I’m thrilled to share the tantalizing trailer for Hot in Aruba!
So sexy. ;D
I’m thrilled to share the tantalizing trailer for Hot in Aruba!
So sexy. ;D
After that sexy musings blurb (see previous post) I decided to keep writing to see where it took me. The result was a prologue. I have no idea if it will stay a prologue, or if I will cut it, dissect it and mine it for gems, relocate it, or scrap it all together. Such is the uncertainty of first drafts, but I do like it. 😀 So, here for your edification, I give you the prologue to Opening Pandora a new creative vision. <3
I shouldn’t be here. I leaned my head against the steering wheel and closed my eyes, fisting the warm leather, knowing even as I thought it, even as I hesitated, there was no turning back. At any point during the drive, I could have turned around, but I kept going, sight fixed on the road ahead, the specters of doubt and recrimination chasing me like street racers. But they’d lost. I’d made it. Pandora’s box parked hidden within a concrete jungle of normalcy and mediocrity.
I scanned the sea of humanity, focused on staying invisible while I lifted my ass off the leather seat and slid my hands underneath my skirt. Two fingers hooked around the band of my thong, and I slid the fabric down my legs, the cool flush of exposure trailing in its wake. Part of the lace caught on the stiletto of my shoe, and I struggled to set it free, desperate to avoid drawing attention to myself. Just a random person in a car. No need to look. Nothing untoward or salacious here.
I fisted the panties and stuffed them in my purse, heart pounding. All I had to do now was open the door and step out. I gauged the distance from the parking lot to the mall entrance. Maybe twenty-five feet separated them, yet it seemed like a chasm hundreds of yards wide, each crack and chip in the pavement defined by the brilliance of a million spotlights, their beams focused, waiting.
I gripped the door handle, and a band of gold caught the sunlight. Stomach tight,. I glanced over my shoulder and slipped the ring off my finger, dropping it in the drink holder of the console. It fell without a sound. The receipt from my son’s new soccer cleats stuffed in the plastic cavern muffled the finality. I covered it all with a take-out napkin and opened the door.
Heat rose in waves off hoods and roofs, echoing the wobble of shaking legs as I stood, back to the metal. A cool breeze played with the hem of my dress, and I tugged it lower, a disconcerting dampness spreading between my legs. I craved the security a tiny strip of cotton could provide, but my instructions had been to come without underwear. I swallowed the urge to slink back into the car.
I didn’t have time for a pep talk. Those days had long past. I needed to open the box and let the world deal with the consequences. I was beyond saving. I glanced at the glass doors, watching shoppers mill in and out, oblivious to the turmoil around them.
I found a steadying breath and pushed off, taking my first tentative, tenuous step toward the man who wanted to fuck me.
Writing is a fascinating process. You start off in one direction, wander down multiple pathways, back track, take the fork in the road, retrace your steps, follow the bend, stare at dead ends, turn back, and try again. So many tangents, so many broken lines… only to end up at the right spot, eventually.
#AllAboutTheJourney #WritersLife #HotInAruba #Word
Because the first story is so long, I decided to break it up into two bits. Here then is part one. You’ll have to wait until next week for the climax (lol, see what I did there).
DISCLAIMER: Remember this is a first draft, hot-off-the-press, unedited version. Enjoy the ride.
“Good afternoon, Stephanie. Is it all right that I call you that? Thank you for coming.”
“Stephanie is fine.” I fidgeted in my chair and smoothed down my skirt for the millionth time. Mrs. Murphy looked respectable in Dolce and Gabbana, dark-framed glasses and a tailored pant suit, her long brunette hair pulled back in a bun. Why on earth was I here?
“Try not to be nervous,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just never done anything like this before.”
She clasped her hands over the manila file folder with my name written on it. “We are a service of firsts.” Her smile was warm.
The space resembled any other commercial building: lots of glass and greys. Mrs. Murphy’s office looked out over the city, revealing people as specks of dust and trucks as dinky cars. I glanced at a door off to the left and behind her desk. Was that where everything happened?
“We have a private location for our encounters.”
Her uncanny ability to read my mind caused sweat to drip between my breasts.
“I thought you’d like to know, I’ve assigned one of our finest personal attendants to oversee your experience with us.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t manage more than that.
“Would you like to see his picture?”
That piqued my interest. I didn’t know if I’d get to find out anything about him before our… well, our date. I grimaced. Date sounded innocent. This was anything but. I’d come to Pleasure Incorporated for very non innocent longings. It was a secret club of sorts. They didn’t advertise, and only referrals from previous clientele earned you an interview with Mrs. Murphy. My girlfriend Amy was the one who told me about them. I couldn’t believe she’d done something like this. Now, I couldn’t believe I was considering doing something like this. Hell, I’d already committed to it, signed the confidentiality contract and everything. Paid the fees in full.
I leaned forward in the chair as she slid an 8×10 glossy my way. I turned it over and whistled. He was beautiful—strong jaw, dimples, shoulder-length dark brown hair, warm eyes, and the body of an Adonis. I swallowed and handed back the photo. I left clammy finger prints on the edges of the film.
She placed a standard white letter envelope on the desk. “Inside is the private location for your meeting tonight. You will need the card key to enter the building and your room. You are to meet Stephen in the lobby at 5:00pm. On your questionnaire, you mentioned wine would be a welcome addition. You will enjoy a quiet dinner together first, get to know one another a little bit. The conversation will help to put you at ease and open you up to the events of the evening. All the details are outlined in the enclosed letter.”
I dropped my head in my hands.
“There is no need to be embarrassed. Stephen has been briefed and is more than qualified to meet your needs.”
Her chair rolled back. I looked up to find her standing, hand outstretched. I followed suit.
Her handshake was firm. “It’s our policy to ensure all aspects of your fantasy are met with the utmost respect and professionalism. But I can assure you. You will enjoy yourself tremendously. Stephen will take good care of you.”
My grip on the envelope caused the paper to roll over the firm plastic card inside. I stared at the flashing numbers as the elevator descended. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. I should kill Amy for suggesting this. My biggest sexual woe was that I’d never had an orgasm with another person. It’s not like it was the end of the world. I’m sure I would have had one eventually. Perhaps when I met the right guy and felt comfortable in his arms. Amy thought my ‘problem’ was sexual heresy and that I needed a ‘good, hard’ reckoning. This insane situation was her solution.
I passed a lobby full of people going on about their day, flustered that at any moment one of them would look at me and know what I was about to do. Do they even know what the company on the thirty-third floor did? P. Incorporated was all it said on the huge information board behind the security desk. I shuffled down the sidewalk and ducked inside my car. The meter was flashing, but there was no ticket. Thank God. How would I explain that one?
I opened the envelope and pulled out the card. I scooted forward and tucked it in my back jean’s pocket. I unfolded the letter and scanned the pertinent details. My room was ready immediately, and the Pleasure Motel was located an hour northeast from downtown. The letterhead called the place the Country House, but the sleazy label wrapped itself around my mind and held on. I programmed the address into my GPS and headed toward the highway. I’d packed my bag yesterday but brought way too much stuff. What on earth does one bring or wear to a sexual escapade? I suspected other than making sure my breath was minty fresh with toothpaste, there was very little I’d use in my overnight bag. I’d bought some sexy lingerie, but the more I dwelled on it, the more ridiculous the purchase seemed. Would he just throw me down? Would he rip off all my clothes? I wiped a hand across my face. This was such a bad idea. I picked up my phone and dialed into the Bluetooth.
“Hello?” Amy’s voice echoed on the other end. She must be driving too.
“This is such a bad idea,” I said.
“Nonsense. This is a step forward for all women kind. You can’t have your girl bits all shrivelled and lifeless like that. She needs to be set free and soar.”
“It’s not an eagle, for fuck’s sake; it’s a pussy, and cats can’t fly.” I took the off ramp and veered north.
“Only because your canary hasn’t learned to sing.”
I snorted. “This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had with you. And that’s saying a lot.”
“Steph. Trust me. By tomorrow morning, your world outlook will have changed. You won’t be the girl afraid you’ll never come. You’ll know it can happen, and you’ll revel in the feeling and the experience. Who have they hooked you up with?”
I didn’t bother pointing out how tawdry ‘hooked up’ sounded. “His name is Stephen. Looks like a Greek god.”
“I had a guy named Paul. Blond and tall as fuck.”
Amy had her encounter last year. I only learned about it a few months ago. As her best friend, I gave her a serious brow beating for the secrecy. She redeemed herself (according to her) by talking me into trying an experience myself.
The company only took on one client a week, which didn’t make any sense to me. If the demand was there, why delay? I’d had to wait over two months before I received my appointment. As much as I wanted to know the reason behind the wait, I didn’t ask. The less I knew about this organization the better. I wasn’t even sure it was legal.
I shuddered and pushed the thought from my mind. As soon as I made the clandestine call to the agency, I was sent lots of paper work to fill out, including a manifesto of past sexual experiences and health history. The company’s mission statement and policies were well laid out in the welcome package, including the rigorous screening and medical standards mandated for their personal attendants. At least I could be confident Stephen was clean.
“I have no idea how I let you talk me into this.” I still had a long drive ahead of me, but the green spaces were opening up now, and the concrete jungle was slowly giving way to real trees.
“Because you’re repressed and you need a good lay.”
“Do you have all your condoms?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom, though Mrs. Murphy said they take care of all that.”
“Yeah, she told me that too. I still brought some just in case.”
“Some?” I laughed.
“I had twenty-four hours. I planned on using as many as I could before the clock ran out.”
I heard Amy’s car ding, and she switched to her handheld. “I have to go, babe, but seriously, you need this. Try to let go of the crap in your past. Not all guys are demons.”
“Good. Then go out there tonight and have some fun. Leave stuffy, overthinking Steph in the city. Let the wild child out. You know, the one that goes out drinking and dancing with me. Bring her to the party. Let her loose on Stephen and leave nail marks on the guy’s back.”
I laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Atta girl. Have fun, sweetie. Love ya.”
“Love you too, girl.”
She rung off, and my speakers clicked back onto the radio. I turned up the volume and sang, blocking out my objections and doubts. I didn’t let them out of the bag again until I pulled up the long, winding drive that stopped in front of a colonial mansion. Columns, shutters, and trim in white and plaster exterior walls in a soft, welcoming yellow greeted me, as did the gentleman who waited to take my keys and whisk my car away. A bellhop retrieved my luggage and carried it up the front steps.
He waited at the entranceway. “You will need to use your card, Madame.”
“I’m sorry, of course.” I rummaged through my pockets. I wiped my palms on my jeans and tried fishing the plastic out. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“It is all right.”
I studied him out of the corner of my eye. He was handsome and young, and very clearly not from around here. His accent betokened a café by a lazy river, or wine alongside a wicker picnic basket in a flower-filled meadow.
I swiped the card. The light flashed red and the door wouldn’t budge.
“Try again,” he said. “Slowly.”
I just wanted to get the hell inside and hide in my room. I gave the card key another shot. This time, I heard the click, and my friend opened the door for me. “Après vous.”
“Thank you.” I crossed the threshold and took a moment to appreciate the dark-stained hardwood flooring and grand staircase before me. We were in a wide atrium and there were two rooms, one on either side of the foyer.
“To the left is the main sitting area. Feel free to bring a book here to read. The light is very good from the large windows.”
I poked my head in to have a look. Floor to ceiling bookshelves ensconced a large stone fireplace.
“To your right is the music room. Do you play?”
A Yamaha ebony grand piano commanded focus. “No.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “This is the main lobby area. You will meet your personal attendant here at the appropriate time.”
There was a pair of wing back chairs tucked into the curve of the stairwell. I nodded.
He proceeded up the steps, turned right at the landing, and ambled down the long hallway. We passed several doors before stopping at one with the label, Master Suite, in gold font etched in the dark wood. I retrieved the card key again and swiped it in the metal lock. The light flashed green, and my porter opened the door, motioning me inside. I took a moment to process the room while he placed my belongings on a fold out luggage rack.
“Will that be all, Madame?”
I blinked. “Yes, thank you.”
I started to dig in my pockets but he held up his hand. “We do not accept tips. Enjoy your stay.” He bowed slightly and closed the door behind him.
The room was opulent. A large sitting area with couch, wingback chairs, a coffee table, and television sunk two steps down off the main entrance way. A kitchenette with granite countertops, and a large sunroom that opened to a patio with lounge chairs and a hot tub stretched before me. I followed the stone tile floor into the bathroom. The tub could fit three people. A stand up shower, built for two with a rock ledge for sitting, gleamed behind glass doors. The bedroom had a four poster bed, two elegant upholstered chairs, and two wide-paddled ceiling fans. The room looked like it should overlook the ocean. After taking one lingering look at the bed, I hightailed it back out to the sitting room. I checked my watch. I had an hour before I was to meet Stephen. I couldn’t fathom what I was supposed to do with myself for that length of time. I had enough pent up energy to win a marathon, but I couldn’t manage a run, a shower, and still have time to get ready before five. I’d showered before I left home, so it would take me a half hour at most to sachet out the door in time. I opened my bag and laid out my supplies. I could curl my hair. That would take a good twenty minutes in and of itself. Satisfied that I had something to do rather than dwell on what was about to go down, I set to work.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, I had changed into a black dress that dipped low in the back, crept down the front, and swooped around my neck. I paired it with some sky-high heels and my blonde curls. I touched up my make-up, applying mascara and lipstick for that extra oomph and grabbed my small clutch, double checking that the card key was tucked safely inside, along with my compact, lipstick, and a condom. I took a gulping breath and clicked the door shut behind me.
Working on a new novel is a lot like running through a vat of molasses. It’s a slow, messy process. I’m happy to report, however, I finally stumbled over the 30,000 word hump. 😀
Here’s a little teaser of what I wrote today for Hot in Aruba, my contemporary romance.
Can’t wait to share this one with you!
From today’s writing: Hot in Aruba
My feet moved mechanically. I was a sexually active woman. I loved sex. I craved the intimacy and high of climax, yet around Carlos, I acted like a girl who’d barely been kissed. And why? Because I was bent on us being friends. That old record was seriously wearing out its groove.
When he’d suggested we should head back, I’d wanted anything but. However, the idea of pushing him down and fucking him in the desert sand hadn’t really appealed to me, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why? Outside sex was hot. A thought burbled to the surface, and I cringed. A whiny, pouty little voice mewled that our first time together should be special.
I kicked a pebble in my path. What the hell was happening to me? I was losing my fucking mind.
Well, here it is: the first draft, first peek at Chapter One of Hot in Aruba. 😀 Hence all the hefty security measures with age restrictions! This excerpt is all grown up. Adults only content.
When reading, keep in mind, the placement may change (this teaser may never make the cut or stay as the first scene of the book). The words, the sentences, even the paragraphs may come and go as I work my way through to The End. But this is just the beginning, and you’re getting a rare glimpse of the process. Pay no attention to editing issues. All that will be sorted out several months from now once the story is written. This, for now then, is where it all began…
I forgot to take the chicken breast out of the freezer, damn it. I shifted a little, my tail bone digging into the broken spring in the mattress.
“God, you’re so fucking hot, Samantha.” He grunted, pumping harder until his breath quickened and he got that crinkled look on his face, teeth bared. It looked like he’d just smelled something vile.
My time was running out. I tried to focus on the sensations, desperate to build the climax.
He let out a long wheeze and collapsed, half his weight on the mattress, the other on me. After a moment of heavy breathing, he put his hands behind his head and rolled onto his back. “Did you go, baby?”
I swear, I was one of those women whose clit was miles away from their vagina. “No.” I flipped onto my stomach and drew circles with my nails on his smooth chest. He had rock-hard abs and a tattoo that trailed across his pecks and up over his shoulder before ending in a hot muscled sleeve.
He stretched. “I’d love to stay and help you out, but I gotta get to work.” He kissed my forehead and hopped out of bed, heading to the bathroom. I admired the indents in his sculpted backside until the door shut.
I groaned and stared at the ceiling. The paint was peeling in one spot, and a crack ran the length of the drywall seam. The toilet flushed, and the shower door closed. I opened my nightstand and pulled out Lelo, my faithful battery operated boyfriend and waited. Once I heard the water run, I turned on my vibrator. It was old and sounded like a Hoover, but it never let me down.
I was still sensitive from Peter’s jouncing, so it wouldn’t take long. I just… needed… a little… attention… right… there. I arched my back into the pounding throb of my toy, letting the delicious buzz fill my body. I clutched the sheets, fisting them in my free hand and let out a strangled moan. I fell back, my heart pounding.
When I resigned myself to move, I tucked Lelo in the drawer, under my panties. The shower stopped, and he turned on my hairdryer.
I sighed. I could always order Chinese again.
Well? What do you think? Are you interested in reading more? Is this story a keeper?