_ By Lisabet Sarai
Would you like the pumpkin pie with whipped cream for dessert? Or the eggnog custard with rum raisin sauce? Or the double-chocolate Black Forest cake?
Don't you just hate making decisions like this? I mean, how can you choose from among such equally delicious alternatives? Even if you happen to have a particular hankering today for one specific dessert, still, the others sound so tempting – will you really turn them down? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to have them all?
That's why I like ménage.
Some people prefer monogamy. One devoted lover is enough to satisfy their needs and fulfill their fantasies. Biological research suggests, though, that our species isn't particularly hard-wired to prefer monogamous relationships or to mate for life. External pressures have slanted society toward a preference for monogamy in some cultures – but not in others. Even within one culture, you'll find that individuals vary in their tastes as well as their behavior.
My characters want it all. Faced with a choice between multiple lovers, each of whom touches them deeply but differently, my heroines are likely to answer, “Yes, please”. Letting go of one man to choose the other would be like cutting out a part of their hearts. Indeed, “all of the above” is the only sane answer in this sort of situation.
Of course, since our society pays at least lip service to monogamy, it takes courage to choose a polyamorous course. As David Crosby wrote in his haunting song “Triad”:
Your mother's ghost stands at your shoulder,
Face like ice, a little bit colder,
Telling you: you cannot do that, it breaks all the rules...
In my recent release, Wild About That Thing, Ruby is torn between her long-time friend and lover Zeke and the mysterious near-stranger Remy. The two men believe she has to choose; they love her enough that each offers to give way for the other. Even so, Ruby can't imagine relinquishing either of them. A three-way relationship is the obvious solution. The results of this bold choice are more incendiary than any of the three can imagine.
Ruby sank down onto the bed, suddenly unsure. Without a word, Zeke began to undress. She swallowed hard, her pantyhose growing more sodden by the instant as he revealed his blond-furred torso and muscled thighs. He stepped out of his briefs, setting his erect cock free. It reared up from the red-gold tangle at his groin, swaying a bit, like a tree branch in the wind. Sporting a wicked grin, he stroked it once or twice to coax a bead of moisture from the fat bulb. Ruby clutched the bedspread, her heart slamming against her ribs. Was this really happening?
No sooner was Zeke naked than Remy began to disrobe. He kicked off his boots, then dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner, to be followed by his jeans. Gone was the composure that had first drawn her attention… Was it really less than a week ago? Urgency and impatience vibrated in his every gesture. His swollen penis arced towards the ceiling in a graceful curve, bobbing with his pulse. He struggled for control, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. His skin gleamed like polished oak, smoothed over the sculpted curves of his hairless chest and lean flanks. Revealed to Ruby for the first time, his naked body was every bit as compelling as his face. She fought the urge to literally throw herself at his feet.
Her suit jacket felt hot and constraining. She shrugged it off her shoulders. The silk of her blouse revealed her taut nipples, straining through the lace of her brassiere. Her musk escaped the confines of her panties and hose. She was dying for them to touch her, but neither man moved. She was the one in charge.
“Please,” she managed to choke out, holding out her arms. “Don’t make me wait any longer!”
In an instant, they were both by the bed. Remy crouched down to remove her shoes. He kneaded her insteps and arches. She tingled all over. He worked his way up her legs—massaging her calves, working his thumbs into the pressure points above her knees, stroking the insides of her thighs with a light touch that shot straight to her pussy. As he worked, he pushed her skirt up into a crumpled mess in her lap. She didn’t care. She leant back to give him access to the elastic circling her waist. In one swoop, he relieved her of her underwear and stockings.
Meanwhile, Zeke knelt behind her on the bed, his thighs flanking her hips, his chest against her back, and his erection flattened against her spine. He reached around to unfasten her buttons, his blunt fingers brushing against the heated skin below her bra. The transient contact made her yearn for more. He removed her blouse, taking care not to damage the delicate garment, then addressed himself to the hooks of her bra. By the time she released the breath she was holding, he had bared her breasts. Her plentiful flesh spilled out of his palms. Zeke thumbed the swollen tips and lightning streaked down to her clit.
“God, you’ve got gorgeous tits, darlin’! Juicy and firm as Georgia peaches!” Zeke gave the aching nubs a pinch, making her squirm. At the same time, Remy’s slender fingers parted her labia and warm breath stirred her moist folds.
“Oh…” She hardly had time to moan before Remy’s mouth fastened on her pussy. “Oh—oh, my God…” He burrowed into her, sucking her flesh into his mouth while swiping the flat of his tongue across her clit. Sensitised by days of self-imposed celibacy, her hungry cunt spasmed with pleasure under his expert attention. She tilted her pelvis and parted her thighs, trying for more contact. Remy probed her crevice, making her crave deeper penetration, before returning his attention to her clit.
Her whole being concentrated on the tongue dancing in her pussy. A climax curled in her belly. Remy’s mouth coaxed it closer to the surface.
All at once there was heat and wetness from a new source. Zeke’s ripe lips surrounded one nipple. He swirled his tongue around the engorged bead of flesh, then applied delicious suction. His moustache brushed her bare skin, soft and sensual. Just when she thought she’d burst from the pleasure, he transferred his mouth to the other breast, leaving the first soaked with saliva, chilled and tingling. He used his teeth but Ruby felt no pain, only a brilliant stab of delight.
Remy reacted as her body tensed. He drove his face into her sex, plunging his tongue into her hole, mashing her clit against his nose. The duelling sensations, above and below, drove her into a frenzy. Her lovers worked together to brink her to the peak. That realisation—that the two men were collaborating in her pleasure—was what finally pushed her over the edge.
Thanks for having me as your guest, Bianca! I'm looking forward to hosting you on Saturday.
Wild About That Thing is available now from Total-E-Bound. I hope readers will check it out. And by the way, I'm running a contest until mid December, entitled “Everybody Wins”. Any reader who posts a review of any of my books on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads or the TEB site automatically receives a book from my back list. See my Newsletter for details!
A dozen years ago Lisabet Sarai experienced a serendipitous fusion of her love of writing and her fascination with sex. Since then she has published three single author short story collections and six erotic novels, including the classic RAW SILK. Dozens of her shorter works have been released as ebooks and in print anthologies. She edited the acclaimed anthologies SACRED EXCHANGE and CREAM and is currently responsible for the altruistic erotica series COMING TOGETHER PRESENTS. In addition, she reviews erotica and erotic romance for the Erotica Reades and Writers Association (http://www.erotica-readers.com) and Erotica Revealed (http://www.eroticarevealed.com) websites.
Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone needs from prestigious universities who would no doubt be embarrassed by her chosen genre. She loves to travel and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her highly tolerant husband and two cosmopolitan felines. For more information on Lisabet and her writing visit Lisabet Sarai's Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).
By Ranae Rose
I love a good hero and a good heroine. Who doesn’t? Most readers also have specific character traits they love to hate, and I’m no exception. Today I’m talking about the sort of heroes and heroines that make me wish I should jump into the story and slap some sense right into them! If you read romance, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about. Feel free to use the comments section to tell me what sorts of heroes and heroines drive you crazy.
The offending heroes:
The Cheater: Maybe he’s a playboy, or maybe it’s a one-time thing. I don’t care either way – I can’t stand an unfaithful hero. Once he’s found his true love, he’d better not stray. I’m more than willing to close the book on a hero who can’t keep it in his pants when he’s with anyone other than his partner (or hey, maybe even partners if the story is like that).
The Macho-Bot 2000: This guy has no feelings north of his belt. When he’s not ogling the heroine’s boobs, he’s probably thinking up new ways to replace the blood in his veins with extra testosterone. His lack of emotion makes him a bore to read about.
The Clueless One: He’s not sure what he wants, other than instant gratification. He may be a commitment-phobe whose fear of settling down endangers his relationship with his partner. He’s the opposite of the sort of hero I really love – the guy who knows exactly what he wants, sticks by his partner and does anything necessary to make it work. The clueless one will probably come around eventually, but by then I usually think he’s an ass for being so reluctant to act on his true feelings.
The offending heroines:
The Ball-Buster: This girl never gives the hero a freakin’ break. She’s constantly busting his balls, giving him a hard time and generally making it clear that she hates him. Of course he’s really into her and she secretly has the hots for him, but God forbid she let the relationship take its natural course. These bitchy heroines are infuriating and tiresome to read about. I usually end up feeling sorry for the hero and wishing the heroine would just fall off a cliff so he could find someone more deserving of his affection.
The Boyfriend-Stealer: Fortunately I haven’t come across too many of these nasty heroines, but they are out there: the women who just can’t seem to resist finding a taken man and then proceeding to seduce him away from the partner he’s already got. They always justify it to themselves somehow, but they’ll have a hard time getting this reader on board. It’s not easy for me to like a character that goes around stealing somebody else’s man.
The Material Girl: She spends half the book buying things, namely to expand her designer wardrobe. A third world country could probably be fed off the amount she drops on clothing. I just can’t relate, and reading about it gets old quick.
What about you? What traits can’t you stand in a hero or heroine?
Tiffany isn’t the type to waste time daydreaming about men, but when a hot stranger smoking – in more ways than one – on the steps of the bank she works at takes her breath away, she can’t help it. He catches her attention as she exits the building on her way to lunch break, and she leaves fantasizing about helping the bank’s newest customer-to-be with much more than just his finances. When he finally approaches the counter, it’s not to open a new account, but to demand that Tiffany fill a pillowcase to the brim with cash – at gunpoint. The gorgeous gunman takes Tiffany on the run as his hostage, and her fear can't stand up to her attraction. When he offers to let her return to safety unharmed she realizes that there are many things she wants to do to him, but that walking away isn't one of them.
"A totally gripping, sexy thrillride...the perfect combination of adventure and eroticism." - Lucy Felthouse
Excerpt from Taken Hostage:
After exiting the Mustang himself, he walked around the front and opened Tiffany’s door for her. She was overcome by a sensation of déjà vu – she’d imagined him doing the same thing in her fantasy. Now, in their current situation, it seemed absurd.
She stood uselessly as he tossed the pillowcase full of cash into the Saturn’s trunk and covered it up with the blankets and emergency roadside kit that were already stashed there. The ordinariness of her captor’s car and the contents of its trunk were intriguing. Who was this man, who apparently robbed banks after smoking on their steps and flirting with their tellers for half an hour? It wasn’t as if he could expect any of the plentiful witnesses to forget his face – it was only slightly too rugged to look like it belonged on the cover of GQ, or on a billboard in the city.
What in the world was he planning to do next?
Tiffany eyed the nearby woods speculatively. They were in the middle of the New York wilderness, half an hour from town. She had nowhere to run, and there was probably no one to hear her scream if she tried and he caught her. She dared a glance at her captor, who’d tucked the gun into the front waistband of his jeans. The bulge of the barrel beneath the denim reminded her of the similar protuberance she’d felt there when he’d pinned her against the Mustang in the bank parking lot. She no longer felt horrified by the memory – a fact that sent heat flooding into her face.
Once he’d finished packing the Saturn he opened the passenger door. ‘Ladies first,’ he murmured in a tone she’d heard already in her fantasy.
She sank into the passenger seat gladly, for her knees had begun to feel as if they might give out. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he turned his own set of keys in the ignition.
‘Far away,’ was all the reply he gave her.
She couldn’t stop asking questions. Now that her fear was beginning to ebb, a strange curiosity seemed to be replacing it. ‘If this isn’t your house, why’d we come here?’
‘Because the owner leaves every morning for work at 7:15 and doesn’t come home until at least 5:45 in the evening. So it should be at least that long before they discover the abandoned Mustang and figure out that I’m driving something else. We’ll be long gone by then.’
Tiffany noted his use of the word ‘we’ with a sudden rush of half-amazed, half-frightened anticipation. ‘You had this all planned out?’
‘Of course.’ He pulled the Saturn back out onto the road. ‘What’d you think, that I’m just some idiot who decided to rob a bank on the spur of the moment?’ He grinned at her, and she had to fight the sudden urge to grin back.
She shrugged instead.
He reached down, pulled out a hat from the small compartment on the driver’s side door and pushed it down on top of his head, hiding his hair.
‘Shouldn’t you make me lay down in the back seat or something?’ Tiffany asked. That was how the bad guys always did it on the crime dramas she liked to watch on TV.
He looked away from the road for a moment, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. His eyes were intense, but one corner of his mouth was pulled up in an amused half-smile. ‘Do you really want me to?’ He spoke in the same husky voice that’d starred in her pre-abduction fantasy.
She dropped her gaze, too abashed to maintain eye contact. What she saw when she looked down only deepened her embarrassment – though her kidnapper had removed the gun from his waistband, the fabric of his jeans was just as strained quite near where it had been.
Copyright © Ranae Rose, 2011
Taken Hostage is available from major e-book retailers, including:
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Taken-Hostage-ebook/dp/B005E4W0UK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317059716&sr=8-1
Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taken-hostage-ranae-rose/1104729022?ean=2940011432422&itm=3&usri=ranae%2brose
All Romance – http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-takenhostage-581905-144.html
Ranae Rose is a multi-published author of red-hot romance. Believing that true love knows no bounds, she’s not one to confine herself or her characters to a single genre. She enjoys writing contemporary, historical and paranormal romances. Living on the US East Coast, she’s also an avid reader and animal-lover. When she’s not writing she can usually be found in the saddle or with a good book. You can find out more about Ranae and her books and get free reads at: www.ranaerose.com
by Paige Turner
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
Scenes of dubious consent in erotic romance novels are a hot-button topic – a kink for some people, and a definite squick for others.
But let’s face it, dubious consent scenes are nothing new in romance. The traditional (and rather dismissive) view of romance is the Barbara Cartland bodice-ripper. All steely-eyed heroes and manly embraces on one side, all heaving bosoms and swooning on the other. Although Barbara Cartland’s later novels had little in the way of saucy scenes, her heroes were dominant and her heroines were virginal – and often had to be coerced or even forced into the hero’s arms. Of course it was what they really wanted deep down and everyone lived happily ever after. But if that isn’t dubious consent, I don’t know what is.
I think the difference today is that we write dubious consent scenes with a little more self-awareness. We write dubious consent scenes not dubious consent relationships.
In old-fashioned romances, the hero is cruel or angry. He crushes the heroine to him and his kisses are hard, relentless or punishing. He is supremely confident that when the heroine says no, she means yes. The power dynamics are always in favor of the hero – the pirate and his captive, the Earl and the governess, the billionaire boss and his secretary. Old-fashioned bodice rippers aren’t playing to a kink – they come from a world where men are our masters, and women are wilting violets with no minds of their own.
Romance readers today demand more from their characters. Whether male or female, they want them to be three-dimensional with strengths and flaws. They don’t want dim-witted heroines and emotionally distant heroes, because they recognize that a bully and a nit-wit are unlikely to live happily ever after, even in the fantasy world of erotic romance.
While it’s possible to argue that bodice rippers were the original dub-con, it’s more accurate to say that dubious consent is the bodice-ripper all grown up.
If you like the sound of a story where the power dynamic is firmly in the heroine’s favor, leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Temporary Trouble and a Paige Turner teddy bear to snuggle up with while you read.
Blurb: When jokes in work time turn into serious playtime.
For Ben and Aaron, bored of the same old temping assignments, playing practical jokes makes the job a bit less boring and keeps them out of more serious trouble. That is, until their female boss catches Ben on the photocopier with his trousers down, and sees the sexual tension the boys haven’t quite admitted to themselves.
A good boss has to discipline her staff, and Ben has been a very naughty boy indeed. And what better job for her other temporary office boy, Aaron, than to help her administer the punishment Ben deserves?
Reader Advisory: This book shows naughty boys having their bottoms warmed and exploring each other’s sweet spots.
Excerpt: Ben dropped his trousers and peeled his boxers down his thighs, allowing them to puddle at his feet. Aaron tried not to stare. He wanted Ben, really wanted him—he was honest enough to admit that much to himself—but he wouldn’t risk their friendship for anything. Not even for the chance to kiss that cynical mouth and run his fingers through the dark, close-cropped hair. But how could he help staring when Ben had his cock out, right in front of him? It was thick and curved and, Aaron couldn’t fail to notice, slightly erect, as though Ben was turned on by the mischief they had planned, turned on by breaking the rules.
The photocopier room wasn’t really much more than a storage cupboard. Its photocopier was an outdated model that had recently been replaced with a high-tech monstrosity, and mainly it was used for storing packages of paper and boxes of toner cartridges. The chances of anyone popping in for supplies this early in the morning was remote, and anyway part of the thrill was the risk of being caught.
The plan was to replace the paper in every printer and copier in the building with photos of Ben’s arse—Ben’s tight, round, glorious arse, the one that featured so prominently in Aaron’s late-night fantasies and fumblings with himself. On more than one occasion he had got so carried away he had groaned Ben’s name, and had to pass it off as a nightmare when his flatmate had come padding through, bare-footed and tousle-haired from sleep, to make sure he was all right.
“…I said I’ll take the first two floors and you take the executive offices, HR, all that lot, okay?”
Nobody would notice them replacing the paper. Unless there was a boring job that needed to be done, temps might as well be invisible.
Ben braced his hands on the photocopier behind him and boosted himself up onto it, wincing as he settled his bottom on the cold glass.
“O-okay,” Aaron stammered, averting his eyes from the tempting sight of Ben perched on the photocopier, where Aaron could so easily put his hands on his strong thighs, part them and step between them, running his hands up and under the lap of his shirt, exploring the planes of his belly and chest as he leaned in and…
“Come on, then,” said Ben, wriggling impatiently.
And Aaron almost swallowed his tongue before he realised Ben wanted him to get started loading paper and pushing buttons for the thousands of copies they’d need to pull off their practical joke.
His palms were sweaty and his legs didn’t want to hold him up as he crouched to load the paper trays. And as he stood and started pressing buttons for dozens of copies—as many as he estimated the machine would spit out before he had to load more paper—he caught a whiff of Ben’s scent. With his head bent over the copier, he was at eye-level with Ben’s lap, and the smell of him filled his senses—heady and musky and masculine. His mouth went dry. He was overcome by a desperate urge to lick the crease where Ben’s thigh met his body. It seemed as though, this time, the joke was on him.
He looked up, despite knowing his want showed in his eyes, and met Ben’s gaze. The look on Ben’s face was surprised, questioning…lustful?
They locked gazes in silence for a moment, and Aaron allowed himself to hope that Ben wanted him in the same way he wanted Ben.
Aaron startled upright and Ben almost toppled backwards off the photocopier as the door banged open, rebounding off the wall, and their boss—their temporary boss—walked in.
“Gentlemen,” she said, as Ben scrambled to pull up his trousers, hopping on one leg in an ungainly, embarrassed dance, “or should I say boys?” Aaron opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. “You have a disciplinary meeting in my office in ten minutes.”
She turned and walked out, heels clicking on tile, as Ben overbalanced and tumbled into a box of toner cartridges.
Paige Turner likes to write love stories with a difference. Whether it’s boy-meets-girl, boy-meets-boy or werewolf-meets-vampire, she thinks everyone deserves a happy ending. She lives partly in England but mostly in Cyberspace. She enjoys dreadful puns and naughty stories, and believes the best way to have a good time is by being bad.
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