Rosalie Stanton

Romance With Pitchforks

EROTIC ROMANCE AUTHOR.

PRODUCT MAY CONTAIN SACRILEGIOUS HUMOR, IRREVERENT BELIEFS, AND TOO-HOT-FOR-PRIME-TIME SEX SCENES.

VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.

If the world doesn't end this month, I'm in trouble.

I am buried. This happens frequently now. I tell someone I can do something because of a miraculous opening in my schedule, and the Gods of Chaos hear my optimism and decide to throw everything they can at me. I have manuscripts to read, edits to finish, and a NaNo project I managed to complete awaiting editorial attention.

Still no news from the formatter on when I can expect Flip Side of Sin, but I'm optimistic it'll be soon. Don't ask me why, I just am. Or maybe it's because I enjoy poking the Gods of Chaos with a sharp stick. Lucifer has a date with Paranormal Cravings at the end of the month -- on Christmas, actually, which really amuses him -- to show up for an interview, so be sure to check that out when you get a chance. Probably not on Christmas itself, though, unless you're really hurting for something to do.

In the meantime, here's another unedited chunk of NaNo. I hope to whip this story into submission shape in the next month or so, but given how edits keep landing on my lap, it might be longer.

I am sorry to say, despite their best efforts, Zeth and Raegan from Insatiable Need couldn't make it into this story. They're planning a pit stop in the next.

Razor recovered one of the spaces she’d put between them. “I remember you.”

“Y-you do?”

“You’re in here most nights, aren’t you?”

“I—ahh, yes, but it’s not what it sounds like.”

He arched an eyebrow, a smile flirting with that dangerous mouth of his. “So you don’t come because you like the music?” he asked, stepping forward again.

“No, I mean yes. I do. But I’m not…one of those people.”

“What? A fan?”

“No, I am—I don’t know what I’m saying right now.” Ginny’s feet continued their backward course, taking her to parts of the club she hadn’t seen up close before.

For every space she put between them, Razor put it behind them. Her inner warning

system—the same that flared to dangerous proportions whenever she found herself in a bad part of town after the sun had set—the same that had deafened her when Travis looked his bedroom door and shut the blinds—refused to kick in. All she heard was her pulse hammering in her ears and her heart thundering against her chest. Her hands, which remained in her pockets, suddenly felt cramped and sweaty. She drew them out and flexed her fingers, walking back still until she met the unforgiving surface of the opposing wall.

Then something resembling actual fear shimmied up her spine. It did nothing, however, to calm the fire between her legs, or how slick and ready she felt. For the first time in months, her clit ached, desperate for some attention. The rest of her treacherous body had warmed and relaxed, all save her mind that couldn’t stop running through the horror slide show of memories detailing what had happened the last time she’d been alone with a strange man.

Alone.

© Rosalie Stanton 2016