Breaking the Romance Rules - With a Christmas Twist!

By Bianca Sommerland (Guest Blogger)

Just for the fun of it, I’m going to take three romance rules and find a Christmasy way to break them without slipping out of the genre. Readers, let me know if I succeed.

1. The hero and the heroine must meet very close to the beginning of the book and feel an instant attraction.

Really? Let’s see . . .

Sue climbed onto the bus and shook the snow from her flaxen hair, wrinkling her frozen nose as she plunked her change into the tariff box. The bus heaters blasted warm air from all sides, stirring the scent of melting muck and salt as she quickly made her way to her usual seat, right across from the middle door.

Someone had written a note right on the light blue vinyl padded seat.

‘Mark Twain, Cinnamon rolls, and cerulean. Things we have in common. Meet me if you’d like to see if there’s more. 57483’.

Meet . . . but who had left this? And when? Well, the ‘when’ was easy. Today. She would have noticed this on her seat yesterday.

And who . . . she finished work hours before the rush and the bus was usually pretty empty. A few faces had become familiar. Like the two old women getting on in front of the Salvation Army where they volunteered. A few students.

There’s that guy.

She snorted. Right, like he’d notice her. He only rode the bus once a week and he looked like he could either be a model or a god. After he’d almost caught her staring, she’d avoided so much as glancing his way when he sat in the back of the bus. He was way out of her league.

If this is from him, he obviously doesn’t agree.

Maybe, but it was Christmas Eve. She couldn’t very well ditch the office party to meet a stranger, even if the stranger knew her favourite author, coffee flavour, and color. Even if he’d written the address of her favourite cafe, which was actually along the way.

She watched the stop approach. Stood. Took a deep breath . . .

And then sat back down. Sue Booth didn’t do impulsive.

2. The woman’s POV is the priority. (This one kinda surprised me, but if you look up romance rules, you’ll find it all over the place—apparently women don’t really care what the man is thinking).

“Hohoho!” Brian reclined in the big Santa throne and rubbed his chin under the thick white fake beard. He couldn’t believe he’d volunteered to be the mall Santa. Forcing a smile, he picked up the pee-scented toddler and perched the kid on his knee. “So what do you want for Christmas, little man?”

The kid rambled on and on, and Brian did his best to pay attention, but his gaze wondered to his helper, so fucking cute in her elf outfit. She’d complained that it made her look fat. He had no idea why. Those green tights hugging all her curves looked just right.

Okay, maybe he did know why he’d volunteered. He couldn’t give up the chance to enjoy seeing her like this tonight. And he had a few ideas for what they could do in this chair when the kiddies went home.

3. I only have eyes for you.

This is my favourite one to break. According to the rules, the hero and the heroine should never, ever want anyone else ever again. Because that’s romantic *eye roll*

“This gift is kinda for both of us.” Her husband, Paul, gestured to the great big rectangular box obscuring the tree. “It’s something we’ve been talking about and I thought—“

“You didn’t.” Astrid stared at the box, covered with silver wrapping paper which had naughty naked angels all over it. She took another sip of spiked eggnog and then licked her bottom lip. Her pulse sped up. “Are you sure.”

Paul inched closer to her to whisper in her ear. “Open it, love.”

She tore the paper and tugged at the flaps of the box. They were taped a little too well.

“Damn it!” She laughed and glanced at Paul. “Bring me the scissors.”

The box burst open. Chris, one of their best friends, stumbled out, one hand over his very erect dick. “No scissors. I’ve got it.”

And now that I’ve teased you with these little rule breaking snippets how about an excerpt from a full book that shrugs off most conventional expectations for erotic romance.

Blurb:

Stolen from a bright life full of colors, happiness and youth, Nicole Reed is dragged into a pit of pain and depravity where all she can hope for is a quick end. But her captors don't want to kill her. They want to use her to teach a little boy whom they plan to mold in their image.

She must free him before that happens. Only, she can't stand against those who hold him, not alone. Her only hope is Vince, one of her tormentors, who may still show a glimmer of humanity.

Or maybe that's just a trick of the light.

Vince and Nicole share a cup of coffee:

Small creases formed on his forehead and around his dark eyes. "Why are you 'fucked up'?"

Seriously? This guy was too much. "I don't know—captivity does that to me."

"You've been treated well."

My brow shot up. "Have I? Well, I guess I'm being over sensitive. I kinda take basic liberties for granted. What can you do?"

He stood and set down his cup. "I don't appreciate sarcasm."

I took another sip and smiled. Guess he wasn't as infallible as he pretended to be. "Well, I don't appreciate being kidnapped and raped. But we don't always get what we want."

"No, I suppose we don't." He traced the open collar of his black silk shirt, revealing just the top of a very hard, very well defined chest. Muscles curved in smooth slopes jumped as though my gaze was a physical touch. He chuckled and I looked up to see him watching me. "You want to hate me."

"I do hate you." I shrugged at his doubtful expression. "You're just easy on the eyes. Which I'm sure you know."

"Really." Without a twitch of warning, he closed the distance between us and took my cup. "Shall I prove you wrong?"

I skirted away from him, ducking and skidding from the bed. I might have been prepared to let him do what he would last night, but this morning I couldn't. I wouldn't. Not without a fight.

"Relax. I won't hurt you." He placed the mug on the table and then strode across the room. I swung at him and he caught my wrists. "Don't force me to tie you up."

"Don't don't don't." I whimpered as he wrapped his arms around me. Tears streaked my cheeks, gathered on my lips, hot and salty. I flattened my hands on his chest and dug my nails into his skin. "Vince . . . ."

"Shh." He pressed his lips to the top of my head and then bent down to whisper against my lips. "I want to show you something."

For more excerpts and fun stuff, visit www.im-no-angel.com.

Rosemary Entwined

By Bianca Sommerland (Guest Blogger)

Ménage erotic romance from Total E-Bound Publishing

Buy Now!

Writing Rosemary Entwined started as a ‘What if?’ and turned into so much more. The fairytale Snow White seemed tailor-made for a ménage story and what fun to give this lucky girl who needs to feed on lust to survive seven hot guys to snack on. I had sources galore to use for climactic scenes, but something was missing. Halfway through the story my heroes started grumbling and I had to take a step back because I couldn’t hear myself think over the noise. Then it hit me. How are these men supposed to enjoy a relationship with this girl they share if they can never have a special moment with her?

In my opinion, that is what makes this story great. Those special moments the men demanded they be given with Rosemary. She’s got herself some smart guys!

Blurb

One kiss might save her, but if Rosemary has to lose even one of her men, she doesn’t want a prince.

The only role of Rosemary's nest of men is to feed her insatiable hunger for lust, but that's not what she wants for them. Or what they want from her. While Rosemary presses for them to live their own lives, they each find ways to steal into her heart. With the threat of her mother's nest hanging over them, Rosemary decides to surrender to the love they offer and focus on building their combined strength to stand against the inevitable attacks.

When her control over her powers slips, another problem arises. The nest is incomplete. A prince must be chosen, and if he is not among her men, she'll be forced to let one of them go.

She once feared her heart wasn't big enough to hold them all. Now she fears she's not strong enough to release even one. Even if it costs her her life.

Excerpt

Curled up on the pillow, Rosemary watched Largo as he bent down to slip the DVD into the player, his boxers outlining his ass to perfection. He pressed play on the remote as he took his place. Kurt brought her a beer and sat on the floor behind her, leaning against the sofa. The movie started, darkness and ghostly music that filled the room and pulled them all in. The first scene gave her goose bumps, but she managed to hide her fear until the white face of a child flashed behind a woman searching for the source of a strange sound. She hid her face and an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“No one’s even dead yet,” Felix whispered, grinning through the tousled blond hair that had fallen over his face. “You’re scared already?”

“I’m not scared.” Rosemary said into the pillow, peeking past it and biting her lip when the woman turned to look around the now empty room.

“Give her another beer.” Alaire reached for a case by the sofa and pulled out a beer. “She’ll start finding it funny.”

“I don’t know if we should let her drink too much,” Kurt said from behind her, tone dry. “She might get ideas.”

“And that’s a problem for you?” Alaire twisted the cap and jumped at a blood-curdling scream. The beer slipped from his hand and spilled into his lap. He made a face. “Pause the movie, I gotta clean this up.”

Largo pressed pause. “Hurry up.”

For three minutes they waited, listening to the shower, Wylie taking the initiative to mop up the mess on the floor. Alaire came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, running his hands through his close-cropped hair, and plopped onto the cushion at Rosemary’s side.

Rosemary watched the droplets of water trail down his chest to be soaked into the worn, white towel.

“Go ahead,” Alaire said, grinning at her as he got comfortable.

“Cheater,” Felix mumbled from her other side.

Largo pressed play.

While the movie continued, Rosemary tried to focus but couldn’t help be distracted by the tempting, damp morsel, so close little drops hit her knee ever time he shifted. She glanced around to make sure everyone was watching the movie and let her hand drift to Alaire’s stomach. He moved closer, resting his head against her side, the dampness of his hair soaking right through her dress. A hand settled on her knee and she gave Felix a covert look, her lips curving at the way he fixed his eyes on the screen and slid his hand slowly up her thigh. Alaire’s hand rested on her other knee and she bit her lip as his touch mirrored the path Felix was taking.

“Are you watching the movie?” Kurt whispered in her ear as he knelt behind her and lifted her hair off her neck and laid it over one shoulder.

“Uh, huh.” Rosemary swallowed as he pulled the strap of her dress off her shoulder and distracted her with soft kisses while his hand curved under her breast and his thumb grazed her nipple through the fine cloth.

“Try to focus on what’s happening, keep your eyes open, even during the scary parts.” Kurt’s words were like another touch, one that played on all her nerves, from the sensitive curve of her ear to the nipple he teased, and down to where Felix and Alaire’s hands met at the juncture of her thighs. She tried to follow Kurt’s instructions, but the unspoken agreement of the other boys made it difficult not to cry out and writhe, never mind watch the movie.

Whose hand was where she couldn’t tell, but suddenly her panties had been shifted and two fingers had breached her, moving in harmony with the pair that circled her clit, playing her to a blind crescent of pleasure.

“Slow it down, boys,” Kurt said, sliding the other strap down and baring her breasts. He covered them both with his hands and massaged gently. “She’s having a hard time getting into the movie.”

Bio: Bianca Sommerland was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec. When not reading neurotically or writing as though the fate of the world rests on her keyboard, she is either watching hockey or teaching her daughters the beauty of a classic, steel pony while reminiscing about her days in Auto Body Mechanics. Her time is balanced with utmost care between normal family life, and the internal paranormal realm where her characters reside. For the most part, she succeeds. You can find her at http://imnoangelauthorsblog.wordpress.com/

I've got style, baby!

Google Alerts just informed me that I've been given a "Stylish Blogger" award by my colleague (and former Beyond Romance guest) J.Rose Allister. Thank you, J.Rose! Please visit her blog at http://jroseallister.blogspot.com to find out more about her recent adventures!

Meanwhile, here's the deal. I'm supposed to tell you all seven things about myself that I've never revealed on the blog. Then, I get to pass the torch, nominating up to fifteen other great bloggers I've recently discovered. Finally, I have to notify them - so they know that it's time to step up to the plate and share their secrets!

With my passion for self-disclosure it's difficult to think of tidbits I haven't yet shared, but here goes:

1. 1. My husband's birthday is the day after mine. Double celebrations!
2. 2. There were so many divorces in my family that I swore I'd never marry. My thirtieth wedding anniversary will be in June!
3. 3. I've been dancing since I was seven years old. Okay, so it gets a bit harder every year, but I'm not giving up yet!
4. 4. My mother, among other occupations, was a professional belly dancer. I was semi-professional.
5. 5. I could live my entire life without chocolate and never miss it. But don't please take away my tuna fish sandwich!
6. 6. I'm definitely a morning person. My husband's a night person. We've compromised at eight AM in order to be able to eat breakfast together. I think that's shamefully late, while he complains that it is obscenely early.
7. 7. My cats understand English. I have lots of evidence to prove this claim. Unfortunately, like most cats, they do not always pay attention, so it's difficult to demonstrate this capability on demand!

As far as turning you on to some other Stylish Bloggers, please check out:

• Bianca Sommerland: Bianca writes sizzling menage erotic romance. As far as she's concerned, the more guys involved, the merrier!
• Devon Rhodes: Devon writes pretty much every genre you can think of. I like a versatile lady!
• Kathleen Bradean: Kathleen is a long time friend. She and I are both contributors to the Erotica Revealed review site and the Oh Get A Grip blog. Kathleen writes both erotica and erotic romance in a wide variety of styles.
• Keta Diablo: Keta's always up to some mischief! Her specialty is M/M BDSM romance.
• Kim Dare: Yet another author of juicy M/M stories with power exchange themes. Kim understands that dominance and submission is about emotion, not toys.

Well, that wasn't too hard! Now it's back to my editing...!

Once again, a hearty thanks to J.Rose Allister, for dragging - um, I mean inviting me into this game!

Kinky Fairy Tales and Nursery Rhymes

By Bianca Sommerland (Guest Author)

Too easy. You might have noticed, a lot of erotic authors use fairy tales for inspiration because many have built in sensuality. I had to do something on Snow White because my muse told me it was begging to be a ménage. And that’s how Rosemary Entwined was born.

But what other fairy tales could easily be kinky? Well, I saved that question for my guest post on Lisabet’s blog (as a special thank you) since she gave me the idea.

You did say no heat limits, right?

Beauty and The Beast (BDSM)

Crumpled rose petals settled in the dirt around her slippers. Beads of moisture gathered on her neck from his hot breath as he leaned over her.

“Don’t look at me like that. Your father sinned, not I.” His eyes, dark as rain soaked bark, narrowed when she shook her head. “You surrendered yourself to me willingly to spare him.”

Tears spilled as Belle stared at the metal trellis in the center of the rose garden, with chains woven through it like vines and four shackles wrapped in silk and fur dyed the color of the blossoms. Her gaze dropped to her feet and she shivered, imagining those chains around her wrists and ankles, displaying her, naked and helpless before this...this...Monster.

“You can’t mean for me to...”

“Oh, I can.” He tilted her head back and studied her for a moment. Lips curved, he trapped her wrists in one, big hand. “But do not fear for your innocence. I would not take it from you with this animal form.” He drew her hands over her head, shackling one wrist, then the other. “But watching you writhe and enjoy the pleasure none other can give you...” His smile full of fangs seemed almost tender. “Perhaps that will be payment enough.”

Belle gritted her teeth as he crouched to shackle her ankles, tightening the chains so her legs were pulled apart. “You could never please me.”

The beast smacked her thigh. “You will not speak.” He smirked when she tugged at her restraints, hips jerking towards him and away as she fought her own reactions. The sweet essence of her arousal filled the air between them. Beast inhaled deep and straightened. “Unless the pain becomes too much or you are truly afraid. Then you may say ‘Rose’ and I will stop. Do you understand?”

No words came to her, so she simply nodded. And took the punishment, screaming and crying when the strike of the paddles or whips teetered on the edge between pain and pleasure.

But she never said ‘Rose’.

*

Now let’s try another.

Cinderella (foot fetish)

The glass slipper covered her toes and her sweet little heel like crystal moulded to display the perfection of her dainty, little foot. He had to take it off. He’d wanted to ever since his first glimpse of one bare when she’d lost her slipper after the ball.

Beneath them, the wagon wheels creaked and thumped on the craggy road. Cinderella reclined on the gold brocade, padded seats and crossed her ankles. His eyes leapt from her feet to her face. Her brow creased and he forced a smile to his lips.

It wouldn’t do for his new princess to think him odd.

His heart flipped and flopped up into his throat when she kicked off the slipper and wiggled her toes. The sight had him staring. He couldn’t help it.

“I’ve never had a man look beyond my breasts or my ass like that.”

The prince tore his eyes from where they caressed her sleek arc, his mouth watering. “Does it bother you?”

“Not at all.” She rested her foot on her knee and flexed it, gaze fixed on his crotch as his rock hard dick stirred. “Would you like to touch?”

“Oh, yes.” His hands covered her foot, massaging that flesh, so soft in places, textured and rough in others. He traced each delicate bone with his fingers in an attempt to cast the wondrous image to memory.

She twisted her ankle and freed her foot.

No, not long enough!

“That was...all right.” A half smile on her lips, Cinderella braced on her elbows and swung her foot under his chin. “Now how ‘bout you do that again. With your tongue.”

He groaned and caught her big toe with his mouth. His tongue circled the plump end and he sucked his way up and down. Then he released it with a plop and grinned.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

*

Well that was just tons of fun. Fairy tales are kinky in the most wonderful way. All it takes is a bit of imagination.

Hope you have some fun with your bedtime story tonight.

Blurb: Rosemary Entwined

One kiss might save her, but if Rosemary has to lose even one of her men, she doesn’t want a prince.

The only role of Rosemary's nest of men is to feed her insatiable hunger for lust, but that's not what she wants for them. Or what they want from her. While Rosemary presses for them to live their own lives, they each find ways to steal into her heart. With the threat of her mother's nest hanging over them, Rosemary decides to surrender to the love they offer and focus on building their combined strength to stand against the inevitable attacks.

When her control over her powers slips, another problem arises. The nest is incomplete. A prince must be chosen, and if he is not among her men, she'll be forced to let one of them go.

She once feared her heart wasn't big enough to hold them all. Now she fears she's not strong enough to release even one. Even if it costs her her life.

Bio:

Bianca Sommerland was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec. When not reading neurotically or writing as though the fate of the world rests on her keyboard, she is either watching hockey or teaching her daughters the beauty of a classic, steel pony while reminiscing about her days in Auto Body Mechanics.

Her time is balanced with utmost care between normal family life, and the internal paranormal realm where her characters reside. For the most part, she succeeds. She is currently working on a risqué new ménage novel called EMBRACING EVIL. You can find her at http://imnoangelauthorsblog.wordpress.com/