For this week's topic, I decided to turn to a man who is something of an expert in dubious and—more often—non-consent. He wasn't easy to find, he's been hiding out ever since the massacre at the Church of Peace, but I have some advantages as his author. I found him in Midland, North Carolina, and followed him for awhile, never getting too close. This late at night, I really didn't want to be talking to Cyrus alone, but since I didn't really have a choice, I'd settle for approaching him on a brightly lit, well populated street.

Instead, I trailed him into an alley. My nose wrinkled at the sour scents spilling from the big garbage bins lining one brick wall. I listened for his steady footsteps. Nothing.

What the hell are you doing? Get out of there!

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as his cool breath caressed me. "You wanted to speak to me, Bianca?"

I swallowed, shaking a little, glancing back at the street to gauge the distance. Could I make a run for it? Then my eyes narrowed. "Don't play with me, Cyrus. I own you. You can't control me."

"I just did." He chuckled and put his hand on my hip, turning me to face him. "But I won't have much fun if I hurt you, will I?"

"No." Damn it, why haven't I killed this guy off yet? I did not like him touching me. "So enough with the bullshit. I have some questions for you."

"Do you?" His tone softened as he circled me. "Then join me for a glass of wine—or maybe whiskey? I won't have . . . a conversation with you here."

His eyes drew me in, had my mind grasping for the words to describe them. Which words had I used? Sky? Summer sky . . .

"Come, Bianca." He held out his hand. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

A wavy strand of black hair spilled over his cheek and I caught myself reaching up to touch it, knowing it would be so soft, like his skin. From the corner of my eye I saw his lips curling and snatched my hand back.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I shoved my hands in my pockets and took a big step back. "Actually, you know what? Forget it. I'll talk to Joe. Or Vince. There's nothing you have to say that the readers want to hear."

"Are you sure about that?" He shrugged and hooked his thumbs to his belt loops, rocking a little on the heels of his Italian loafers. "Then kill me since I have no story to tell. What's the point of keeping me around?"

Good question. I frowned and looked him over, trying to decide if staying was worth the risk. Cyrus' strength hadn't diminished since the last time I'd written his words, but he had changed. His outfit seemed very modern. Expensive, a perfectly tailored fit, yet, somehow wrong. His arrogance was still obvious in his posture and tone, but it was . . . less pompous maybe?

"So what's your story, Cyrus?" My lips curled a little—I wanted to make it clear he didn't frighten or impress me—but my voice sounded like half my volume was stuck somewhere in my chest. Maybe under my rapidly beating heart, or lower, where I was . . . aware of him.

Why must so many psychos be sexy?

"Would you like to know about my first time?" His gaze drifted down my body and he ran his tongue over his teeth as I squirmed. "The situation fits your topic."

"You mean when you lost your virginity?" I wrinkled my nose. I didn't really want to hear about him doing his daddy's mistress when he was fifteen. "Nobody—"

"No, sweetheart." He moved a little closer to me, forcing me back until I was trapped between his body and the alley wall across from the garbage bins. "Let me tell them how I lost my soul."

By Cari Silverwood
Is erotic romance any different?

In my first novel, the heroine is woken from a sexy dream by her cocker spaniel, Killer, slurping
her on the face. To me this was just an adorable thing to put into a story. It helped me make
my lady, Danii, real and three dimensional. If I want to engage the reader and get them to dive
into the story and wiggle their toes in the wet sand as the waves sweep toward them, smell the
lemongrass in the Thai meal, or maybe even, hell, get carpet burns off the rug, I have to put in
real stuff. Pets are part of that, and children too.

But one of my readers disagreed vehemently. Killer was the worst thing in my story and from the
sounds of her review, yanked her from the story. Being a little concerned with this, I did a poll of
readers of BDSM and erotic stories. To my relief most readers seem to love stories that have pets
and children in them.

A few didn’t want children in there due to getting worried about the virtual children, as they
called them, but almost everyone wanted pets. Some of their real life anecdotes about cats and
the male dangly bits being latched onto during sex may even make their way into a story. Ouch.
Sorry guys but they were funny in a tears-in-my-eyes way.

Some publishers do specifically demand no children in stories but they seem to be in the
minority. I’m not talking pedophilia here of course; the sex scenes get nowhere near the children,
just as in real life. But letting your heroine have a baby somewhere along the line, or maybe a
children’s party in between all the sexy shenanigans is perfectly okay with me. If it serves the
story, adds something, makes everything clearer and realer, I say go for it.

One proviso that a reader pointed out is that if the pet gets killed off they automatically throw
the book. I’m a bit that way myself. After reading several books where the dog or whatever died
at the hand of the villain, one day I consciously said to myself, no way am I doing that in one of
my books. I hate it when I read about a pet and find I’m making a mental note along the lines of:
Oh-ohh, this author’s put this in just so the death of the pet will make the villain come across as
meaner. Hate hate that with capital letters. HATE.

So if you kill a pet in your story at least give me another happy pet to pat while I sob. And be
prepared to run, real fast. I may be rummaging around in my closet for my antique sabre. I keep
it for burglars and authors that rile me.

Blurb:

Raised from childhood as an assassin, Claire finds her world knocked off kilter when Theo Kevonis, a rich, ex-Air Corp nobleman, rescues her from an airship crash. Being a soldier of a hostile nation she cannot reveal her identity, but Theo sinks his steely Dom fingers into her heart and soul, showing her the pleasures to be found in surrendering to his touch. Captivated, Claire cannot help but bind herself in lie after lie rather than risk losing the one man who’s ever loved her.  

When her loathsome commander returns from the dead, her deceit is uncovered. Somehow, Claire must find a way to win back Theo's trust and destroy the man who threatens them both.  And Buy Link:
http://www.loose-id.com/Iron-Dominance.aspx


Excerpt

“Stay there,” he said. 
 
She could smell him.  
 
She almost opened her eyes to say something, but instead balanced there. Why she obeyed him, she wasn't sure but it satisfied something primal, something deeply sexual. And letting go like this, made her feel safe.  
 
Anticipation strung her insides tight. She yearned for further caresses. Her cleft swelled.  
 
“Here. Raise your feet.” An article of clothing, both silken cloth and something harder, slid with muffled clicks up each leg. Theo arranged it about her torso, cool beads shifting across her breasts until the garment fitted snugly on her body. Something narrow settled between her legs. She gasped at a throb of pleasure as his fingers played in her moisture. A few more adjustments and he led her off to one side. A light flared on. “There. Open your eyes.”  
 
In a tall mirror, she saw herself, dressed in a black corset paneled with satin. Coming down from a halter, pearl ropes fanned out over each breast with her nipples peeking out between. A tiny skirt of chiffon, divided at the crotch, barely made it as far as her upper thighs. Lines of seed pearls undulated down the satin and a string of larger pearls dove deeply between her legs, emphasizing the split lips of her sex. She could feel it run up between the cheeks of her bottom at the back. Even as she looked, she felt a renewed throb, for every movement she made, from breath to heartbeat to shift of feet, moved the line of pearls and rubbed against her clit. 
 
In the reflection, she saw Theo beyond her shoulder, bare-chested, the ringlets of his black hair stark against his forehead. He raised a satin and pearl choker and positioned it about her neck, clicking it into place. “And these,” he said, holding first one wrist and then the other to snick matching black satin bracelets on her wrists. “They suit you.” From the hardness, metal lurked beneath the black cloth. 
 
Where the choker and bracelets rested on skin, her pulse rose, thumping, to the surface and reminded her of where she was, who she was with, and especially, how dangerous this could be. But…she trusted him.