Hey y’all. My internet is bugging. T-mobile is seriously pissing me off. I upgraded, and my shit got worse! And those damn calls to customer service are so long and arduous and annoying, I’ve just been dealing with it. Rant over. In this unedited snippet, Lado’s feeling some type of way after Sophie breaks him off a little something something in an unlikely place…
For a moment when he pulled into the garage he wondered what the hell he was doing. He never took women home. He usually made himself comfortable in theirs. But now Lado led his sleepy Sophie inside, put her in his bed, took off her clothes, wiped her face, neck and hands, and gave her another hot wet cloth to “Wash up your bits. I’m going to need them later. I want you comfortable.”
She did as he said, eyes mostly closed. She whispered thank you when he took the used towel back, already half asleep. It was dark in the room, and he deliberately didn’t turn on the light. He didn’t want any staring into each others’ eyes, wondering this that or the other. She sighed with every kiss, moving where he led without demur as he pulled up the covers around her, and obligingly snuggled down. He liked that she migrated immediately to his pillow, wrapped her arms around it. And that was it. She was out.
“She’s gotta work tomorrow at 10 am,” Tommy had told him as they were leaving, and he’d frowned at her.
He had a half a mind to call Tommy and say she wouldn’t make it in tomorrow, but Sophie was so prickly and independent. He might accidentally start World War III. He stood there looking down at her curled around his pillow. His more than half hard cock insisted that he make appropriate use of her. She is in your bed, his mind insisted, as though it was a foregone conclusion that he should be inside her and why was he delaying what was obvious?Read More »
Some men are like the tide. They roll in, you know you’re gonna drown, but you let ‘em take you under anyway. That’s what Lado is to Sophie. But things are just heating up. In this unedited snippet, Lado gives little Sophie a taste of how he likes to play…
“I can’t resist you,” she whispered, shaking her head.
He smiled. “Nor I you. But that’s okay,” he whispered, fingers making fast work of his own buttons. “Lie down for me. On your back. Stretch out your arms and legs.
Slowly, she obeyed, feeling absurdly shy and grateful he’d left her underwear in place.
He crawled between her legs, running his hands up from her ankles to the lace piped edge of her panties. He ran his fingers over her mound, slowly back and forth until she began to squirm. He placed his hand flat on her lower belly, fingers grabbing the rather frayed blue flowered cotton.
She gasped as he yanked. Read More »
If a man suddenly said, I want you to be mine, you’d probably laugh. That or roll your eyes. Sophie did all of those things. But my poor heroine is tired, broke, and in the throes of a physical and mental attraction deeper and stronger than anything she’s ever felt before. Let’s just say, her current state has led her to be easily persuaded, and Lado? Well, with his wine red hair and ready laugh, he’s found a formula our dear Sophie is finding it quite hard to resist…
I can’t get involved in any more crazy shit, she thought, trying harder to get away. But he held tight to her hips, and when he gently shook her and bit the side of her neck she stopped pushing, letting her hands rest against his broad chest. Her hands looked small against him.
“Once you’re calm, with all business taken care of and your creative juices flowing again, your grumpiness will fade. I’ll see that all of your other urges come back in force,” he whispered, that seductive voice back to induce more shivers at her ear. “And all the affection I’ll have lavished on you will make you fall into my arms like a ripe plum. You’ll like being mine, Sophie. It will be easy, trust me.”Read More »
So, I’ve been writing, even though I haven’t been posting. Bad writer, I know, but I’m back, and my next tale of Lado and Sophie is the kind I love to read. A real Cinderella meets her prince type tale – if Cinderella was a writer’s blocked, formerly well to do children’s author’s who’s fallen on hard times, and every other horrible thing. And Prince Charming had red hair, a ready laugh, and a decidedly dominant bent. In this unedited snippet, you get a hint of Sophie’s down on her luck pluck, Lado’s perennial sunny face, and the sparks they strike off each other at every opportunity. Enjoy – SS
Well, that was that. Another story filed, another check en route, another check already spent before it even arrived.
Sophie sighed and rose to stretch her neck and back. She’d been bent over her laptop for over an hour without moving. She felt like one big kink, and not in a good way. Times gone by her mother would have intervened at least twice, offering tea or some random ass comment. Sophie would pretend to be angry at the interruption, but she’d drink or eat whatever was offered, and stop working long enough to shoot the shit before her muse distracted her back to work.
But her dear mother was gone. Dead nearly 10 months now. She supposed in a few more she might stop looking up to talk to her. She’d stop forgetting that she would never talk to her again.
She should look at her budget. But why? You can only move a little bit here and there for so long before you have to admit you’re wasting your time. She should open the mail. But again, what was the point? She knew those bitchy white envelopes with their slim plastic windows held bills. Bills she could not afford to pay.Read More »
Somehow I missed this new Usher song when it was released late last month. Please take a look. It’s horrible, but awareness is the first step toward acceptance and then action.
I’ve been going back and forth about what my next book should be. Tommy’s story is rattling around in my brain, as is Steele’s…I’ve even picked out my next color demon. *winks* But I’ve also got a story in my head where race plays a stronger role. Love will always win the day in my romantic fiction world, but I’ve been feeling edgy lately. Like I should do more, speak louder, write more in a targeted way. I think I just answered my own question. LOL.
I hope you all stick with me on this next journey. I’m feeling Scandal-ous – did y’all see the last episode? Good night! Shonda Rhimes is a genius at synthesizing current events and presenting them without beating you over the head. Did you recognize the Bill Cosby saga? – so God knows what’ll come out of my pen. It should be interesting… – SS
So my wig’s a little twisted right now.
I often visit friends/fellow writer’s web sites periodically to see what they’re up to, and today I read something disturbing on my girl Theodora Taylor’s site.
T posted an entry detailing how one woman explained why she gave her one star on Amazon. It was because she did not mention that her book was BWWM. This person felt the need to warn others – because she could not relate. I thought this was sad. Then I got pissed.
I added a line to all of my novel descriptions clearly saying this is a BWWM romance. But then I was like, F that. I’m taking that shit off. I will not voluntarily put myself in a box because someone thinks that a Black woman’s love story isn’t relatable. Like we don’t feel the same pain, joy and ecstasy that any other woman in love or lust does.
That’s the whole thing about diversity and racism and bias. Somehow, certain people think that minorities are like, literally different than everyone else. But we all experience the same emotions and problems. They just happen in different circumstances, perhaps in different locations or languages. We’re all human. We just come in different colors.
Anyone, I repeat, anyone can read and enjoy my stories. I will not create my own box or facilitate my own limitations by suggesting for even a moment that only black women can enjoy my books. That would make me a liar.
Happy erotic and paranormal romance reading. Period. – SS
So, Adele released “Hello,” her first single in three years, and it’s stunning. She’s back. That voice we know and love is just as fabulous as it always was, and her tale of love and loss is as relatable as ever. I had no idea her love interest in the video was a black man when I first listened to the song. I planned to post it on my Facebook page with one word – fabulous – because of the song, how she looked, the tiny gold earrings in her ears.
Then I saw this smiling brown face.
Not movie star handsome, or tall and cut and pretty like a model. This man was more ordinary, still attractive, but not exceptional, other wordly or fine with an o not an i. I think that’s important. You may ask, but S, you write interracial romance; of course you think it’s important. And you’re right. It is important that we see certain things in the media, in pop culture, in the zeitgeist, so that we know they’re okay. That there’s no harm in them. Nothing really different or scary or unapproachable.
But I write about beautiful men. Tall, rich, well traveled masters of the universe because, let’s face it, who wants to read about someone ugly, broke and boring? I certainly don’t, so I won’t write that book.
This man, however. Yes, he’s an actor in real life – Tristan Wilds, a la 90210 and HBO’s The Wire – but in “Hello,” he’s cute. He’s happy. He’s an ordinary man transformed into something extraordinary – or so the invisible narrative plays – by love. That’s important.
It’s important to see the value in a good old, ordinary brown face.