Madhuri Pavamani's Blog, page 16

#WednesdayFreeWrite – VANITY

VANITY

I run my fingers along the wall

tracing imaginary meaningless shapes

as I make my way upstairs

this new home still such a stranger

I’m unattached to much of my surroundings

having never been the type

to get caught up in the

who

what

where

when

and most definitely not the why

Which explains how I landed here

in the first place

“I love it,” he said

sounding more like a woman

than I ever could.

“It’s cool,” I replied

unable to share his enthusiasm

but willing to indulge his need.

“Let’s do it,” he glanced my way

touched the inside of my wrist

just so

grazed his full lips

along the curve of my neck.

and I was sold.

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

Now I was here

in all this space

amongst all these people

living this life

of absurd bourgeoise privilege.

Dinner parties

Networking events

Charity functions

Weekday drinks

Sunday champagne

Swim clubs

Lawn clubs

Yacht clubs

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

I grinned to myself

as I reached the top of the stairs

making my way to the most random place in the house

to call my own

despite his good intentions

“It’s all yours,” he led me into the space

and smiled

because he knew I loved windows

and sunlight

and woods

“your own office.”

I kissed him

open-mouthed and deep

eliciting a groan

so masculine and full of desire

as my hands touched all his places

and I fucked him on that desk

and I never once looked around that office.

But this bathroom

with its picture window

and views of the city

its free-standing tub

and open-air shower

its heated tiles

that massage my tired feet

its earthen tones

that calm my frantic mind

its vanity

of stunning design

a piece of art

in a room designed by an artist

this bathroom is MINE.

And he knows it

so he stays away

allowing me to linger in the mirror

after i step from the shower

naked

fresh

wet

and stand at that vanity

going through the motions

of preparing myself

for whatever bourgeoise exercise in the bizarre

we have planned.

Except tonight is different.

He’s waiting in the doorway

a smirk curving those full lips

those brown tatted arms

of muscle and sinew

crossed loosely

relaxed

as he watches me

at the vanity

one

two

three

four beats

before he steps into the room

his heat

stealing my chill

and wrapping me in all kinds of sexy

“This is my room,” I close my eyes and hiss

as his hands slip between my thighs

and his lips leave wet heat along my shoulder

and he laughs

the sound low and full of sex

and I know I’m going to share my room with that gorgeous motherfucker

because I just cannot help myself

“Get up on the vanity,” he commands

as he turns me around

hands on my ass

and lifts

because he knows

just how I like it

and he knows

just how I want it

and he fucks me

hard and fast

dirty and raw

until we’re nothing but a

seamless

boneless

useless

puddle of each other’s

sweat

tears

come

and we’re closer in those seconds

than any other time of our togetherness.

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

“This is still my room,” I smile the wicked smile of the sated

my eyes closed

enjoying our post-fuck quiet

as he kisses me and grins

“It is most definitely your room, sexy,” he whispers in my ear

his warm breath doing things to me

“but this vanity right here,

it’s got my name written all over it.”

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. As always, these pieces are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week, so please be patient with the less-than-perfect and the not-quite-ready. They’re perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

F*ck Adulting

FUCK ADULTING

A note to my sixteen year old self

that hyped-up being

full of wonder and angst

passion and enthusiasm

mind-boggling naiveté

Trust me, Georgia peach

Fuck adulting

it sucks

I know your Duran Duran-loving ass

isn’t going to listen to a word I have to say

because you believe

wholeheartedly

by age twenty-five you’ll live in a huge Soho loft

have fabulous friends

and date sinfully gorgeous boys

because you’re just that damned special

But trust me, little girl

Fuck adulting

it sucks

I know your pompous

self-righteous

too fucking smart for your own good

Barnard ass

is eager to graduate

because there’s a bigger world beyond those gates

just waiting to embrace you

and celebrate you

and hear you roar in all your fierce womanhood.

But trust me, Seven Sister

Fuck adulting

it sucks

I know being unemployed hurts

and parental threats loom

and suddenly there is law school

and stifling conservatism

and the Socratic Method

But slow down, hot stuff

just for a second

and smell the torts

revel in the hearsay

estop yourself

because the job market is weak

and ain’t nothing sexy about

billable hours and face-time

So trust me, masalamama

Fuck adulting

it sucks

It’s freedom

sure

but it’s also

financial burdens

obligations

family strife

debt

savings accounts

jobs

mortgages

long nights

too-short vacations

heartache

car notes

renovations

PTA

not enough me-time

suburbs

little league

lawyering

too much job

not enough writing

stress

stress

stress

So yeah

like I was saying

Trust me

Fuck adulting

it sucks.

Okay, I feel much better now. I needed to get that rant off my little chest and out into the ether and I can now breathe easy and go do some yoga and just chill the fuck out. I’m having one of those moments and this ranty poem sprang from the clusterfuck that is my current state of being.

But don’t be fooled – just because I’m feeling kind of calm and somewhat zen doesn’t mean I take back a word of what I said.

Fuck adulting. It sucks.

#BookReview – THE MANY LIVES OF RUBY IYER by Laxmi Hariharan

YA Dystopia

Published November 2014

Laxmi Hariharan’s RUBY IYER opens with a note from the author that struck a chord and stayed with me throughout my reading of her action-packed, thrilling dystopia.

I wanted to be economically independent. So, everyday I would leave the relative safety of home, knowing that my commute to work was going to be nightmarish. It’s just how public transport is in this city. When you get on a crowded local train platform, you accept that you are probably going to be felt up. Every time this happened to me, I would get really angry. But, I would deal with it and get on. So, when a young photojournalist was raped in the centre of Bombay in broad daylight, I was furious. 

It was as if nothing had changed in all the years I had been away. Then, I had a vision of this young girl who would not back down anymore, who would stand up for herself regardless of the consequences. Who would follow her heart… Thus Ruby Iyer was born.

I love this note – it’s a feminist call-to-arms and every time I read it, like right now as I typed it into this post, I feel angry and disgusted for all those women in India getting groped by those men – as a kid, I remember walking through the Chennai airport with my mom, when a man approached and grabbed her breasts…because he could – and then empowered by Laxmi’s vision of Ruby Iyer and her take-no-prisoners, suffer-no-fools attitude.

Which is all a long-winded way of saying Laxmi sucked me into her tale of a badass girl, a sexy rogue cop, and a crumbling city from the very first word. And boy, am I glad I took a little time away from my writing to get lost in Ruby’s world because the adventure was exciting and thrilling and read like an action-packed Bollywood film that all of us would stand in line for and pay good money to see.

But I must say, just as enthralling as the action and adventure, the characters and the danger, is Laxmi’s writing; her ability to make you touch and taste, smell and hear her city is spellbinding. I found myself closing my eyes and letting her descriptions really get into my bones, deep down and dirty, and felt Bombay, that grimy, throbbing, smelly, loud city of never-ending energy right along with her. It’s escapist to the extreme and even if you’re not a fan of YA or dystopia, you should read RUBY IYER just to lose yourself in Laxmi’s descriptions.

The world created by Laxmi is fast-paced, full of righteous anger, and so well-written, you close the book only wanting more. More Ruby, more Vikram – please, Laxmi! more Vikram – and more of those delicious, delectable descriptions of a city on the verge of collapse and a girl on the verge of greatness.

Rock on with your bad self, Laxmi, and keep writing because I can’t wait to see what’s next. And if you haven’t done so already, grab a copy of RUBY IYER by clicking HERE.

Happy reading, bitches.

 

#BookReview – EVERYTHING SHE NEVER WANTED by Tasha L. Harrison

Erotic Romance

published May 2015

Tasha L. Harrison packs quite a bit of sexy into EVERYTHING SHE NEVER WANTED, book two of The Lust Diaries, including friendship, reruns, threesomes, and old hurts. It’s a lot of ground to cover but she handles the task with the same fresh attitude and dirty sexy mouth I fell for in the first book of The Lust Diaries, IN HER CLOSET.

Back again are writer Yves Santiago and editor Elijah Weinstein, working together on publishing Yves’ new book and testing the limits of their budding relationship, both emotionally and sexually. These two are sexy as ever, but I also found it nerve-wracking to read their exploits this time around, maybe because I “know” them already and fear for their every. bad. move. Because hot damn, they make a million of them.

Tasha did a great job of making me fall in love with Yves in book one, then turned around and made me find her her annoying and childish in book two. I’m not sure this was purposeful, but I found the deconstruction of Yves quite impressive. Gone was the smart, brash, ballsy woman I met in book one and in her place was a hesitant, self-conscious, sometimes foolish woman in book two. Interestingly, the regression didn’t make me dislike Yves at all – a testament to Tasha’s writing prowess and stellar character development – but rather, I look forward to book three and the (hopeful) reclamation of Yves’ original self.

And who had a hand in this back-peddling transformation of Yves? Her lover and editor, Elijah, that sexy, smart, BDSM enthusiast who pushes Yves’ limits again and again, oftentimes too far and with unfortunate repercussions.  I’ll admit, his tests of her sexual appetite make for some of the hottest sex scenes in the book – think threesomes, think girl-on-girl – written with Tasha’s skillful, intelligent, filthy hand, but ultimately left me wondering where such risky, impulsive behavior would lead the couple.

Add both Yves’ and Elijah’s old flames to this mix and you just know this won’t end well.

But you know what? When you close the cover on EVERYTHING SHE DIDN’T WANT, you’ll be fiending for book three of The Lust Diaries

and fuck if that doesn’t end well for Tasha and her sexy book.

Grab your copy of EVERYTHING SHE NEVER WANTED now, read it, and then help me harass Tasha into finishing book three…like yesterday.

#SundaySnippet – DUTCH, The Keeper Series Book One

SUNDAY SNIPPET

“You never said my name,” he tried to sound casual although his statement was anything but and he knew it and that’s when I knew he had been waiting all night to hear his name cross my lips but it never did and now it was time to part ways.

I bit my lower lip and studied my feet for a second fidgeting under his gaze his need his vulnerability and I considered myself and him and everything I was about to do and I wished I had more time to analyze and proceed with caution but I didn’t because he needed something right then and I had to decide whether I wanted to be the girl to give it to him or tell him to leave me the fuck alone.

“Spread your legs,” I ordered as I moved towards him and gestured, “wider.” And his eyes filled with that feral fear I saw earlier when I came too close for comfort but he did as I said and I moved into the space he created for my body and I made sure not to touch him because I knew I had already gone too far.

“I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish the other night when you gave me that little lecture about touch,” I started nice and slow my voice low just for him, “but you were right, I am the kind of woman a man takes his time with – he touches me everywhere because he wants to possess me leave his mark so to speak and his lips linger on my body and his hands slip between my legs and he kisses my pussy because he wants to and because I love to be touched. And even though you say you don’t want to touch me I know you do I feel it in the heat rolling off you in waves I hear it in your voice I see it right now while I’m talking to you and your dick is fighting to break free of the confines of your jeans.”

“And that,” I glanced down at his crotch and he glanced down and neither of us moved and he didn’t even breathe, “is all right because there is nothing more I want than to touch you I crave it just like you said I would. I want to run my hands up your thighs and press my palm against that fucking huge bulge and listen to you moan while my lips press to your throat and I taste the salt of your sweat. I want to climb into your lap and grind my wet pussy against you and wrap my fingers in your hair and kiss you so deeply you lose your breath. I want you to touch my face and lips and throat and kiss me softly as if I’m delicate and I matter and am not just the girl you slammed into the door and pretended to fuck like a whore. And I want you to whisper in my ear that you have never seen anyone so beautiful and that I feel. so. good.”

“But I know you can’t do those things that they break all of your rules in epic fashion so much that you might never recover from such an encounter, so here’s the deal: I will say your name if you let me touch you.”

He leaned away from me fast and panicked and something wild flashed in his eyes and I almost felt bad for the devil’s deal I offered him but I refused to relent because if he wanted a part of my soul I wanted a part of his. Tit for tat.

Pre-Order Dutch on Amazon from now until its October 12th release date and enter to win a $50 Amazon gift card. Enter your pre-order confirmation number in the comments below and get a chance to win. Re-blog this post, let me know you did, and earn a bonus entry for the giveaway.

Click HERE to order now.

Happy clicking.

#WednesdayFreeWrite – TREE

TREE

“I am the Lorax

I speak for the tree.”

“That’s not what he says,”

and she laughs

and she’s light

for half a beat of a second.

“Trees,”

she even smiles

“plural,”

and unlike other times

she doesn’t falter

when the word crosses her lips.

Instead she bites her pencil

before pointing it at me

and shakes her head

as I sit at my laptop

and sip my coffee

and spill my words on the page.

And for an instant

it almost seems as if trees

and branches

and leaves

don’t evoke horror

and pain

and loss.

I stare at my screen

and wonder when the breakdown will occur

how long will it take

for the hurt

and gnashing

and anger,

as I recall a night

not long ago

full of trepidation

and hope

and love.

A quiet night of exploration.

“I have a tree,”

she had whispered and cried

then pushed my hand away,

“it starts under my breast

and grows up my side

and creeps along my back.

It’s full of thick branches

knotted and gnarled

with black poisonous leaves.

Disgusting and unlovable.”

I had kissed her tears

the salt mingling with the bitter of my shock

as her fingers tangled in my hair

and skimmed my throat

and grazed my breasts

while she sobbed

her truths

of devastating loss

erecting a wall between us

daring me to scale its heights.

But she didn’t know

I lived for a good fight

especially one of the life-altering vein

so when she kept me at bay

and tried to hide her tree

I stepped around her barriers

and snaked my fingers under her shirt

and up her back

teasing the thick trunk

of knot and gnarl

my lips uncovering their story

of burn and char

making a new one

of trust

and patience

and care.

My mouth devoured the poison and black

of those leaves

and my love left them

fresh

and new

and green

My tongue traced those branches

around her breast

and over her nipple

beaded with desire

throbbing with lust

scarred

and angry

and red,

loving what she believed to be unlovable.

That was then

this was now

I waited for her breakdown

her pain

and anger

to join us this night

but after minutes of her long silence

and curious smirk

I felt her heat up my back

her arms around my waist

and the kiss of her lips on the shell of my ear

as she smiled

and held me close.

“You are the Lorax

and you speak for my tree.

Hold me close

trace my branches

kiss my leaves,”

she sighed,

“rescue me.”

My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. As always, these pieces are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are unedited and unscripted – so please be patient with the less-than-perfect and the not-quite-ready – super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week. They’re perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#CoverReveal – DUTCH, The Keeper Series Book One

mblaylock4:

DUTCH revealed, in all its dark sexy – a most fitting cover reveal for the first book in the dark erotic romance The Keeper Series.

Originally posted on Write Bitches:

It feels like a while ago that I messaged my friend, graphic design artist and all-around brilliant human being, Michele Mason Holmberg, she of the fabulous gorgeous sexy Sanctum Trilogy book covers, and hit her with a million ideas all at once about my new book, DUTCH, and my website and my web series and all kinds of other nonsense that she wasn’t really interested in but listened to anyway. Why? Because she is good like that, and maybe she smiled as I babbled away – but most likely she rolled her eyes – and when I finally shut the fuck up for about three seconds, she gleaned the most important info from my rambling:

I needed a cover for my erotic romance about a deadly assassin named Dutch tasked with killing someone named Juma nine times.

The book was ridiculously sexy

and just as dark

and my cover needed…

View original 400 more words

Getting Proustian With…LJK OLIVA – The Interview Series

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted new installments of Getting Proustian With…, my interview series where I ask random folks to submit to the beauty that is the Proust Questionnaire, that brilliant little character study that I’ve been using for years when creating the characters for my books. This state of affairs is almost 100% because I’ve been living way down deep in the rabbit hole that is Dutch and Juma, but I’m popping my head out from all of their dark sexy and getting back at it with my fellow Write Bitch, LJK Oliva.

Or Laura, as I know and love her.

A while back I was up late a night, working on book II from The Sanctum Trilogy, and Laura hit me up on Twitter, making some hilarious and snarky comment about steak and alcohol as only she can do and honestly, I knew right then and there, we were going to get along fabulously. We stayed up, going back and forth as only procrastinating writers can do, amusing one another with random observations and outright bullshit and I have to say, I kinda fell in love with her that night.

Also, it doesn’t hurt that she’s fabulously filthy and we share a love of all things down and dirty, especially if it’s found on Tumblr. Those of you who share a similar raunchy streak know just what I’m talking about. Don’t even try and pretend otherwise.  #wickedsmirk

Fast forward and we’re doing Write Bitches and hosting interview series and laughing about horrible book covers and ogling hot boys. And reveling in all the filthy shit that erupts from our very cluttered and deviant, sexy and fabulous imaginations.

She probably wants to wring my brown neck since I’ve been sitting on this interview FOREVER but has never once given me a “what the fuck is up with you and your stupid interview series?” because she’s awesome like that. Anyway, if you don’t know her, I’m sad for you – she’s fierce and funny and the perfect girl to stay up with late at night, laughing and talking all kinds of smack – but now you have a chance to get a little taste, a hint of her special brand of wicked perfection.

Finally, I’m getting off my fat ass and giving you Laura – or LJK Oliva – getting a little Proustian with it.

#WriteBitches4Life

Getting Proustian With…
LJK Oliva

1 What is your idea of perfect happiness?

A house in the mountains where I can write, cook, garden, hang out with my friends, and enjoy my family.

2 What is your greatest fear?

It’s a tie between bugs and heights. Blood? Whatever. Change? Bring it. But dangle a spider in front of my face and I will scream like a bitch.

3 What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I’m prone to impatience and flashes of temper. I’ve gotten better at controlling it, but it’s something I constantly struggle with.

4 What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Flagrant stupidity.

5 What is your greatest extravagance?

I’m the mother of a toddler, so I would have to say time to myself.

6 What is your current state of mind?

Cluttered.

7 What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Chastity ;-)

8 On what occasion do you lie?

When it would be crueler to tell the truth.

9 What do you most dislike about your appearance?

I have total caveman arms. Useful if I ever need to hurl a spear or wrestle a sabre-tooth tiger, but they suck the chic right out of just about every cocktail dress I try to wear.

10 What is the quality you most like in a man?

Intelligence, but tempered with kindness (we’ve all met THOSE people. You know the ones I mean).

11 What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Genuine good humor. I’ve met way too many women who take everything WAY too seriously.

12 Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

Don’t take off your diaper.  Put that back in your diaper. Only wear the clean underpants on your head. (Did I mention I’m the mother of a toddler?)

13 What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My husband. Hands down. He’s seen me at both my best and my absolute worst, and married me anyway.

14 When and where were you happiest?

The fact that this is such a hard question to answer either means I have too many happy moments to choose from, or that I am incapable of feeling true joy. That said, I think the closest thing I’ve felt to perfect happiness was when I published my first book.

15 Which talent would you most like to have?

The ability to write faster.

16 If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

A writer. What can I say? I’m addicted to the struggle.

17 Where would you most like to live?

San Francisco, obviously, but only if I was, like, rich.

18 What is your most treasured possession?

My iPhone. Addiction is a thing.

19 What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Having something to say, but being unable to find the words to say it.

20 What is your most marked characteristic?

Weirdness. Just…weirdness.

21 What do you most value in your friends?

Loyalty.

22 Who are your favorite writers?

Brian Jacques (Redwall series), Karen Marie Moning (Fever series), Stacia Kane (The Downside Ghosts series) Jim Butcher (The Dresden Files), J.R.R. Tolkien (do I really need to tell you?).

23 Who is your hero of fiction?

Martin the Warrior.

24 Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Laura Ingalls Wilder. And not just because we have the same first name… Okay, mostly because we share the same first name. Also, the whole writer thing.

25 What are your favorite names?

For girls, I like any name that has presence (Cassandra, Abernathy, Petra). For boys, I’m a big fan of Biblical-sounding names (Absolom, Simon, Benjamin). I also like a lot of Hispanic names (Mateo, Thiago, Elena, Yocelyn).

26 What is it that you most dislike?

See Question #4.

27 How would you like to die?

Quickly and epically.

28 What is your motto?

“See, what happened was…”

L.J.K. Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters… and knows the darkest ones don’t live in closets.

Laura loves meeting new people! Looking for her on the Web? You can find her here:

On Write Bitches

On Facebook

On Twitter

On Goodreads

On Pinterest

#ThursdayThoughts

Hmmm…

#WednesdayFreeWrite – THE TROUBLE I DIDN’T GET INTO

THE TROUBLE I DIDN’T GET INTO

The trouble I didn’t get into

doesn’t even exist

because I did that shit

without thinking twice

again

and again

and again

He had a wicked grin

and a lopsided nose

and the deepest, sexiest voice

and he knew how to use it

Promises

Hopes

Fears

Jokes

Fuckery

Sex

Whispered into all my little cracks and seams

my curves and hollows

Kissed into my skin

Burned into my soul

“If I’m not married when I’m 35

and you’re not either

promise you’ll run away with me

forever.”

“You will be married

to a skinny little thing

with pale skin and straight blonde hair

and her name will be Grace.”

“Then I shall come looking for you

hunting you down

because I only crave your curves

and brown skin and curly hair.”

“You are such a white boy,” I laughed.

And he grinned

and we looked at the stars in the sky

as we lay on that blanket next to each other

on that hill in the park

in the middle of the night.

And yeah, he had a girlfriend

And umm, maybe I had a boyfriend

but he had that voice

and that grin

and those hands

And he was smart

and troubled

and fine as fuck

And I was young

and brash

and full of desire

So when he called me at 2am

to swing by and pick him up

to drive down to Piedmont Park

and look at the stars

I laughed

and told him to fuck off

then grabbed my car

and sped off into the night

right into his charm

and sex

and god, his mouth

And we spent the night in that park

doing things

and making promises

and then doing more things

that in the light of day

we both denied ever happened

Because he had a girlfriend

and umm, I might have had a boyfriend

But he had those lips

and I had those curves

And we had years of trouble

that we got into

again

and again

and again

My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. This week’s prompt is courtesy one of my fellow Muses: THE TROUBLE I DIDN’T GET INTO. As always, these pieces are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are unedited and unscripted and just super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week. They’re perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.