Hello, gentle reader.
I’ve been busy, but it’s a weird sort of busy. The kind where it feels like you’re doing everything and nothing all at once. The kind where you mark off things at the top of the to-do list only to add two more things to the bottom. I’m not complaining. Edits, formatting, marketing–as an authorpreneur, it’s in the job description and I wouldn’t trade that job for anything. Yes, I’m going to keep using that word authorpreneur because I read this article and I felt like it was the best description of what I want to do. Writing is my passion. It’s the one thing that I’ve always wanted to do since I was a kid. Failing at this is not an option so I need to do everything I can to succeed.
Edits on Everything She Never Wanted are going smoothly and I’m happy about that. I’ve probably gushed a bit too much about my editor Nikki Busch, but that can’t be helped. She really is all the awesomes. Still, I’m a little nervous about this book. I know that I’ve stayed true to the character and the story arch. But as I stated a few days ago on twitter, it’s filthy…True, I always feel this way when I reread my more erotic stories, but phew…THE FILTH. In fact, I wanted to share some of that with you all, but I don’t think I’m ready. Maybe once it’s out for beta and I begin to get some feedback I will begin to feel a little more comfortable. So instead, I’m gonna share a deleted (?) scene.
In one of the eleventy-million rewrites of Everything She Never Wanted, I thought I would try to write some chapters from Elijah’s POV. This was an idea that I quickly abandoned because the more I tried to get inside of his head, the more I realized that I didn’t know a damn thing about him. It’s a weird thing to experience as a writer. I mean, I created him. Why won’t he tell me who he is?!? But this couple hundred words felt successful.
Everything She Never Wanted–Deleted Scene
Midnight dark faded into denim blue on the very edge of the horizon as Elijah tied the laces on his running shoes. He hadn’t slept. Well, he had closed his eyes enough to rest, but that couldn’t be called sleep. Not when he was this restless. His bed had felt too big–empty. He couldn’t get warm enough. A good hard run should fix both of those problems. At the very least it would get the blood pumping somewhere else besides his cock.
It was that moment before the leaves began to turn and the last bit of lingering summmer heat. A crispness in the morning air that he was fond of made a rash of goosebumps crawl across his bare thighs. He probably needed sweatpants, but he liked to wear running shorts. The chill in the air was a motivator. He pulled up the hood of his thermal and took off.
Delaware Avenue was quiet at this hour. No cars on the road. No boats bleating on the water or men shouting on the riverfront—just him and the sound of his feet striking the pavement. He didn’t listen to music when he ran, but instead made his own cadence with his breath and his footfalls. Three blocks down and he had hit a rhythm. His usual route took him six blocks toward the Ben Franklin Bridge which was one and three quarter miles long to the Jersey side. Up and back was about six miles. But he wasn’t headed for the bridge. It was the same distance if he ran to her place. If he pushed it and ran a six minute mile, he could be there in eighteen minutes.
She lived in a tiny apartment on a street that was quintessentially South Philly. Her place was situated in a block of narrow row homes smashed up against each other. The homes themselves butted right up against the sidewalk. Her neighbor on the left had pretty window boxes with colorful mums spilling out of them. It made her door look even more derelict with it’s vomit tinted paint. Elijah banged on the peeling plywood, panting, his heart thundering against the wall of his chest. He hadn’t quite made it in eighteen minutes. Twenty minutes and forty five seconds would have to do.
He banged and banged again until he heard her voice on the other side, cranky and vulgar. “Who the fuck is it?”
“Me. Open up.” He wasn’t sure if she would recognize his voice, but those thoughts flew when he heard the deadbolt slide.
She didn’t have a peephole. In her groggy state, there was no way she could be sure it was him. He made a mental note to scold her for that later.
When she opened the door the chain was in place. He only caught a glimpse of her hair and the round of her cheek before he shouldered it, applying just enough force to break the chain and send her flying back onto the grungy carpeted steps.
“What the fuck?” she cursed.
He kicked the door shut, dead-bolted it and fell on her. She was half awake and a lot terrified, but her first instinct wasn’t to scream. Yves was a fighter so she fought him. A quick rabbit punch caught him in the mouth. He tasted blood–salt and copper on his tongue. When he grabbed her hands she threw elbows and knees. This wasn’t one of those times where she pretended to be scared while they wrestled on the couch. She was really afraid of him. His cock hardened as he struggled to hold her down. He could practically hear her heart kicking in her chest as she flailed beneath him.
“No!” she cried out before he smashed his mouth to hers. In that moment she realized it was him and her fear turned into lust tinged anger. “Hijo de puta,” she growled.
Yes, he was a son of a bitch. But this wasn’t new information.
She was wearing nothing. A skimpy pair of panties and a tank top. He ripped them off—literally ripped them. The beast in him was well and truly out and he couldn’t be bothered to make apologies for it.
“Upstairs,” she demanded.
“No. Right here. Right now.” He hooked her knees over his shoulders and found her pussy with his mouth.
“Oh, shhhhit!” she hissed.
Usually he teased her for a bit. Tried for finesse rather than mechanics, but after spending eight sleepless hours tossing in his bed thinking about the taste of her, he just wanted her to come.
Lips, tongue, teeth tasted her, scraped against her flesh, sucked at her clit until her hips were fucking into his mouth. His two fingers glided into her with ease and her sleek inner muscles constricted around them instantly. His cock pulsed, wanting to be inside of her. He clamped one hand over it and squeezed….not until she comes.
It didn’t take long. Her head was thrown back and she cursed in Spanish. Whispered epithets to her composure as she came, her pussy flooding his mouth. Satiating that taste that no food could quench.
“Get inside of me,” she demanded. “I need you right now.”
Another advantage to wearing running shorts. It only took a bit of quick maneuvering and he was out of them. She yanked his shirt over his head. Now both of them were naked it on her apartment stairs. Half a thought was dedicated to protection and pregnancy. Yes, he should be putting on a condom right now. Yes, he should be worrying about pregnancy and STIs, but the dumb, blind and lustful part of him was already arrowing inside of her. The hot sheath of her pussy gave wetly at his initial thrust. “Jesus,” he moaned then grew still against her. “I’ve been wanting this all fucking night.”
Yves smiled. “All night, huh?”
“Yes, all night.”
She lifted her bottom off of the step, hips slamming against his, sinking him deeper. The sound that came out of him didn’t sound even remotely human. A tremor rushed through him and for a moment it felt like he might faint.
“Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Yes…god, yes. You just feel so damn good. I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. I just wanted this.”
She laughed then locked her ankles around his waist, mending their bodies together seamlessly. “Well, if you want it, take it,” she taunted.
He reared back, still buried in her, knees biting into the threadbare fibers of the carpeted stairs, sneakers squeaking on the square of linoleum just inside the door. Yves rose up on her elbows. Her sleep tangled hair fell over her shoulders and into her face. Made her look as wild as he felt.
“Take it,” she said again, her voice husky. “It’s yours, so take it.”
Elijah grabbed her hips and drove into her. She grinned. Her teeth were white and cheshire cat-like in the semi-darkness.
“That’s right. Just like that.”
He loved her like this. Loved her filthy talk. Loved when her frantic need met his. Two months in and he still couldn’t get enough of her. Every time was like the first. Every time he was around her he felt that greedy possessiveness to be inside of her. To fuck her, mark her, all while chanting MineMineMine.
“I’m yours,” she breathed.
Fuck, had he said that out loud?
He didn’t care. Couldn’t. Because he had her now. Under him. He was deep inside of her and it felt right. It was frightening…and glorious.
“Closer,” she whispered, pulling him in and he let her. Her bare breasts brushed against his chest. Her pussy clutched at him. The little sounds she made let him know that she was close again. Damn, she was so responsive. If she came with him inside of her like this–so close to her, skin to skin–he wouldn’t survive it. Some primal part of his brain wanted that. The thought of emptying himself into her made his thrusts more furtive. Her little sounds got big and round and echoed in the stairwell.
“Come for me, sweetness.”
It was like she was waiting for him to say it. Her cunt spasmed immediately. Clutched and squeezed at him so that he was coming with her. Their open mouths panted hot breath into each others faces. Their bodies tensed and strained to hold onto every second of ecstasy they’d wrenched from each other. For him, it felt like it went on forever. It stole the strength from his legs, weakened his back. The arms he’d used to brace himself over her twitched and shook like they would give at any moment.
“Now can you take me upstairs?” she asked, breathless. “I’m pretty sure I have a rug burn on my back.”
“Okay…okay,” he panted, though he wasn’t necessarily sure if he could make it.
Elijah didn’t know where he got to strength to lift himself and her off of the steps, but somehow he managed to make himself upright an carry her upstairs to her bed.
EVERYTHING SHE NEVER WANTED
Coming May 25!!