Liz Everly's Blog, page 146

Rape And Forced Orgasms: How Far Is Too Far?

By Elizabeth Shore

Here at Lady Smut we’re a fan of writers. It can be a frustrating, lonely, difficult aspiration and we admire anyone who’s actually jumped in and taken fingers to keyboard to bang out the characters in our heads who refuse to pipe down. For those reasons and more, we salute our writing sisters and don’t believe in story smackdowns. However, that said, I recently read a book, labled a “romance” that stretched the boundaries of romance so much that it begs me to question: how far is too far?

I won’t mention the name of the book or the author, but here’s the jist of the plot: a woman who self-identifies as a sub is looking for her perfect dom. She’s new to the BDSM world and is about to embark on a first-time relationship with who she thinks is a great guy. He’s experienced and knows that in order for the relationship to work, they need to establish boundaries and explore what each one wants and doesn’t. Our sub heroine gets impatient with her slow mover and decides to play with another dashing dom whom she just happens to meet in a park. As it turns out, their meeting was no coincidence. The new dom had been stalking her and she’s his next victim.

Turns out that dashing dom is actually a sadistic serial killer. He kidnaps and brutally  tortures women, along the way teaching them the ultimate lesson in submission. Because, you see, as he’s torturing his victims, he’s also turning them on! So much so that their treacherous bodies forever hover on the verge of orgasm from the bite of the dom’s nipple clamps, the lashing sting of his whip, and the cuts from his serrated knife. His “mastery of their flesh” brings them to the brink time and again, yet he forbids the release they so desperately crave. If they succumb to temptation and climax, he kills them. And of course, they always, reluctantly, succumb. They’re supposedly so turned on they can’t help it.

The thing I find so disturbing about this premise is how far beyond a pleasurable BDSM relationship it goes. We’re not talking about arousing a partner with tantalizing spanks and whips, or even some waxy hot drips from a candle. This is torture, plain and simple. “Dried blood stained her swollen lower lip where sharp teeth had bitten through tender flesh.” A girl in one scene is hanging on a cross, angry red welts covering her body, swollen lip, nipples screwed tight on a “nipple tree.” Later the heroine finds herself in much the same situation. The nipple clamps are comprised of a “vicious set of sharp teeth,” so much so that her “screams strangled in her ravaged throat” and when the second clamp is applied she passes out from the pain. Yet despite the agonizing torture, she’s so aroused that she’s nanoseconds away from screaming out her release.

In my view, rape and forced orgasms are not OK, they’re not sexy, and they sure as hell aren’t romantic. But if you want to find it, it’s categorized as a “romance.” The romance part of this book, by the way, is between the heroine and her slow-moving dom and makes a chameo appearance at the story’s end.

Despite what it may sound like, this is not a criticism of the author. She’s written the story she wanted to tell and there are readers who will like it. The point I want to raise is whether this story truly belongs in the “romance” category. Yes, there’s a romantic tie-in at the end between the first dom and the heroine. In fact, interwoven throughout the story is the dom’s search for her once he realizes she’s missing. But is that enough to classify it as a “romance”? Are we misleading readers by including these types of stories within the genre?

I’d love to hear what you think. In the meantime, thanks for following us!

Catching Up and Some Recommended Reads

By Liz Everly

Maybe two conferences in one month is too much for me. After the Writer’s Police Academy early in September and then Bouchercon last week, I feel like utter crap. I can’t catch up on my sleep and I still have no idea what day of the week it is when I wake up.

So I’ve found that business trips take on a whole new meaning when you’re a woman and have a family. There’s not just the childcare issue, there is also the issue of what will I find when I get home and how many days will it take for me to get things back in order. Even with a husband who is usually quite helpful and more of a partner than most I hear about, things still seem to fall apart. For example, I found several rolls of toilet paper opened and on the toilet, sink, floor, and so on. Which just proves that nobody in my house has yet learned how to replace toilet paper on the dispenser. Including my husband.

Trying to get the house back on track has taken most of my time since I’ve been home. I’d love to be touching base with the other writers and editors I met last week, but I’m too busy trying to figure out where we are in the laundry cycle, homework checklists, and grocery shopping. I loved catching up with my writing friends and I learned so much. But sometimes, I have to wonder if going away is worth the hassle when I return. Am I the only one who has had this experience? I’m betting not.

One of the side affects from going to writer’s conferences is that you meet writer’s whose books you want to check out. You also get bags of free books. So here’s what I’ve been reading—not romance, per se, but these books do have romantic elements in them.

“Under a Spell (The Underworld Detection Agency Chronicles)” by Hannah Jayne. I’ve been wanting to check out this series. It sounded intriguing and it has great covers. And then I met the author and I could not resist. The premise behind the series is there is an Underworld Detective agency. So you have different kinds of paranormal-ish characters working together to combat injustice. I don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say it’s worth a read, especially if you like paranormal stories with a light romances mixed in. I love how Hannah’s website describes the The Underworld Detection Agency Chronicles “It’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Sherlock Holmes in this feisty, funny Urban Fantasy series. Meet “breather” Sophie Lawson, her vampire-fashionista roommate Nina, the brooding eternally sixteen-year old Vlad, and the two men making up Sophie’s sweet and sexy love triangle – fallen angel Alex Grace and Vessel Guardian Will Sherman.” It’s funny, smart, and kick-ass, just like the writer.

“Lucidity: A Ghost of a Love Story” by CJ Lyons.  (This book has been retitled as “Torn Apart.) I met CJ at the Writer’s Police Academy and Hannah recommended this book to me, along with her other work. And wow. Once again, I don’t want to give too much away because a big part of this book’s appeal is the intrigue. It’s definitely one of the most interesting suspenseful love stories I’ve ever read. And it does have some hot scenes in it—but it’s not a genre romance. Um. Or maybe it crosses several genres–in the best possible ways. Here’s how it’s described on CJ’s website, “A novel that combines the worlds of supernatural horror, medical thrillers, and a love story that spans eternity.” Indeed.

“A Bad Day for Sorry” by Sophie Littlefield, which was also recommend to me by Hannah and then another writer at Bouchercon. So I knew I had to get my hot little hands on this book and whole series. Yep. The main character in this book is a 50-year-old woman who has killed her abusive husband and. now four years later, is on a mission to protect women from abusive men. In fact, she’s fashioned the mission into her “side” business—she also owns a sewing store. I like the character—she is tough and earthy, and the premise is fascinating. I’m in the middle of the first book and am enjoying it. The “romance” in this book might be between the main character and the sheriff. At least I hope so. Grin.

The trouble is, of course, all of these writers are prolific and I want to read more of their books. So many books, so little time.

What have you been reading? Good books? Bad books?

Don’t forget to subscribe to Lady Smut!

Lets Go Be Bad Guys: Cops as Robbers

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

I love it when characters are forced to behave against type. A good guy playing at being the bad boy for good reasons?  Yum with a huge side of me.

Scott & Stonebridge in the jungle, the mighty jungle

This particular ring around is top of mind given a recent episode of Strikeback. Continuing off the original UK show that featured Richard Armitage and Andrew Lincoln,  Strikeback is about two special forces operatives, American Damian Scott (the spy) and Brit Michael Stonebridge (the soldier), who are the tip of the spear of a British military intelligence division called Section 20.

It’s essentially two hot, extremely alpha guys who, on a weekly basis, fight terrorism, save the world, have sex (Scott is an unrepentant man whore), pull off insane crazy tactical maneuvers, and regularly blow shit up. Over three seasons Scott and Stonebridge have built this great I’ve got your back, bro partnership which occasionally deepens to deliver great tough guy emo moments. And they’re such guys. In real life, I’d want to smack them upside the head on a regular basis but on the screen, their testosterone-heavy bullshit greatly entertains. Some of my favorite moments in the show are when Scott and Stonebridge take the piss out of each other. Male bonding. Bless.

In a recent episode, while on the trail of a terrorist money man in Columbia, Scott and Stonebridge learn the information they need is locked up in a bank’s safety deposit box. This particular bank is run by a notoriously brutal drug kingpin. Scott is positively gleeful at the prospect of robbing the bank while Stonebridge is, shall we say, less enthused and outright refuses to shoot at any legitimate cops who might responded to their heist.

Tough guy emo moments.

Scott:  “You didn’t play cops and robbers when you were a kid?”

Stonebridge: “Yeah.”

Scott:  “Then let me guess: you were always the cop, weren’t you, Michael? Well now you gotta play the robber, so you in or you out?”

Stonebridge: “If this is what it takes to keep from telling Locke [their boss] that we lost Kamali [bad guy of the moment] then I’m in.”

Scott:  “Bingo! Right. We’re robbing a bank!”

And when discussing battling the private army that will arrive if the alarm gets trip:

Scott: “We won’t have to if it goes according to plan.”

Stonebridge: “’Cause it will all go according to plan. It’s a bank robbery. They never go wrong, do they?”

They rob the bank and just about everything does go wrong until the kingpin’s brother lies on the vault floor dying from a heart attack, Scott won’t give him mouth to mouth, Stonebridge can’t get the safety deposit box opened, and that private army is minutes away from killing them all. Stonebridge finally loses his shit at Scott. “F*cking never goes wrong, does it mate?! Robbing banks is f*cking great!”

Needless to say, they’re better off sticking to blowing shit up.

Smugly on the right side of the law…sort of.

Banshee is a show that stands as counter to this point. It explores the exact opposite: what happens when a bad guy has to play at being good? A master thief completes his 15-year stretch in maximum security prison and immediately sets out to find the woman he loves for whom he went to jail in the first place…and the diamonds they stole together. He finds her married and living a whole new life in Banshee, PA, and violently opposed to hooking back up with her lover. Despite their bitter reunion, when the new sheriff of Banshee, who no one in town has yet met in person, is gunned down in a bar, the ex-con assumes the murdered Sheriff Lucas Hood’s identity so as to stay near his unwelcoming lover.

Unreformed and very much not rehabilitated, “Lucas Hood” continues his criminal activities. But he also has to uphold his own kind of law while wearing the badge in order to maintain his fake identity. He has a strong personal code, one for which he will kill and sacrifice, especially for those for whom he loves or feels responsible, but that code is limited and narrow and often very much free of morals. Raw from his incarceration and the things he did there to stay alive, Lucas applies an ex-con’s mentality to a lawman’s job, which often leads to unorthodox and violent ways of resolving conflicts, putting him in regular opposition to the more by-the-book, legal procedures and policies of the actual cops with whom he works.

Vigilante justice with a badge

Oh and every woman in town is smoking hot and wants to bang him too including his former lover, a drop-dead gorgeous Amish-bred young woman, and his stunning cop subordinate. It is on the Cinemax channel after all (as is Strikeback) where, as Justin Timberlake recently put it, “it’s all boobs and no b*sh.”

Both shows are fast-paced and well-structured with good scripts, hot moments, and high physical and emotional stakes. Whether cop or robber, Scott and Stonebridge go up against huge odds every week (though this season, the cost is beginning to wear). Lucas Hood is constantly scrambling to stay one step ahead of the people hunting him while always one breath away from being found out as a fraud and sent back to jail.  Trouble is, more and more it looks like Lucas is a better cop than he ever was a thief.

What are some other cop/robber reversals you’ve seen or read?

Season three of Strikeback airs Friday nights on Cinemax. Season one of Banshee is now available on demand for subscribers and on DVD/BluRay. Season two debuts in Spring 2014.

All images courtesy of Google Images. 

Good Cop, Bad Cop … Naughty Cop!

By Alexa Day

The squeaky clean good guy has never really done anything for me, much to my mother’s chagrin. Don’t get me wrong; they’re great guys who deserve every happiness. I just think they’re a little predictable, and I’m easily bored. As I toyed with this week’s theme, trying to decide if I wanted to write about cops or robbers, I found myself leaning toward the bad boys again.

Not the robbers. In their own way, they’re just as predictable as the squeaky clean good guys.

I’m talking about bad cops.

I don’t mean major league corruption or anything like that. That kind of thing threatens the fabric of society as a whole, and I depend on the fabric being fairly strong, even though society and I have had our disagreements. I’m looking at the bad cop on a much smaller scale.

Actually, let’s call him a naughty cop instead. I saw an article earlier this week about the new naughty, so I think that’s appropriate.

Say I’m on a deserted road, late at night. There’s no one back here, so I’m probably speeding. It’s the end of the month, so our friendly neighborhood law enforcement officer is hanging out in the median or on the shoulder in the dark. When I blow by him, he turns on the lights and sirens (I love the British expression “blues and twos”), but I’m not going to pull over right away. First, I pull into the right lane, so that he can go by me after the “real criminals.” Then, I have to savor a couple of minutes of outrage while I pretend I don’t know why he’s coming after me.

For the squeaky clean cop, this is just part of the job. For the naughty cop, the side of the road is where all the fun starts.

The naughty cop knows what his body looks like from my vantage point in the driver’s seat. He knows how to move as he comes forward to meet me. His hips and that formidable belt are at my eye level. He towers over the car. I have to adjust my position to meet his gaze, but he’s got that big law enforcement flashlight pointed at me. Sure, I’m in control of a large metal weapon, but he’s really in charge here. When he tells me to turn off the engine, I’m going to do it. When he tells me he wants my license and registration, I’m going to produce them. He’ll say please, but we both know it’s a formality.

He’ll check out my ID with the flashlight while I eye the gun on his hip. The shape of the holster is surprisingly large in the shadows. After a minute, he’s going to ask whether I know how I got pulled over.

On the side of the road, there are two versions of reality: mine and his. His is the only one that’s going to matter. No one will choose to believe what I say about what’s happening here, unless he endorses it. So how much trouble am I willing to get into … in order to get out of trouble?

Well, he’s in charge out here. So the only limits are the ones imposed by his sense of morality, and the naughty cop’s sense of morality is very fluid. There’s no way to know what’s going to happen next, and that’s nice to think about, right?

What? You don’t have a pair of costume handcuffs on your bedpost?

A couple of months ago in my honest-to-God real life, I was merrily speeding down the highway on the way to the gym when a police car cut in behind me. The sharp movement in the rearview caught my eye. He wasn’t casually following me to the next exit; it was too far away for that. He was trying to get my attention.

I see you. I know you’re speeding. Keep it up and face a consequence.

For a second, I was actually really excited. Whoa ho, state trooper! A consequence! I hadn’t even bothered to make an excuse for the speeding. I was flying, officer! What’s my consequence?

Then common sense kicked in, just in time to remind me that I was speeding and that the cop behind me was going to write me a ticket. There would be no hot ultimatum, no opportunity to persuade him into considering my version of events. There would only be the ticket, and a court date I wouldn’t be able to make, and then an increase in my insurance premium.

I slowed down. My insurance is already out of control. I like to keep a healthy distance between myself and reality, but you know the tune. Objects in the mirror are closer and more expensive than they appear.

Right. Good thing my imagination’s even closer than that, and it’s still free. Even in this economy.

It’s so cool to be here, and I look forward to catching you every Sunday! I know it’s a peaceful time of the week for most people. But if you follow us here at Lady Smut, our posts go right to your inbox, and that’s nice, right?

Sexy Saturday Round-Up

By Liz Everly and the Lady Smut Bloggers.

Hello Sexy! Hope you’re having a fabulous weekend. Check out these awesome blog posts we found for you this week.

From Liz:

Kristin Lamb on why horror is important, pt. 1 

and part 2.

When is the best time for social media?

Jane Friedman on the importance of an author website.

From C. Margery Kempe:

9 Myths about Men

7 Tips on Writing Historical Romance

Why Publishers Don’t Believe in Author Websites (although they should)

“First, we must ask, does it have to be a whale?” 14 Rejections to Famous Artists

From Madeline:

Volcanologist? 10 Jobs Most Men Would Die For.

Tips on what makes the perfect Secret Baby plot.

Lots of fairy tales are popular these days in movies and on TV.  Some say we should explore these other lesser known fairy tales to find sexy inspiration.

Want to finish your latest novel this weekend? Try this 10,000 words a day structure.

Stay Hungry,

Liz

P.S. Don’t forget to follow Lady Smut. You don’t want to miss a thing!

Chastity Flame Giveaway for Cops & Robbers Week

by C. Margery Kempe

I want it noted for the record that Chastity Flame started out as my book and then it became K. A. Laity‘s book and now this third one has almost no sex at all! Okay, there’s some but a lot of it takes place off screen, so to speak. It’s mostly a break neck thriller. There’s a terrible killer at large, a dangerous ex-colleague who wants to knock off Chas and then there’s the budding relationship with her former colleague-now-history professor Damien.

He’s hot.

She’s not exactly a cop, but Chastity is one of the people protecting us that we never see. This guy she’s after is bad news. So what’s this killer like? Here’s a snippet from the opening chapter–

Daddy’s girl. That’s what she’d always been. As she sprinted down the dark street, the phrase kept repeating in her head. Her heart beat a tattoo in her chest and her lungs burned as she raced along. Adrenaline filled her veins as she sought a way out, away from this, but she could still hear his footsteps behind her.

Daddy’s girl. He had grinned as he said the words, onto her wavelength, her weakness, in just a few minutes of conversation. She had actually been pleased. He was smarter than they usually were, the men who fluttered around her like moths to a flame. She always found it easy to charm them, to make them desire her.

You’d hardly believe she had once been a plain tomboy. Her well-toned legs might be a legacy of that time, though exercise these days meant helping her maintain the look that turned heads. Right then she wished she’d worked more on pure endurance instead of shapeliness because his seemingly tireless steps got closer as she grew tired.

She skidded around a corner and her terror exploded. It was a dead end. Panicking, her gaze darted back and forth, looking for some break in the brick walls that lined the narrow lane. With a glance over her shoulder she stumbled forward into a ragged trot, eyes wild as she hoped there must be a way out of this. Someplace to hide would appear, like it always did in bad dreams, in movies, just when there was no more hope. Then a bin or a box would be there where you hadn’t noticed and behind it a narrow passage that led to freedom.

Her heart raced faster as the sound of his footfalls came closer.

Bricks, bricks, more bricks: up too high, a few windows with broken glass. If she had wings, a rocket, a fiery dragon—her thoughts were getting wild, hysterical. Isn’t that the word they always used, the word only for women? She had such contempt for her gender. She had felt hunger and contempt in equal measures for men, those she desired and those who desired her.

He paused at the entrance to the narrow lane, staring at her. Earlier she had preened as his interest became plain, but now she wished she had never seen him.

“Come to daddy,” he growled in an obscene parody of the fatherly approval she craved.

There had to be some way out! She ran to the far wall, overly conscious of her own panting breaths. Her fingertips scraped against the bricks on vain, her overheated brain suggesting that there could be some kind of secret exit if she applied the right pressure. What was that movie where the bricks moved and opened, revealing a secret alley? When she realised it was one of the Harry Potter movies a giggle began in the back of her throat.

This is what it’s like to be hysterical. Her giggles grew. No wonder they said a joke was hysterical when it was good. She stiffened when she heard his step so close behind her. The giggles becoming little gasps. She sank to the ground, hands up in a defensive posture.

“Now, now. This won’t do.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet…

WIN A COPY: the ebook comes out October 7th from Tirgearr Publishing, and you can get a copy for free by commenting below and telling me what scares you. Do you fear a stranger in a dark alley? Or something closer to home? Let us know.

Cops & Con Men: They’re All Hot Bad Boys To Me

THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY: Who’s the real villain in this film?

by Madeline Iva

I’ll confess that if there’s one kind of movie I can watch over and over again, it’s a film about con artists.  They have great lines.  They have killer suspense.  They may be bad guys, but they have to work hard at it without appearing to break a sweat.  And of course, there’s the matter of a con man’s heart.  It’s a tough nut to crack–so of course my eyeballs are glued to the screen to see if it can be done.

Here’s my top 10 Grifters movie list. Be warned, half these films are by David Mamet—I’m a bit of a fanatic for his authenticity.  I’ve given a short blurb for each film—but also highlighted the sexy where applicable.

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HOUSE OF GAMES: “Oh you’re a bad pony–I’m not betting on you.”

1) HOUSE OF GAMES A psychologist winds up getting sucked into the world of grifting.  Her obsession only grows as she finds out she’s their mark. Mamet meets early, sexy Joe Montangna.

2) THE GRIFTERS  John Cusack is caught between conniving girlfriend and his tough as nails mother.  Events soon reveal which of these two women is the most deadly.

3) THE HEIST  Bank robbers try to con their fence.  This con movie is more of a bad break-up story between Gene Hackman (robber) and Danny Devito (his fence).  But at a certain point the film goes side-ways with the tension between Rebecca Pidgeon and Sam Rockwell (who’s acting with a bad mustache handicap) taking over everything else.

CONFIDENCE: Ed you sexy so-and-so.

4)CONFIDENCE  In terms of hotness—this should probably be #1 on the list.  Ed Burns and Rachel Weiss heat up the sheets, but can they trust each other?

5) BRICK The story of a young guy conning his way up the high school food chain to get answers about his true love’s death. Not only did this film revive Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s career instantly—it’s indie chops and stylized dialogue pushes it towards the sly simplicity that reminds me of the best twisted moments I had as a teen.

6) DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS – this is the fun one on the list.  Two cons try to outdo each other to win a nice girl’s heart on a bet.  There’s a great twist at the end.  I still can’t say the name ‘Ruprecht’ with a straight face.

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THE HEIST: “I thought it was love that makes the world go round.” “It is–love of money.”

7) THE SPANISH PRISONER – Campbell Scott is a rather attractive mark in this film about a well mannered geek up against a syndicate of grifters led by Steve Martin.

8) SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION – Will Smith is enigmatic and coolly observant in this film, but the way the main characters scramble around dining out on their encounters with con man Smith leaves me wondering how much all of us are conning every day just to survive.

9) OCEAN’S ELEVEN – Brad. George.  Matt.  They’re dressing up for the evening to take out a casino out with every con in the book.  You just want to sit back and hang out with them while they make it look easy.

10) THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY – this story peels back the layers of the con man revealing the torment that makes him lie and kill.  Jude Law is divine as a golden boy with a heart of tin. He creates a character every bit as disturbing as Tom Ripley.

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BRICK: “Maybe I’ll just sit here and bleed at you.”

Really, this post is about con artists and how I’m fascinated by them.   But I wanted to end on a side note about cops–

Here are my two all time fav cop movies.  Have you seen them? Do you like them like I do?

MIAMI VICE is a movie about cops going so deep undercover that (as someone says in the movie) they start to forget which way is up.

Usually I don’t notice the film style of a movie, and frankly, usually I don’t care.  But Michael Mann captures a stunning, stormy Miami until it becomes an additional sexy character in the film.  There’s a great  international sensibility to the film and the action is sweeping.

Gong Li portrays that rarity in films—a whip-smart female criminal.  After watching this movie I started taking Colin Farrell seriously–even though he was rocking a serious ‘stache. (Oh Colin, just when I think I can finally dismiss you, you pull me back in).

MIAMI VICE: Colin Farrell and Gong Li in one gorgeous big-ass dramatic film.

INTERNAL AFFAIRS Another underrated Michael Mann film that’s FABULOUS is Internal Affairs.  Early Andy Garcia is muy caliente—by far his best film EVER. Richard Gere is an excellent bad guy.

Okay—Now that’s off my chest–on to the con artists, the grifters!

Cops And Robbers – My Sensual Fantasy

By Elizabeth Shore

Our cops and robbers theme week got my mind thinking about a sexy fantasy story. I hope you enjoy!

I looked around the small, dingy room. Drab curtains, peeling paint, TV in the corner that looked like it had been new circa 1987. Not exactly the kind of place a girl wants to call home, but when you’re on the lam I suppose it’s the best you can hope for.

I slumped back on the mound of pillows as my irritated gaze shifted to the clock radio on the nightstand. Nearly eight. Damn. Where was Carlos? He was supposed to score us some food and be back half an hour ago. And then . . . My skin prickled as memories flitted through my mind of what he said he’d do to me after we ate. And then . . .

Idly I ran my fingers along one bare arm, imaging it was Carlos’ silken caress causing shivers of excitement to race down my spine. Oh, what he could do to me. My nipples pebbled as I thought of his lips dotting soft kisses across my breast, his tongue sweeping over the skin, swirling and teasing. A soft groan escaped my lips. I arched my back as if to lift my aching breasts toward his mouth, begging for him to suck harder.

The click of the door dissolved the daydream and brought me back to reality. Carlos strode into the room, carrying food-laden bags. He lingered in the doorway, his already dark eyes growing inky black as he took in the sight of my naked body. Setting the bags on a nearby table, he slowly stepped over to the bed.

His hand dipped into the pocket of his jeans and emerged holding a small pouch. He tossed it to me, an amused grin curving one side of his full, lush lips.

“Cariño.” He murmured the pet name for me as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “My heart stops at the sight of your beautiful naked body.” His gazed raked over me as he sucked in a breath. “Mi tesoro.”

The heat from his romantic whisperings burned my cheeks. I loved it when he called me his treasure. But I expressed an indifferent air. I couldn’t let myself get too carried away with this bad boy. What kind of partner in crime goes all gooey from whispered terms of endearment? I knew I had to play it strong.

“If I’m your treasure then prove it,” I said, struggling to filter out the excited tremors in my voice as my eyes flicked down to the rising tent in his jeans. He laughed when he noticed.

“See something you like?” His tossed his shirt away, revealing bronze, sculpted biceps and a ladder of muscles rippling across his stomach. With machismo flair, he slid his palm slowly down his abdomen, then lower still, until he reached the mound between his legs. He grabbed his crotch and jerked his hips forward.

“You see what you do to me, cariño? You torture me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. And you’re a very bad girl for doing it.” He wagged a scolding finger at me. “So as punishment, I’m going to climb onto this bed, and you’re going to wrap those beautiful lips around me and suck.”

My heart hammered wildly in my chest, like a manic caged animal trying to break free. But I didn’t want him to know that.

“I’m not doing anything until I get my share,” I said, donning what I hoped was a stern expression. “I risked my life this morning in that jewelry store. Can’t believe we didn’t spot the owner’s pistol behind the counter when we cased the joint beforehand.”

He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Sometimes that happens.”

“Fine. Whatever. But where’s my take?”

“Ah.” He smiled, although he’d unbuttoned his jeans by now and was sliding them down his divinely sculpted legs. He nodded toward the pouch he’d tossed on the bed. “Look in there.”

I pulled apart the drawstrings and turned over the bag. Out spilled dozens of colored gemstones, various sizes and shapes, sparkling even beneath the room’s dingy lightbulb like snow in the sun.

“Ooooh!” I squeaked with delight.

“You happy?”

“Me happy,” I purred, pushing myself up to a sitting position. “Now let me make you happy.”

He rid himself of his jeans and shorts and climbed onto the bed, now as naked as I. He pulled me into his arms and tipped my head back, his lips crashing onto mine. His tongue plunged the depths of my mouth, hot and wet. I kissed him back just as fiercely, moaning when I felt one of his hands slip between us and caress my aching breasts, just like I’d imagined earlier. He broke the kiss so he could feast on my neck, nipping the tender skin, knowing just how far I could take the pain and transform it to pleasure before it became too much.

I used the space between our bodies to slip my hand down and do some busy work of its own, fisting him just the way I knew he liked it, slow and hard.

“Oh, f**k, cariño,” Carlos murmured. I felt a thin sheen of sweat slicken his skin. He pushed me back down on my back and straddled either side of my legs. “I think I’m going to have to — ”

Static from his portable two-way radio stopped him cold.

“Units in the area, respond to a potential 415 at 207 Amherst Road. Repeat, potential 415 on Amherst Road. Units in the area respond.”

Carlos’ head hung down. “Damn. That’s me, babe. I’m sorry.”

I blew air out from between my lips. “It’s OK,” I assured him, trying to get my racing pulse to calm down. “Not like it’s never happened before.” I scooted up to prop myself against the headboard, watching him pull his clothes back on. “Molesting my fantasy jewelry store robber will have to wait another day.” I smiled as he slipped his ID with the detective’s badge around his neck. “Go on and save the world from the bad guys.”

“Be back as soon as I can,” he assured me.

“Take some of the food,” I called out as he walked toward the door. “I’ll settle the hotel bill.”

He grinned as he snagged a burger and fries. “By the way, loved the storyline about robbing the jewelry store.”

“You didn’t do so badly yourself with the fake gems and this motel room,” I said. “Definitely a place where I envision two-bit criminals hiding out.”

“Next time we’ll elevate ourselves to bank robbers,” Carlos said, chomping down a fry. “Cariño needs a better place to stay.”

“Perfect,” I smiled as my detective husband walked out the door. “We can use Monopoly money.”

Sexy Snipers and Bad-Ass Cops. Oh. My.

By Liz Everly

 Theme Week: Cops and Robbers. This week, some of the Lady Smut Bloggers will be writing about cops and robbers—and who knows where that’s going to go? So you won’t want to miss a post!

So you don’t know me. Not really. So I’m going to tell you a wee little about myself for the sake of drama, the sake of the story. I am a peace-loving vegetarian pagan who hates violence and guns. This might stem from the fact that I grew up surrounded by violence. My husband was a hunter before he met me and I made him give up his guns when we moved in together. I will not live in a house with a gun. Period.

So you can imagine how odd it felt to be kind of lusting after a man who was handling big guns when I visited the Writer’s Police Academy. Not the kind of lusting where I’d actually cheat on my husband, mind you, but the somewhat earthy lusting of a long-married woman who has, let’s say, a “lively” imagination. Grin.

So, this man was not very tall. Neither am I. But he was thick–and really bad ass. I mean he is a sniper for the local SWAT team. And he was one of the most graceful men I’ve ever watched. Forget the ballet men. Give me a man dressed in black holding a huge gun, sliding his hands masterfully all over the weapons. Oh. My. God.

(And, um, did I just write that?)

So, the next day, he cinched the “new man in my fantasy” deal when he brought his daughters along with him. You could just tell what a proud dad he was. Ping, ping, ping. And then it dawned on me that he sort of reminds me of my husband. You know, all tough-guy on the outside and a sweetie inside. So much for my wild ass fantasy, which seemed to lead me straight back home to my husband.

But I started thinking about the bad-ass nature of this guy, a highly trained sniper that you just did not want to fuck with on the one hand, and on the other hand, a dad, and a man who feels he’s successful because he’s never had to shoot a person. This I think is the basis for the attraction many women and men feel for police, military, and so on. I’ve never been a woman who lusted after a man in uniform, but I found that a bad-ass man, who knows his way with guns, and has a heart? Yep. I could so understand that attraction.

As a romance writer, I couldn’t help but think of the Alpha-male in so many books. Purely the stuff of fantasy for me. I don’t like that kind of man at all. Usually. Grin. How about you? Is this the kind of man you lust after?

A Poor Kind of Hero

By Kiersten Hallie Krum

A heart full of something all right

I’ve loved Les Miserables since it debuted on Broadway when I was 14-years-old. The music. The redemption story. The fact that here, in the same era of The Phantom of the Opera high soprano celebrated heyday, was a musical with not one, but two songs written in my contralto range. No surprise I identified most with Eponine, the poor, neglected girl in love with the heroic boy who falls in love with the hero’s daughter. I was fourteen after all. I have sung On My Own with suitable pathos for more than half my life so naturally I was ecstatic last year to hear a movie version of the musical was on its way led by none other than Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean.

Perfection.

A year later, Les Mis the movie musical plays regularly on HBO. I’ve probably run through it about half a dozen times or more in the last few weeks. There are several disappointments, I won’t lie. But like any good piece of art, as old material found a new medium, I discovered a new revelation about this well-known story.

Marius is a real shit.

You’re dying, but at least you can still harmonize!

I’ve never been a huge fan of the Marius/Cosette romance (see affinity with Eponine above). Now it occurs to me that amongst all that swanning about a heart full of love, Marius is actually a total jackhole. He knows how Eponine feels about him; I mean, the guy isn’t blind. Yet he dismisses the street savvy (and likely non-virginal) Eponine for grander aspirations of liberty and equality, aspirations that mean little the minute the demure, innocent Cosette makes the scene. Yet when Eponine lies dying after taking the bullet meant for this tool, he lies and claims to love her! If Marius could close those wounds with words of love, Eponine would still be dead because he only vowed to love her when he knew there’d be no consequence! Not to mention that, once past his woeful Empty Chairs eulogy, Marius, the sole survivor of the barricade, returns to the wealthy and likely titled environs of his grandfather. Such a great guy there.

Looks more like a hard bench than a luxurious bed

That death scene of Eponine’s always makes me recall Claudio from Much Ado About Nothing (my favorite of Shakespeare’s comedies though Twelfth Night runs a very close second). Claudio is another romantic “hero” who derides his beloved—erm—Hero for her supposed infidelity. “She knows the heat of a luxurious bed.” Even Hero’s (supposed) death from shame doesn’t soften Claudio’s righteous indignation. It’s only when she’s proven falsely accused that he immediately change his tune, crying, “Oh, sweet Hero!” Oh, suck it, dude.

I had a similar reaction when I first read Wuthering Heights while a student at Oxford. For years I’d heard how great a romantic hero was Heathcliff, how this was a classic romance. Yet while brooding and bad boy-ish, Heathcliff is a horrible man, bitter and vengeful and totally lacking any concept of love. Mind you, Catharine is equally horrid, which further confuses the concept of this being any sort of romance, Gothic or otherwise.

Updated for the teenage set

Sure, all three of these “heroes” originate from source material written hundreds of years ago, but the Les Mis movie musical just came out last year, Much Ado has had its own resurgence with the fantastic Joss Whedon interpretation that came out this past summer, and Wuthering Heights got the upgraded high-school treatment for the MTV set in 2003. Such fools as these are still being held up as a kind of romantic ideal even today.

Yet none of them truly love at all because they don’t ultimately respect the object of their affections. Eponine, Cosette, Hero, even the deplorable Catharine are but constructs of these “heroes” ideals. (In the case of Eponine, the construct is formed in the nobility of her death) and when that construct cracks, so goweth (or belatedly cometh for Eponine) their love.

There’s nothing at all heroic about that.

Who are some of the worst “heroes” you’ve encountered in fiction?