I’m pleased to have fellow Ellora’s Cave author Emily Ryan-Davis today on Hot Blogging with Heart. Emily is pleased, as am I, to see Erotic Romance becoming a more mainstream genre. Take it away, Emily!
Cassandra, thanks for having me–and even putting up with my almost last-minute delivery. My nine-month-old helpfully hid my working calendar and I got a bit lost in my schedule toward the end of summer and through Labor Day weekend. I haven’t been far from steamy romance, though!
Over the weekend, during a rare trip to Costco, I came face to face with the most popular steamy romance on the shelves these days. I saw it while trying to drag my husband away from the Christmas wrapping display (Christmas wrapping? In September? Gah).
Shrink-wrapped as a three pack and displayed prominently on the book table, was E.L. James’ billionaire BDSM trilogy. While I watched, a woman who was probably my mother-in-law’s age snatched the box set off the top of the display and placed it in her cart between the three pound box of strawberries and the big case of Mexican Coke. She turned to her husband and informed him that everybody she knew was talking about the series.
At that point, I realized everybody–everybody!–is aware erotic romance exists. How crazy-awesome is that?
Since Costco shoppers are proof that everything is better in
multiples, from produce to orgasms, I’m really glad I have some multiples of my own to offer as the release day approaches for the third book in my Ellora’s Cave BDSM romance series, Taken in Bondage.
In TIED & TWISTED, Jovanna will show you that knitting isn’t just for nice girls who close their eyes and wait for “it” to be over.
And coming September 21 in TANGLED & BOUND, what happens in Vegas follows Melanie home and refuses to let her forget.
Welcome to BDSM in bulk!
Read all about the men and women of Taken in Bondage, and other books, at my Ellora’s Cave author page:
Book 3 in the Taken in Bondage series.
Friendly, adventurous, sexually submissive…and a complete stranger. She’s exactly the anonymous, no-consequences diversion fetish-club owner Sam needs to kick off a few days in Las Vegas. He doesn’t hesitate to take her up against the door of the in-flight bathroom.
Powerful, dominant Sam could have walked straight out of one of Melanie’s dog-eared BDSM novels. When he strikes up a conversation with her on a late-evening flight, fictional fantasies become knee-weakening, panty-soaking, feminine-core-clenching reality. And oh-em-gee, does she want another taste of that!
When Sam informs her that his plans don’t include a long-term D/s relationship with an impulsive young blonde for whom submission is more than likely a passing whim, Melanie throws herself into convincing him she is exactly the submissive lover he wants, needs and can’t live without.
“You don’t know what you want,” he replied, too low for anybody but her to hear. “You prove that to me over and over again.”
“I do know. I want you. I want to submit to you. You’re the one who devalues my decision by refusing to acknowledge it as legitimate.”
“Fold.” Sam put his cards down on the table, pocketed his remaining chips, and pulled her off him. Turning on the stool, he met her eyes. “I’m thirty six. You’re what, seven? You’re a little girl.”
“Hmm. Well, you were checking out my tits down by the pool yesterday.“ And the day before that you had your dick in my–“
“Melanie,” he warned.
“Well, you did. Does that make you a pedophile?” Flashing another smile, she tilted her head in the direction of the crowded bar. “And does that mean you’re going to call the cops on the guy who made my margarita a double?”
“No cops,” Sam said after a minute. He picked up her drink and sniffed it before handing it to a passing waitress. “But I am going to make him wish he’d chosen a different career path. Right after I get you locked away in your room. Come on. You’re drunk.”
He stood and they weren’t eye-level anymore. Sam had half a dozen inches on her even when she was wearing heels. Standing in front of him barefoot, she had direct access to his muscular chest. The neck of his shirt was unbuttoned. The glimpse of dark hair enticed her. Melanie fingered a button on his shirt, wondering about the texture and pattern over the rest of his body.
“I’m not drunk.” She wasn’t, but she stooped to retrieve her shoes anyway. A little buzzed, sure, but her judgment was as clear as her vision, and she had Sam squarely in her sights. If she were drunk, she wouldn’t have recognized the opportunity he’d just handed her–an opportunity to have him all to herself in her fancy Vegas hotel room. The tequila did give her an excuse to let her shoulder strap slide down her arm as she straightened, hooked her hand around Sam’s elbow and allowed him to lead her away from the poker table.
At that time of night, the hotel corridors were practically empty. Melanie and Sam had the elevator to themselves. He chose her floor and retreated to scowl at her from the corner.
Smiling mischievously, she put her hands behind her back and crossed to stand in front of him, so close the hem of her dress clung to his pants and her breasts rose against his shirt when she inhaled. “You could look again if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.”
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t drop his focus from her face to her cleavage. “What you would or wouldn’t mind isn’t my concern. I’m not interested. Back off and stop being a brat.”
She swayed forward until she could feel him against her belly, fully erect and the definition of interested. “Liar, liar. Hmm. Maybe you want to submit to me. Should I turn you over my knee and spank you for not telling the truth?”
Sam snorted. “If anybody’s getting a red ass out of this, it’s not going to be me. Step away, Melanie.”
“Or…what? Else?” Another fraction of an inch closer and she felt his strength from breast to thigh. He radiated heat in the air-conditioned climate of the elevator. She closed her eyes and clutched his shirt, humming appreciatively. “You feel good. I’ve been freezing all day in the casinos and theaters. The only other time I was warm, you chased me back inside.”
“The next time you come to Vegas, you’ll know to pack a sweater.” He finally touched her, but only to wrap his hands around her upper arms and push her away. Before she could make another bid for contact, the elevator door slid open. Sam turned her around and marched her out into the corridor.
Melanie sighed and moved away, breaking his loose hold. He hadn’t cracked a single smile. His disinterest in playing dragged at her good spirits. “Never mind. Goodnight, Sam.”
As much as she wanted him in her bed–or in her shower or on the bureau or against the ice cooler in the alcove around the corner–she refused to beg. His loss. Shoulders straight and head high, she left him in front of the elevator and headed for her room, which was at the end of the extremely long corridor. He watched her the whole way, if the itch between her shoulders was any indication, and Melanie alternately cursed him and wished he’d change his mind.
When she reached her room, she took her time looking for the key. From the corner of her eye, she could see him still standing by the elevator. Still looking like exactly what she wanted.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to give up yet. After unlocking her door, she bent to place her shoes and bag just inside so the door wouldn’t close and lock again. When she straightened, she turned to face him and reached back to unzip her dress.
“I want somebody to fuck me,” she called down the hall. Shimmying out of the dress, she kicked it into the room, pushed her shoes and bag out of the way, and pulled the door shut. Locked out, wearing nothing but a silky pink thong and a fabulous pedicure, she turned to face Sam. “You’re top on my list of choices but if you’re not interested, I’m sure somebody will be.”
Emily Ryan-Davis is a lifelong East Coaster whose passion for the written word saw her through jobs writing obituaries, press releases and grants before she decided “I’m going to do this” and sat down to write a book. She made that decision in 2005 and has since published several short stories and novellas with digital publishers including Ellora’s Cave. On May 24, 2012, Emily left supervisors and payrolls behind in order to focus her efforts on writing and raising her son.
Emily has been a member of the Writer’s Digest-recognized writing community Romance Divas, where she volunteers as a moderator and organizes the annual “Not Going to Conference” Virtual Conference, since 2006.