I don’t have cable, so I don’t watch much current TV. Most of the impressions I have about vampires have come from books I’ve read or older entertainments sources, or my own imagination. Or a combination thereof. In a lot of the romance books I’ve read, vampires and other living dead are sexy, hot, muscular, warm to the touch, sparkly and ready to fuck. In my mind though, snuggly up to a vampire would be like hugging an ice cube. I picture them about as warm a corpse hidden away in the deep freeze for safekeeping. In other words, cold. Brrrr. How is that sexy? Is it sexy? And are romance readers getting stiffed?
Not in the sense of are they not getting any “romance” out of the genre, but are they getting a believable romance out of the genre?
I know, I know, suspension of reality is what we writers DO. So of course we’re gonna turn the most hapless, gap-toothed, frigid little monster into a handsome, muscled, rippling with power hot-ass leading man, right? Well, see, I just wouldn’t go that far. And I get that not all readers like a hint of horror or even a whiff of reality with their erotica. I happen to and hope to find a few readers that do, too!
Maybe my fascination with the cold, undead leading man began when I read “Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers” by Mary Roach (2012). An unvarnished version of what happens to the bodies donated for medical science. It’s a gross but thoroughly engrossing read. A real page turner! But there’s no need to consume it quickly. The dead tend to stay dead. Unlike the undead, so to speak.
While I tend to think of the undead as horribly cold to the touch, I don’t have an issue with seeing them as hard. In the back of my mind, I tend to view a cadaver as hard EVERYWHERE. Know what I mean? Constantly stiff, for your pleasure. If you can take the temperature….
So, in my latest book from MLR Press, I had to come up with the perfect mate for Ambrose, the vampire. I needed someone who desperately NEEDED cold. Botanist Henri Muller was born. Henri’s survived a forest fire, but is burned alive nightly in his dreams. For him, Ambrose’s relentlessly cool cock is his salvation. Or else his undoing….
DARKEST FLOWERS by EVA LEFOY
Botanist Henri Muller will do almost anything for a flower—even brave a forest fire. Scarred and heartbroken, he journeys to a greenhouse run by a reclusive proprietor with a mysterious green thumb and a potent sexuality. Henri’s startled by their passionate encounter, but when he discovers the vampire’s bite soothes his tormented body and soul he longs to stay though the cure is deadly.
Ambrose is a shy monster with a lonely heart. Will Henri choose to become his mate or will he let Ambrose wilt and die like a neglected flower? With each passing day, Ambrose grows weaker...
He gripped the arctic ass behind him and pulled it closer, desperate to have Ambrose’s cock inside him, even if he had to go through fabric to get it. “Oh, God, Ambrose. Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”
“Yes.” Ambrose hissed the word and grabbed Henri’s hand, leading him back to the main greenhouse. “I shall have you. You will become part of my beautiful collection.”
Henri had no idea what that meant. But as Ambrose tipped him backward into a container full of lilies, he didn’t care. He landed on the moist soil and spread his legs. Surrounded by the soft petals and powerful spicy scents, he succumbed to the most passionate heat he’d ever known.
Ambrose opened a flower stem, took some sort of lubricant from it, spread it on his shaft and entered Henri’s hungry hole.
Each sharp thrust made him gasp anew, filling him with a cock so unrelentingly hard, so bone-chillingly cold, he gasped out moans of agony. The shock wasn’t unlike being thrust into an arctic sea. The polar temperature of Ambrose’s cock warred with his overheated channel, and little by little, the shaft inside him warmed. But Henri only grew hotter, just like he did every night he jerked himself off. Oh God, not this again.
“Easy now. You’ll be even warmer in a few seconds, but you have nothing to fear.”
Ambrose was right. The moment he was fully seated, Henri found himself overcome by a dizzying fever. Sweat broke out across his body. His arms and legs shook with it, his throat raspy and dry. “Ambrose….” His tight ring clenched and relaxed, sending shivers up his channel that turned to fire. If Ambrose didn’t fill and cool every inch of him and relieve him of this fervent heat, he’d burst into flames. “More. Oh God, more. Move inside me. I’m too hot. Too hot.”
Ambrose did as asked, sliding his long rigid cock in and out at the same tortuous pace he’d used to milk Henri’s shaft earlier.
Henri gripped handfuls of flower stems and lifted his hips, hungrily meeting each of Ambrose’s thrusts with his own. By now the air was so humid and heavy, it felt like a Cincinnati linebacker sat on his chest. His voice exited with a scratchy wheeze. “More. Please.” He didn’t know how much of this excruciating madness he could take. If Ambrose would only hurry…
But he didn’t. Instead, Ambrose leaned close and trailed a frosty white finger down Henri’s sweat-soaked chest. The sudden change from hot to cold pushed him over the edge. His ass clenched and he arched his back and came, his howl rattling the panes of glass above him.
Ambrose leaned over him, pressing them skin to skin, his straight platinum hair shimmering with each slight movement of his hips.
Heat met cold. Fusion met explosion. Henri’s orgasm in process ratcheted up a notch, tearing through him like wild pounding fear. He squirmed and twisted, in agony and ecstasy. And then he opened his eyes and saw them. Ambrose had fangs.
Stunned, fire still consuming his flesh, he screamed in terror but couldn’t rouse his muscles to flee as Ambrose bent lower, put his mouth to Henri’s neck, and sank his pearly white teeth into his galloping pulse.
Henri’s cock erupted, drenching his belly, his cum soaking into the flower bed. As if from far away, he heard Ambrose release and a chilly liquid soothed his channel, cooling him down. His fever broke. Spent, head spinning, Henri swooned. Behind closed eyes he dreamed of being trapped in the fire, only this time, Ambrose dragged him to safety.
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Author Bio and Contact:
Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.
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