Hot sex with someone you love on a great big bed in one of the most romantic hotels on the planet--that's my recipe for passion in "Big Bed Sex," my story that appears in Rachel Kramer Bussel's latest anthology, Passion: Erotic Romance for Women.
"Big Bed Sex" is a story I knew I had to write the moment I stepped into the Beverly Hills Hotel in the fall of 2008 when I was on the L.A. leg of my national book tour for Amorous Woman. Followers of my blog might remember my non-fiction account, but believe me, the fictional version is much, much more fun to read.
And if that's not enough for you, the anthology is packed full of delicious treats for your heart and your libido from masters of sexy fiction like Emerald, Portia da Costa, Justine Elyot and Saskia Walker.
For more tantalizing teasers, check out the provocative book trailer and the Passion blog (with another steamy excerpt from my story), and, if you happen to be in Brooklyn on Thursday, November 11, please join me, Rachel, Emerald, and best-selling historical romance author Sarah MacLean at Word bookstore in Greenpoint for free cupcakes (to celebrate the day-after-Rachel's-birthday) and plenty of hot romance presented the way it's meant to be, in the lilting voices of its authors.
And now an excerpt from "Big Bed Sex":
I grabbed a pear from the fruit basket and took a bite of the yielding flesh, my gaze still fixed on the stage set before me. My sister had told me that the Beverly Hills Hotel was second only to the Chateau Marmont as a favorite assignation palace for Hollywood’s many adulterers. While the real movers and shakers would surely spring for a fourth-floor suite, a minor producer or supporting-actor-type had probably seen fit to blow a thousand on an afternoon’s delight in this romantic boudoir.
Maybe it was a trick of the dusky light, but as I continued to stare, the ivory-colored quilt seemed to swell up, up into a mound, bunched just a little higher at midpoint. With a little more squinting, the shape resolved into two bodies, male and female, hips moving rhythmically, up and down. The sound of heavy breathing filled my ears, joined by a low feminine moan and the rustle of 500-thread-count cotton sheets as the ghostly couple undulated on the broad mattress.
My cunt muscles clenched almost to the point of pain.
But it wasn’t the pleasure of the starlet and her producer that filled me with such longing. What twisted my pussy into a throbbing knot of lust was the thought of what could—and would--happen on that bed if Will were here with me.
We always seemed to have extra hot sex in hotel rooms, with a special hit of shacking-up naughtiness in the budget places with the lumpy mattresses, threadbare towels and shrink-wrapped plastic cups. Whenever I could, though, I booked us rooms in rustic country inns or charming bed-and-breakfasts, because over the past seven years I’d learned an interesting fact about my husband. The bigger the bed, the better the sex, as if a grander canvas inspired him to new erotic heights.
In fact, I could plot out a timeline of red-letter days in our sex life based on the size and luxury of our rent-by-the-night beds….
(...and yes, I go into graphic detail!)