Honored to Prove Myself

So, my friends, recently I was notified that I'm a nominee for Favorite Erotica Author 2009 here at The Romance Studio. After squealing a minute and jumping up and down, I remembered to be excited.

So I'd like to share with you some examples that show why I might be on this esteemed list. As an author, I like to think of myself real. My characters are real, my stories are real, and what they make the reader feel, I hope, is real. Because of my desire to build relatable people and engaging stories, when you read me, you will find a grab bag of situations from romantic to funny to intensely sexual to frightening to devastating to liberating and I'd like to introduce you to the experience now.


My first release, an anthology title The People You Know; The Sex They Have, Is up all by its lonesome for a Psyche award, and it is filled with normal people stumbling through every day life trying to find their way to love. In "Sahara's on a Plane to Munich" readers are treated to one of the funniest scenes I have ever written. Ever. And it all centers around Sahara's first attempt at getting intimate with her love interest, Ingo. He's a college student and... well... I'll let you see for yourself:

Sahara pushed her shirt up and slipped down her strapless bra so Ingo could
kiss her breasts and revel in their fullness. Her sex was drenched and throbbing, and him sucking her breasts kicked it into high gear. It was like her nipples and clitoris were attached on the same electrical wavelength. It was yummy, and Sahara found herself begging to be done. But thunder crashed just outside the door and she was startled to her senses for just one moment.

The overstuffed couch was heavenly, but Ingo had roommates. He assured her they wouldn’t be home that night, but Sahara was Patty’s daughter, and even being so close to the edge, she reached for the additional privacy. After one lingering kiss, she lightly pushed at his chest and sat up. She tugged down her shirt and found herself unable to speak the words, “let’s go to your room.” Instead, she grabbed for his hand and headed there. For a second, uncertainty set in as she felt his hesitation stretch their arms between them. She looked back and noticed he still seemed quite ready.

His bedroom was a disgusting, junky, putrescent mess. A rank, foul-smelling bacteria farm. Sahara was stunned and thoughts of sex flew out of her head. She stomped back into the living room to find her panties. He called out from his room while she shimmied back into her undergarments. He stood in the same place
when she returned.

Ingo was always clean, always well-groomed. He always smelled good. His teeth were always blindingly white. He kept all of his notes in separated notebooks with neat block letters on each that showed the subject. His backpack was organized and his laptop always fastened properly and securely inside. He made a strange observation about being a bachelor. He followed that up with a muttered comment about his wonderful mother.

The place was a disaster area and Sahara told him she couldn’t possibly have sex in there! She could only describe his expression as embarrassed and adorably panic-stricken on behalf of his clear erection. He asked her for ten minutes to straighten up. A reformed mess-maker, Sahara knew there was no way he could right all the wrongs done in that room in ten minutes even with a military decon squad.

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"Dime" one of my Phaze releases features a conflicted character who has a music background and enjoys the art of rap, but finds herself unable to reconcile her love for the art with her disapproval of the rampant mysoginistic themes. Still... still... finds herself listening to objectionable material. But this is how she gets around it:

I do listen to rap. In fact, I used to listen to a lot of Spanish rap on my way to work in the mornings, mainly because I don’t speak Spanish. There were probably some misogynistic attitudes expressed in the lyrics, but I didn’t have to stop bobbing my head or rocking my body when I heard something that truly offended me to my core. Instead, I got amped. The juices in my brain got flowing, and I felt like I was ready to take on the world. Sometimes as I phonetically matched what I thought were the lyrics, I’d see a Latino fellow roll his window down bobbing with me, trying to connect to me in Spanish. All I could do was smile and nod in the universal signal for “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I mean you no harm.” I would blast the music until I hit the corner of the street where I worked. Then I would turn it down. Switch to NPR, which I listened to in the afternoons.

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And, from my upcoming erotic horror release, The Soul of Nowhere, I'd like to show that contemporary isn't my only interest. Read the beginning words from this harrowing and super-hot tale:

The night was glacial and blue lit by the unforgiving blind, white stare of the moon. The demon, Mastema burst forth from Hell onto the frozen, empty street. Hot, rotten blood bubbled out of the hole around him, glowing deep red, hissing and steaming like lava on the icy asphalt. Bright orange embers faded to fly’s wing green then black as they cooled into the shape of claws on the pavement.

But Mastema was only half way out.

The closing portal was starting to cut a deep and vicious ring around his massive chest. As sure as he had been expelled, Lucifer would ensure he found Hell—even after all that had transpired—on Earth.

Ramming his needle-sharp talons into the blacktop causing white sparks to erupt into the night’s frigid breath, the demon, Mastema, used his thick and powerful arms to drag himself the rest of the way out of the closing portal. Angered, it grew diamond-spiked teeth that rotated around him faster and faster, grinding and ripping his reborn flesh. Mastema did not bother to moan. An eternity of pain in Hell dulled his senses to any pain he could feel in this, the human realm. And, with each forward movement his skin and muscles and fatty tissue folded, sealed, and sewed themselves back together. Mastema dragged himself further out and razors sliced into his belly.

The saw edges of the portal started to boil over in sick green-brown fluid. Fire licked at the flesh beneath his skin poisoning him, giving hope when there should have been none.

Hell had never willingly let go.

Did I mention I'm up for Favorite EROTIC Author? How about I share something that shows how I got in that category? Are you ready for a little hotness from one of my favorite titles, Imperfection? This couple has been together for twenty-five years and sometimes, they're still like teenagers with each other. OUt every one of my books, this one, I can tell you have everything you want in a contemporary erotic piece of fiction that sex and story.

“You need a spanking,” he growls into my ear.

“For what?”

“For this.” He brings my hand down to the front of his pants.

I raise one corner of my lips, but pull my hand away, retreating.

Bending over the SUV, I prop myself up on the hood with my elbows. My hips rest against it. I take a moment to marvel at the phenomenal landscaping and the fact that the entire back of the house is bright, warm and visible. I can make out revelers in every room. Then, just barely, I curve my back and turn to look over my shoulder. I give my butt a shimmy. “Really? A spanking.”

JB lets his eyes droop and scorch over my body from foot to head and back again. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth. Uh-oh. I know that look. We aren’t going to make it home.
When he doesn’t move, I ask him again. “You think I need a spanking, Daddy? I haven’t been spanked since—”

Thwack!

His broad hand comes down to slap me right in the center of my butt. I suck in a sharp breath when I feel that scintillating sting. I hold my breath now because he doesn’t end with striking my flesh through my dress. Instead, his hand completes its descent by cupping me from the back, between my legs. I can feel the rub of his fingertips through silk against my clitoris. I utter a little "ay" as I feel that touch course through my body and end at my nipples, which are already chilled and pebbled from the night air.

Thwack!

He repeats the slap to the center of my ass and the sliding of his hand under to nuzzle me. I feel a tiny pop inside me, just like the breaking of a tiny bubble. It’s this subtle, near-nothing sensation that lets me know I’m saturated inside and out. I’m glad I’m wearing a black dress.

I slide my foot over until one of my ankles tangles with his. I tug at his leg until he moves to stand behind me, which doesn’t really take much prodding. He drops his head to kiss my neck.

My flesh tingles there because it is a sweet spot. I am eager so I drop my head to the side, letting my hair fall out of his way. I’m laying myself bare for him.

Feeling behind me with deft hands that have done this a thousand times, I slip the tongue from the buckle of his belt. I unbutton the top of his pants, which fall right below his belly. I reach in, feeling my way, and ease my hand into the elastic band of his underwear. When my fingers close over his hot penis, I clutch him gently. My fingers don’t go all the way around. I tease the thick, rigid vein underneath with my fingertips and score it lightly with my nails.

“I saw you put panties on when we left the house tonight. Where are they?” His voice is gruff.

I reach into my bra. That’s where I tucked the black satin bikinis I took off in the bathroom. I hand them back to them. I don’t look, but I know he’s bringing them to his nose. There’s a subtle sniff. His lips and tongue are on my neck again, his arms encircle me.

I gasp when JB lifts the skirt, and the material of my dress abrades my sensitive skin. I gasp again as cool, frigid air whispers over my ass and kisses me intimately. His hands knead each cheek. He even drops his hands to my thighs to run his blunt nails over them. Goose bumps spring up across my skin. He kneads the fleshy cheeks again. I stroke his penis in response. I could pull it to me, put it right inside me right now, but amazingly, I hesitate. No one can see us from the waist down, but anyone could come outside and approach us. I need to finish, obviously. I don’t want to be caught having sex in my friends’ backyard, but more than anything, I don’t want to be
interrupted. I haven’t been with my husband in weeks. I need it all.

“I asked for us to stay home,” he whispers, before licking the shell of my ear. “I told you not to start with me.” He knocks my legs apart with his knee. “Now, we’re going to finish it.”

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Boy do they finish! Thanks for so much stopping by and reading today, I would love to hear your comments. Also, wish me luck :)

Aubrey Leatherwood
http://www.aubreyleatherwood.com/
Dime
Imperfection
The People You Know, The Sex They Have