Authors: Lace Daltyn
She took a deep breath and spread the notes she’d found in
her room out on the table in front of her. “Can you all hear me all right?”
Nods and yeses answered her. Jenna gulped back the lump in
her throat and glanced at her notes. “Okay, good.” Only a little wobble to her
voice. That was good. She could do this.
“Then let’s talk about writing erotic scenes. Feel free, if
you have any questions, to interrupt me and ask.”
She got through her introduction and several key points
before finally hitting on the thing that was most important to her when it came
to crafting stories. “Beyond anything else, writing eroticism isn’t all about
the sex.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” A woman who’d been taking
fervent notes interrupted her presentation. “With an erotic story, everyone
says you should start and end in the bedroom.”
“You should start and end with them thinking about the
bedroom. Thinking about each other. Writing hot isn’t so much about the act...”
The chatter in the room stopped her for a moment. “Yes, okay, it’s partially
about the act. But it’s mostly about how your characters are treated, about how
they feel. And about what they learn about themselves in the process. It’s truly
about the emotion.”
Jenna watched a blush infuse the woman’s cheeks. “How do
you have them thinking about sex all the time and still make it emotional? It
feels like it’s all about body parts. I’m just trying to understand how you
start a book with sex, yet get the reader invested in the character’s lives and
growth?”
Jenna realized she wasn’t giving these women enough of a
starting point. She glanced down at her workshop notes, then shoved them aside.
She waved her hands in a circular motion to the audience. “Here’s what you do.
You set the stage with emotion. You write the sex, then you go back and layer
in more emotion.”
Taking a sip of water, she continued. “So start off with
how she’s feeling. Or he. Either way. They both are in a passionate mood and
attracted to each other, right? At least, they’d better be.”
A chuckle rumbled through the audience.
“I tell you what. Let’s try an exercise. Someone give me an
opening line for a story. Not for a scene, but for the whole book.”
A woman in the back with a T-shirt that read, “Be careful
or you’ll be in my next book,” was the first to volunteer. “It was a dark and
stormy night.”
“Really? I’ve got a room full of writers here and that’s
the opening line you give me?”
Everyone laughed, but no other offerings were forthcoming.
“All right.” Jenna held up her hands again. “Let’s go with
that opening.” She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. Having never
read any of her own scenes aloud, the idea of inventing one, in front of a
group of, well, anybody, kicked her stage fright into high gear.
“It was a dark and...” Her voice broke, so she cleared her
throat with another sip of water and tried again.
It was a dark and
stormy night, a perfect match for Delilah’s mood. She stared out the window at
the heavy summer rainfall. After a long day spent alone cataloguing the
belongings of the old mansion, an edgy tension coiled her muscles into tight
knots. The humidity made the warmth oppressive. Delilah pulled her hair up and
held it in place on her head with both hands, seeking a coolness that eluded
her.
Even worse, she
was damp with a need she couldn’t define. Had been all day. It was as if the
house had cocooned her in a sensual haze. These feelings hadn’t stirred since...
Jenna raised an eyebrow to the room of still and attentive
women, warming to her subject.
The touch on her
neck was feather-light, like lips caressing her. Delilah moaned. An echoing
sigh pulled her back against a solid chest as hands cupped her breasts like
cherished possessions.
She heard a murmur,
like a man’s whisper carried by the wind. Had it been her own? Gentle kneading
tightened her nipples to painful points, even
through
the damp cloth of her t-shirt. The movements were so careful, so designed to
please her that she felt beloved. More so than she ever had before.
A hand slid
underneath her shirt and drifted toward her breasts. The front clasp of her bra
released and the lacy material abraded tips already aching with a need that
drove straight past her stomach to her wet core.
Tender kisses
along the back of her neck continued, enhancing the feeling of his touch. Some
part of her wanted to turn, needed to turn, to see who...
Oh! He cupped her
mound, his fingers touching her intimately, even
through
the seams of her jeans. Back and forth, the fingers moved, then the feeling
left and she was bereft.
Until the zipper
of her jeans lowered and his hand caressed her like she was a treasure to be savored.
The chest she leaned against faded to nothingness as her jeans melted to the
floor with gentle nudges. Before she could miss the broad strength she’d leaned
into, it was back. He was back. Delilah reached behind and entwined her hands
into locks of long hair that felt coarse and manly.
Hands moved over
her body, exciting her like she’d never known before, never felt before.
Then they dipped
into the reservoir between her legs, stroked slick folds, and took her to new
fevered heights. Delilah tightened her hold in his hair, then leaned back into
a rock hard cock.
“Please,” she
begged.
The sigh she heard
had a distinct masculine sound to it. A sound she could hear forever and not
tire of.
The fingers delved
deep inside her, drawing more sensation, more raw feeling, and she arched into
them, rocking back and forth, held in place by the man and his hands.
She crashed over
the top of an intense orgasm, her body shivering with need and exhaustion as
the crescendo built, then slowly ebbed.
Delilah reached
out for support, her legs tangled in pooled jeans, and found only the rough,
hard wall holding her up. She opened her eyes and looked around wildly.
No one was there.
She was alone.
Jenna sat there, unable to move or react, afraid of the reaction from the audience. You could have heard a pin drop for several long seconds after she ended the story, then thunderous applause. It stymied her, and overwhelmed her at the same time.
Her audience seemed mesmerized. By her. By what she'd said. They'd found it interesting. More than that, they found what she said important. And it was hers. All hers. Nobody could ever take that away.
Chapter Eleven
Behind the closed door of her hotel room, Jenna shook her
head, amazed at herself for what she’d just done. She’d been the focal point of
a room that overflowed with authors. And she’d created a scene on the spot. A
sensuous, wild scene that had left her audience speechless.
Jenna threw herself on the bed, laughing. She’d never felt
so...powerful. So in control.
And it had been
her
control. Not her mother’s. Or Josh’s.
The thought of Josh reminded Jenna she hadn’t called him
since their little tryst last night. She wanted to tell him about today. Needed
to hear his voice. Damn, but she was hot herself after that story she’d come up
with spur of the moment. Maybe they could do a repeat of last night.
Jenna smiled as she reached for her purse and dug out her
phone. Dead. And no way to charge it. Damn.
Maybe they sold chargers in the hotel store. She reached
for the hotel phone just as someone pounded on her door. She could hear the
giggles from here. Opening the door, Sharon stood there, along with three other
women who’d been in the front row at her workshop. Sharon was close to her own
age, but the others were older.
“Come on. We’re all going out and we want you to come with
us.”
“
Oooh
, I can’t. I need to make a
phone call.”
“You can call anytime,” Sharon said. “This is Vegas, baby.
It’s time to go have fun.”
Jenna glanced behind her. “I really shouldn’t.”
It didn’t take much for them to convince her and soon they
were out the door of the hotel. Vegas at night shone like an amazing
kaleidoscope of color and lights. Jenna had never seen so many lights. And
noise. The jingle of machines coupled with the muffled, throaty roar of a
muscle car cruising the strip dazzled her senses.
There were no short walks in Vegas. Each casino seemed to
go on forever. Jenna craned her neck this way and that, trying to take
everything in. So much so, she ran smack into Sharon.
“Why did you stop?” Jenna asked.
“Because we’re here,” Sharon said.
“Where?” Jenna glanced at the board in front of her. Almost
naked, totally buff men, wearing bow ties, greeted her. “
Oooh
,
no.”
“Oh, yes,” Sharon said, laughing. “You’ve got us all revved
up and we need some release.”
“Maybe you do, but I’ve got a fiancé at home.”
“And where is home?”
“Umm, not here.”
“Exactly. Come on.” Sharon tugged at Jenna, pulling her
inside. “You’re engaged right?”
Jenna nodded. “Getting married in a week, as a matter of
fact.”
“Then consider this your bachelorette party. And if you
really don’t want to, um, participate, we’ll be quite happy to have all the fun
for you.”
Minutes later, Jenna found herself ensconced at a table
that seemed to be front and center for the action. The place was packed. And
noisy, she thought, as they waited for the show. She leaned over the table to Sharon.
“How did we get such a primo table?”
“
Dunno
. Just lucky, I guess.”
Busy turning her head from one side to the other as bare-chested waiters
wandered the room, it was obvious her newfound friend wasn’t listening. Jenna
sank down in her chair, getting the distinct feeling she was being set up.
She glanced around, half expecting to see a mass of flaming
curls. It would be well within her friend
Mags’
repertoire to set up something like this.
Except
Mags
didn’t know where Jenna
was before their conversation last night, did she? Jenna chewed her lower lip.
Mags
indicated she had no idea where the letter came from
and she doubted her friend would lie to her. But things were starting to feel a
bit contrived, especially Sharon’s bachelorette party comment.
Jenna had no time to corner Sharon about it as the lights
dimmed and the music swelled. She didn’t want to be there, but that didn’t stop
her chest from filling with heady anticipation as the lounge and its music
worked its magic and sent the women around her into a frenzy.
Chapter Twelve
The drum roll announcing the night’s entertainment
mellowed, giving way to a seductive, strip-style music. Jenna felt the rhythm
thrumming through her body. Her mind recorded the feelings as her body started
to tingle with excitement. This was great fodder for her next book.
Research. That’s all this is. Research. She tried to form
the words in her mind for how her body was reacting, but the spotlight hit the
stage and deleted any coherent thought.
Women all around her were screaming. Jenna didn’t scream.
Ever. She couldn’t, however, tear her eyes away from the stage. Anticipation
pricked every nerve ending and she sat spellbound. One part of her scoffed that
she would be so easily pulled into all this hoopla, but her fun-center stuffed
that part deep inside a box in the far reaches of her brain.
Enjoy.
Maybe she could, she thought, feeling a smile tug at her
lips. Just a little. After all, she wasn’t married yet. There wasn’t anything
that said she couldn’t look.
She just couldn’t touch. Much.
The beat of the music took on a decidedly western tone and
out through the curtains sauntered a well-muscled cowboy.
Oh, please. A
cowboy? Could this get any more predictable?
As the model began to sway and bump and grind, she found
herself strangely disengaged. Sure, he had a great body. And some great moves. Sharon
and the others at her table appeared riveted as they waved their money, but the
guy just didn’t do it for Jenna.
In fact, she missed Josh. Big time. Jenna sat back and let
the chaos around her fade for the moment, and Josh took center stage in her
mind. She missed how his smile always reached his eyes. How his arms around her
felt both gentle and strong. How protective he was with her, yet he prodded her
to make her own choices.
How his lips could set her on fire and make her body hum
with need. Hell, she was getting horny just thinking about him.
The now G-stringed stripper leapt off the stage, almost
right into the lap of a woman at the next table. The woman
yee
-hawed
as she slapped the dancer’s bare ass.