That women and men are different isn’t a new idea.
Not only are we physically different, our minds work in different ways as well. Men and women often have a difference in sexual attitudes—though there are always exceptions to the rule! Men are more physical and are stimulated by things they can see and touch, whereas women rely on their emotions and a sense of connection with another person to turn them on (though a great body always helps!). The male and female brain even react differently to different erotic situations, with a man’s brain reacting more to visual stimuli and a woman’s brain reacts more to psychological simulation.
When writing erotic fiction, it’s important to consider who I’m writing that fiction for. Predominantly, I write fiction for women, but when I’m writing for a male audience, I approach things differently. When I write for men, I spend less time trying to create a connection that is any more than sexual, and more time on description. When I write erotica for women, for the most part I like to have a connection on another level between the male and female character (or even the male, male, and female, or female, female and male, and any other combinations you can think of!). I also like to have a ‘happy ever after’ or at least a ‘happy for now’ ending. For men, a chance encounter on purely a physical level is enough.
Recently, I received a review which made me smile. The reader actually questioned whether or not I was female because she’d read my short story collection Some Love it Hot! When I sat down to write this collection, it was alongside my first title Rescued. In my head, I knew I wanted to write one collection for female readers and another for men. Some Love it Hot! was my “male” collection and it was this title where someone had questioned my sex. That was a huge compliment to me. It meant I’d done my job right and achieved what I intended.
Strangely enough, even though I write predominantly for a female audience, Some Love it Hot is still one of my best-sellers.
My latest collection, Down in the Sand, although has some stories from a male view point, is definitely written for women. There have been few times in my life where I’ve felt sexier than when I’m on holiday. All that tanned skin, hot sun, and a couple of cocktails beside the pool. What in life could be better? It was this feeling of sexy relaxation that got me writing this collection. Keep reading for an excerpt of one of the stories, “Stopover.”
Cool lotion trickled onto her upper back, making her squirm. Moments later, his warm hands made contact with her skin, smoothing out the creamy fluid, rubbing the muscles of her shoulders and the back of her neck with firm strokes. The massage eased away the last of the tension from the long flight and Zara couldn’t help her whole body relaxing under his attention.
His strong fingers worked their way down, rubbing the muscles along either side of her spine, down to the dip of her lower back. He skirted the curve of her ass, his fingers going lower, slipping beneath the edge of her bikini bottoms.
Would he do it? She wondered. Would he have the nerve to try to go further, right here where numerous other people sunbathed and splashed in the pool? His body hid her mid-section from one side and there were only rocks on the other. While people might be able to see her head and shoulders, to anyone who might catch a glimpse of them, they simply looked like a guy applying sun lotion to a girl’s back. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m preparing for another weekend away—the last in a long, long while. While I’m gone, I have friends coming to entertain you. Please be sure to stop by and say hello—and yes, those comments count in the grab bag giveaway too!
Here’s a question for you now. Have fun!
If you could take any job for just one month (assuming you have the skills and knowledge), what job would you like to have?
Hi there! My name is Margery Scott and I write…pretty much everything. Historical western romances, time travels, contemporary romances, mainstream suspense, etc. The list goes on. I’ve even tried writing erotica, but it’s not my thing. I’d like to be able to write HOT, because I’d love to get a bit more steam into my books, but it comes off sounding more like an episode of I Love Lucy or The Three Stooges—not exactly the reaction I’m going for. My books do have sexual tension and chemistry between the hero and heroine, though, although the fantasies my characters have aren’t exactly XXX-rated.
Fantasies. Everybody has them, right? They don’t have to be sexual, they just have to be make-believe scenarios about situations and people that are so far removed from our real lives that the chances of them actually happening are a million to one—daydreams about what could be, what life would be like if…
Fantasies are perfectly normal and healthy. In the bedroom, as long as both partners are in agreement, anything goes. Outside the bedroom, in your own mind, whatever you want to dream up is perfectly okay.
In my latest release, The Next Victim, small-town reporter Shannon has a fantasy—she’s living in New York, she’s bigger than Barbara Walters, and she’s making a kazillion dollars every week. It’s her only fantasy—until Ben Carver, the new police chief, shows up. They lock horns, but even though she fights it, her fantasy is changing—and suddenly, Ben is the star.
Workaholic detective Ben Carver is convinced the next target of a serial killer is Shannon Ames, the sexy reporter who lives in his apartment complex. As he works to prevent her from becoming the next victim, he starts to feel emotions he’d long thought dead. But the secret Shannon carries could destroy any hope of a future together—and might even get her killed.
It’s not erotica, it’s not even particularly steamy, but although both Ben and Shannon have their reasons for fighting their attraction to each other, hormones and chemistry win out—and eventually give them their happy ending where their fantasies become reality.
It’s such an odd idea—Abraham Lincoln killing vampires. I want to know if they weave in real history with the story, or if they ignore it and write their own. Of course, I want to see The Avengers much, much more, but this one appeals to my sense of humor. What about you? Will you watch it in theaters? Wait for it to come out on DVD? Or will you give it a skip altogether?
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Contest Updates
Don’t forget! The Tater Red’s Grab Bag & Elvis Contest continues! All you have to do to enter is post a comment. Check the link for a picture of this great prize!
The winner of the free download from Saturday’s post is Kathleen Charles! Kathleen, congrats, and be sure to email me with your choice of downloadable book (check my Samhain and Ellora’s Cave titles).
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News, kinda…
I can’t give you the details because they aren’t set in stone just yet, but I have two book deals in the making right now. I have an offer from one major publisher to write the first two books in a series set in southern Louisiana where some kinky shit happens and some extremely heavy duty kinds of guys like to play. And I have a two-book offer from a newer major publisher to write the first two books in an ongoing paranormal series that features a heroine with a drinking problem and her cop ex-husband. I know, that’s all so vague, but until the contracts are signed, I’d like to keep it that way. Just know they are full-length novels, so you’ll hear a lot of whining from me for over the next months. 🙂
I’ll name the winner of Saturday’s free download tonight. So be sure to post! ~DD
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Let’s Flirt!
Isn’t flirting fun? If you’re into romance, you certainly appreciate flirting.
Flirt – the word brings to mind fluttering eyelashes, sideways glances, fingertips gracing a creamy collarbone, pink tongue delicately peeking out from ruby lips, the hint of cleavage when she has to bend to retrieve her purse. Women know the art of subtle flirtatious body language.
But men can come up with some goose bump producing moves. In my novel, Sleeping with the Lights On, my heroine Sandra Holiday feels the rub of Carson’s boot against her ankle beneath the table and can’t be sure he’s purposely arousing her or keeping beat to a tune in his head.
Much flirting happens through verbal banter. We all know the words aren’t necessarily what makes a good flirt but the way they’re uttered; the double entendre, or combined with a wink or a smile.
Rachael, in Tattoos, Leather and Studs has two men flirting with her. She’s on a blind date with a man who looks like he might be a bad boy and the leader of the pack – and is sexy as you know what. On stage is the leader of the band that could pass for a GQ model. But looks can be deceiving. Tattooed date says things like, “your eyes, flecks of gold and green are amazing.” Sophisticated looking rock singer has a different approach. “Is it feeling any better, chicky?” He cast a leer at her chest. “Can I lend a hand?”
How about that first flirtatious utterance – the opening line, sometimes called the pickup line?
A friend of mine was at a country bar, scanning the crowd. A tall-blond-snake-skin-boots-tight-Levi-covered-buns-hunk drawled, “What you looking for?” When she responded, “Someone to sweep me off my feet,” he didn’t miss a beat. Swoosh!
This same friend has the best of luck with first lines. And what rings flirtatious in one country may not translate verbatim. When she met a sheik’s son at a jazz concert who told her she was prettier than all of his father’s wives, how could she refuse a date?
My favorite first line came from a guy at a public dance. He had the biggest brown eyes, thick dark lashes, and a smile that melted me. And then he said, “Hello, I love you. Would you like to dance?” Okay, a wee bit corny but it must have worked; we’ve been married now for over half our lives. After he spoke those words, the Doors had a hit single with nearly the same line. Maybe not so corny after all.
Tattoos, Leather and Studs
Rachael suspects her date, Jason, is a drug dealer, and she’s torn between her attraction for this hot bad boy and running for safety. But a famous rock star vying for her attention and spiked champagne pose far more trouble. On a blind date she’ll never forget, Rachael learns first impressions can lead her down a dangerous path and straight into the arms of love.
After two failed marriages and countless relationships, Sandra Holiday thinks she’s met the man to end her years of less than perfect choices; choices that not only derailed her travel-related career plans but also left her single and broke.
Carson Holiday, a Las Vegas country crooner with swoon-inducing good looks, spent his adult life pursuing a recording contract and love, never holding on to either. After eighteen years, he drops back into Sandra’s life, reigniting an attraction he can’t deny.
When Carson reappears, Sandra must choose again. Only this time, nothing’s as it seems. A secret admirer, a redheaded stalker, and an eccentric millionaire throw her on a dangerous path, with Carson her only truth.
As life confronts her with yet another turning point, will her decisions find her eternally sleeping with the lights on – or will she finally discover a way to turn them off?
This is just a quick fly-by. I’m back from New Orleans. Had a terrific time! Ate way too much wonderful food. I have some pics to share, and after a conversation with my agent tomorrow, I think I’ll have some exciting news to share. *crossing fingers*
Think only good thoughts for me. Of course, if what’s in the works actually happens, I’ll be nose to the grindstone for the next few months. Not a lot of time for play. 🙁
This next weekend, I’m heading to Memphis to lead a writers’ retreat with my sister. This week’s completely hosed writing-wise. Tomorrow, I will retune my plans to include whatever comes out of tomorrow’s conversation. Then I have a couple of short things to get off my plate to make room for meatier fare…
Seduced was a book that wrote itself. It took only five weeks to write this one, because for me, the story was so damn exciting. Most of it was due to the very hot relationshp between Nic and Chessa. But a good part was due to the very gruesome and scary nature of the villain they pursued throughout the book. Meet The Devourer. He’s already escaped his tomb after New Orleans is flooded. Now, he finds something else he needs.
“…The electrifying follow-up to INTO THE DARKNESS is a breathless read. Devlin’s intricate vampire society is filled with compelling personalities. The chemistry between the characters is explosive, and the horrific villain will give you goosebumps…the ending will leave you begging for more.” 4 ½ Stars and TOP PICK!, RT BOOKreviews
“…This is a deliciously edgy series with mind-blowing sex scenes that sizzle…Ms. Devlin’s DARK REALM series is devastatingly erotic and pushes the boundaries in both premise and sexual explicitness. Ms. Devlin pens in uncharted territory that will leave the readers breathless and hungering for more…” Paranormal Romance
For eight hundred years Nicolas Montfaucon has dedicated his life to preventing the rebirth of an immortal evil. But now a terrible storm has assaulted unsuspecting New Orleans—and the beast walks the earth once more. “The Devourer” has been awakened, and there is only one in the besieged city who can help Nicolas defeat the foul creature—a mysterious and beautiful enigma who haunts the handsome Revenant’s erotic waking dreams and enflames his passionate obsessions.
Chessa Tomas is not an ordinary policewoman. A vampire, she works only at night, patrolling a seamy and unseen underworld of roiling chaos. Though Nicolas is sensuality incarnate, Chessa wants no part of him or his kind—but she cannot close her eyes to the unholy malevolence that would consume their world. And Nicolas has uncovered the secret lust that rules her—a steaming, uncontrollable desire he intends to unleash, bending Chessa to his will by making her most forbidden fantasies real.
Stars glittered in the clearing sky, shimmering through the water where he waited, still clinging to the skeletal remains of the brother. Wide swaths of light criss-crossed the surface above him, sending greenish darts of light into the depths. Voices, distorted by water and distance, sounded thick and muffled.
After his bones were released by The Guardian, he’d been swept away on a giddy, frightening ride, afraid he’d be carried to the sea and forever confined to its depths.
Instead, he’d been washed up against the bank of a river, snagged by the fallen branch of a tree. His fate once again aided by the mystery of the Great God.
One voice neared. A male.
The wait felt interminable, laden with lush anticipation. After an eternity waiting in the darkness, soon, he’d be free. All the unsuspecting fool had to do was enter the water and reach down to examine the bones lying just beneath the surface.
Such a human need—to honor the dead. A weakness he would exploit.
When the large hand hovered above him, gleeful lustful power swirled inside.
Contact—the hand to his naked skull, even through a glove—was all he needed to complete his journey. He slipped upward and wrapped around flesh—warm, thrumming with life—and crept up a thickly muscled arm.
His new host dropped the skull back into the water and shook his hand, his expression wrinkling.
He couldn’t see him! Didn’t know what crawled up his arm, along his shoulder, and then slid around his face to enter his moist, warm mouth as it opened around a scream. The moment must have crept as slowly as a tiger crouched on his belly, inching toward its quivering prey.
The man choked, clasping his hands to his throat, sinking to his knees. Breath stopped on an inward wheeze. Inside him, the flicker of his life doused. His heartbeat slowed to a sluggish halt. His body slumped upright.
The heart still quivering inside the deep chest of his victim, the creature commanded it to beat again, forcing the muscle to remember its purpose, squeezing rhythmically—a slow steady throb that pushed blood through his veins.
Awareness of his new body encouraged him to drag in a deep breath, testing the taste and smell of the fouled air around him. After the close confines of a stifling crypt, the rich odors were ambrosia.
He opened his new eyes and slashed his gaze around him, noting men gathering at the river’s edge, peering into debris, calling softly to each other as though walking among the gravesites of the dead.
He drew another breath, drawing strength into his being and savoring again the scents of this new place. The humid air felt thick in his lungs and redolent with the putrid smell of the swirling water, the scent of stale sweat rising from his new body—and the smell of the humans nearby.
“Hey, we got an officer down!” The shout sounded from behind him. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Bernie, you okay?”
A smile stretched his new lips and “Bernie” looked up from where he knelt in the muddy grass. Thanks to the memories of his new host, he understood the words that filled his ears.
He curved his long, thick fingers like a shovel, smiling still as he drove them beneath the rib cage of the man leaning over him—straight inside his chest to wrap his fingers around his pulsing heart.
He liked this new world. As he gripped the quivering mass of muscle, he licked his lips. Nothing and no one would ever close him away again.
