Putting Fun Into the Seduction

~~ Vonnie Davis

I write very sexual romances. Don’t ask me why, because I’m not overly comfortable doing it. What I do love is when I can toss in humor into the seduction or pre-seduction scene. I do enjoy bringing down an Alpha. This is taken from a book I hope to have finished by the time you read this blog. An editor read the first three chapters and asked to see a "Full." Well, I'd yet to write the full book, so I've been busy writing, rewriting, and deleting what I had planned to be a 70,000 word book. I'm at 82,000 words now and can't seem to find the ending. I'm lost, ladies. I think I need an intervention.
       But I digress. In this scene, Blake, a billionaire with a pottie mouth, has invited Jazmin over for a swim, steaks on the grill, and planned sex on a rose petal-covered bed. Warning: Adult Language.

Since Jazz had competed in diving at school, I expected her to wear a one-piece suit; something regimental leftover from college. But, just when I thought I had a handle on Jazmin, she threw me a heated unexpected curve. Instead, she stepped out of the guest bath down the hall from the kitchen wearing a white bikini with small black dots. A damn skimpy bikini held in place by thin black halter ties.

I’d just speared one of the Porterhouse steaks with a meat fork when Jazz sauntered into the kitchen. I held the large steak over the pan of flavoring sauce as her firm, voluptuous body came closer and closer…and my erection grew harder and harder. I could barely breathe and yet my heart jackhammered in my ribcage. I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen women in bikinis before.

Her top barely covered or contained her breasts. A vision of how that white suit would look once it was wet slowly swam through my mind and my swimming trunks got painfully tight.

“Do you need any help?” She stopped on the other side of the island counter from me.

“No. I’ve got this.” I waved the loaded meat fork, aiming for casual. After all, I’d been around plenty of beautiful women. Why should she make me react like a simpleton? “The pool is beyond the back porch, down the brick walk. Go on out and enjoy yourself.”

“Okay. I haven’t had the chance to swim in ages. All I do is work. Is there a diving board?”

“Yeah. Two. And the pool’s deep enough at that end, so you’ll be safe. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

She nodded and pivoted toward the door.

Holy Mother of God.

Her firm ass was bare except for a black thong. Holy hell, I’d never be able to look at cantaloupes again without getting a hard-on.

She opened the door and looked over her shoulder at me with one hell of a sexy smile. “I wore this old black and white thing in your honor, you know.”

The door closed behind her and a juicy plop sounded. Cold liquid splattered my calves. My gaze swung from the door to the steak lying on the floor. Well f**k me blind with a side of beef.

I jabbed the Porterhouse from the tile and rinsed it off at the sink while my eyes stayed glued to her world class ass through the window above the sink as she sauntered toward the pool. A butterfly took off from a flower bush. Jazz bent to inhale the scent of the bush’s blossoms. I damn near swallowed my tongue. She moved onto some bright orange daisies and leaned over to cup their blooms as if they were something precious. It was plain to see Jazz loved flowers.

Evidently, as I’d ogled her bent over, delectable form, I must have absentmindedly squirted some dish detergent onto the steak because suds foamed between my fingers. The more I rubbed it, the soapier the damn thing got. Hell, I couldn’t think around her. My testosterone just took over.

I ran water over the meat and more bubbles rose. Holy f**k! My thumbs scrubbed harder and the suds got thicker. Damn the stuff! I used the sink sprayer on it and bloody bubbles blew over my chest. I gagged.

After rinsing it some more, I twisted fluids out of the meat—marinade, blood, and soapy water. My gag reflex kicked in again. Hell, I might give up eating red meat. Shit, what a fiasco! I poked my finger into the steak’s fibers and tiny bubbles erupted. I cussed and ran more water over it.

I looked in all the cabinets I could reach with one hand while my other held the steak under the faucet’s flow. I found a pot, filled it, and pushed the meat into the cold water. My fingers pressed it all over, hoping to remove the dish detergent that had somehow saturated the damn Porterhouse.

Figuring I’d spent enough time on the thing, I wrung it out again. I dipped the steak into the marinade, turning it over and over until it was coated. I’d have to make sure Jazz got the flat one and I ate the porterhouse that resembled a large, long corkscrew. Holy batcow!

Now they’re enjoying dinner by the pool. We’re in Jazmin’s point of view.

“Your house isn’t at all what I expected. It’s very traditional and homey. I love all the little touches that proclaim it’s a dwelling much loved. All that mahogany wood trim glistens from years of care.” My steak knife slid through my meat as if it were soft butter. I popped a piece between my lips, waiting for him to respond.

After much sawing, he finally had a chunk of his steak cut off and shoved into his mouth. His head bobbed as he chewed…and chewed…and chewed. He grabbed his glass of Bordeaux and gulped it down before swallowing the meat. “You were expecting modern minimalist, weren’t you?”

I could have sworn two bubbles came out of his mouth.

Let's hope the editor enjoys my humor. She didn't seem to mind my hero's f-bomb in paragraph 4 of Chapter One. Although he thinks them more than says them. It's a story of sassy rainbow dresser meets stuffy, tailored, Italian suit. Cross your fingers for me.

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