Due to reasons that I will not discuss here (or anywhere for that matter), the pub date for my erotic novel, In Her Closet has been pushed back to May. I’ve decided to self-publish it instead which I think is a situation full of win.
(<—This is the new cover crafted by moi!)
So in celebration of that, I’d like to offer you an excerpt of In Her Closet. It’s from the chapter where Yves meets Elijah. I’m hoping to whet your appetite for the book!
I dress casually for my evening at the Erotic Literary Salon. I’m excited about this meeting with Elijah Weinstein but I don’t want to make too big a deal of it. I don’t believe in fairytales, romantic or otherwise, and I’m always careful not to get my hopes too high. So in my favorite Bob Marley t-shirt and yummy ripped jeans, I sit down at my usual table and settle in to listen to the poets and wordsmiths until it’s my turn to take the stage.
I have no idea what Elijah Weinstein looks like. He told me that he would be wearing a green polo shirt. I scan the room but I don’t see any Jewish guy in a green polo shirt. He’s late or maybe he just changed his mind all together.
“Now calling the poet Yves Santiago.”
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and make my way to the stage. Reading my poetry in front of a crowd still makes me nervous even though I’ve been doing it for years.
“Good evening,” My voice bounces off the back wall and I hate the way it sounds when it makes its way back to me. Any other time I fancy that it sounds deep and sultry, but up here it sounds high and nervous.
“This is more of a ramble than a poem. I call it ‘Sleek and Tawny’.”
I clear my throat, close my eyes and take a deep cleansing breath.
“She’s lost all the parts of her that were pretty.
Her shine and nubile beauty wore off long ago.
Rubbed off—rubbed raw by men.
She’s nothing sweet anymore.
She’s something feral,
Sleek and tawny, un animal.
Something constantly in search of something or
someone to devour.
She sees her prey and when he passes her way
the scent of him enlivens her.
She pursues him because in this moment, he
is what she needs.
What she hungers for.
That tender morsel she draws across her teeth
But when her passion is spent
she remains discontent
until a hint of some other succulent scent
rattles her cage.”
I open my eyes. A wave of satisfaction washes over me from the appreciative eyes and smiles of the crowd. “Thank you,” I murmur, backing away from the microphone to a chorus of whoops and applause.
A man approaches me as I walk back to my table. Mmm, tasty, I think as he offers me a smile.
“I’m Elijah Weinstein.”
I’m barely able to keep my mouth from dropping open. Elijah Weinstein is fucking fine. He reaches out and shakes my hand, holding it far longer than is necessary for a greeting. Our hands sway gently between us—a frizzle of friction forming between our palms.
“Nice to meet you,” I sigh, trying my best to keep from licking my lips.
“Sorry, I’m late. I got a little lost.”
“It’s okay. You want to have a seat?” I offer, gesturing to the table.
“Of course, thank you.”
We sit and I can’t help looking him over. Elijah Weinstein doesn’t look anything like I anticipated. I was expecting a short, balding Jewish guy. What sits across from me is a tall, Abercrombie and Fitch model type with wavy, dirty blond hair, mossy green eyes and one of those goddamn sexy ass smiles I’m weak for. One that spreads across his full lips like a secret. I feel that familiar tingle of lusty heat between my thighs.
Tranquilo, Yves. Keep it professional.
“So you look nothing like I thought you would,” he admits unabashedly.
“Oh? What were you expecting? Blond? Amazonian? Legs up to my neck?”
He smiles and nods shyly. “Not quite like that, but mostly I didn’t expect you to be sooo…” he pauses for a long moment. I can tell he’s searching for the right words. “Exotic,” he finishes finally.
“Exotic, huh?” I tease, laughing out loud.
He blushes again. “I’m sorry. I know that sounded horrible—”
“Oh no, I’m not offended,” I quickly interrupt in an attempt to set him at ease. “On the contrary, I’m quite flattered.”
That shy, sexy smile spreads across his lips again. The blush in his cheeks deepens and spreads down his neck. He’s not going to make this easy.
He clears his throat. “So you write poetry? I had no idea.”
“I can write anything, but poetry was my start. Like all writers I have a notebook somewhere filled with super-angsty, teenage poems.”
“Angst? What reasons did you have to feel angst as a teenager?”
I lean back in my chair, cross my legs and smile. “I wasn’t always this exotic creature you see before you,” I answer jokingly. “I had my share of pimples and unrequited love.”
“I can hardly believe that. I haven’t been sitting here ten minutes and I’m already in love with you.”
Naughty, naughty, naughty. I shake my head and laugh to myself. I would eat you alive. “What do you say we go and get those drinks?”