enjoying the party?” he says, his voice all velvet and smooth.

I want him to grab me and kiss me hard. I want him to drag me into my father’s office behind him so he can fuck me. I want…

“No.” My pulse races. What might he do to me?

“Wanna get out of here, Amelia?”

“Yes, badly.”