The Smutketeers haven’t kicked us out yet, so we’re back–despite someone eating ribs last night and getting their guest room all kinds of messy. But I guess that’s in line with today’s naughty theme: FOOD.
We have it on good authority (from A Historical Author Who Knows These Things) that if butter is involved, the story must be erotic romance. A little out of context? Maybe. But it is sometimes true. Just ask Erin Nicholas, our resident butterator (hehe, I said butt).
Don’t forget that comments today and Friday go into the drawing for After Dinner Nipples (the chocolate kind!).
Ok Naughties, when were you bad with food? And don’t try to butter (*snicker*) me up to get out of answering…because then I’d be slippery, and it wouldn’t help your case.
Kinsey Holley: Um, every time I open the fridge, because I’ve gained 20 pounds? But if you’re talking 9.5 weeks kind of naughty, never. Honestly, I don’t like eating naked. Skeeves me out. Don’t know why.
Skylar Kade: I love sweets, and my sweetie loves bringing them to me. And eating them while making orgasmic sounds–because they taste that good and because it drives him nuts? Magic.
Meg Benjamin: Most of my food naughtiness involves sneaking food into places you don’t usually sneak food into. I usually travel with cheese, for example, and if I find dry, wine-cured salami I’ll grab it. I purely love bringing out my concealed yummies (and doesn’t that sound salacious) and having impromptu feasts in places like snooty California wineries (which, unlike Texas or Colorado wineries, can’t sell you wine by the glass for some reason) or august luxury hotels. As a rebellion against the Establishment, this is pretty lame. But as a way to get good food anywhere you go, it works for me.
Sydney Somers: There was this one time, at Writer’s Camp… Seriously though, I think the the naughtiest I get with my food is the sound I may make when I bite into a truly decadent piece of cheesecake.
Kelly Jamieson: I again become shy, but will just say champagne, strawberries and chocolate body paint.
Juniper Bell: No one else knows this. It happened when my old boyfriend and I were camping. I stripped naked and stretched out on a blanket. Slowly, sensuously, he smeared marshmallow fluff all over my nipples. I closed my eyes and breathed in the intoxicating scent, only to be shocked by the sensation of hot liquid dribbling across my breasts. Melted chocolate pooled on top of the gooey white deliciousness. Sighs of bliss rose into the pine-scented air as my boyfriend dipped graham crackers into the sticky mess and I moaned, “S’more, s’more.”
Actually, I’m one of those people who cringes at the thought of food on my body. I like the licking, the stickiness not so much. When it comes to food, I generally behave myself. When it comes to writing…watch out.
Kate Davies: Whipped cream is very lickable. That’s all I have to say.
PG Forte: Are we talking about in books? Because up until very recently, when I began writing all these angels and vampires who never actually eat anything (what is up with that?) my characters combined food and sex quite a lot. A Taste of Honey, Touch of a Vanished Hand, ALL the LA Love Lessons books, Iron…and you know how strongly I believe in hands-on research.
Erin Nicholas: In real life or books? My books seem to often have a lot of food involved– butter, pie filling, chocolate syrup. In real life… whipped cream is always good!
Do you play with your…ahem…food like the Naughty Nine? Tell us, tell us! We promise to give you credit if we share it with our hubbies.
Haven’t had enough yet? You’re in the right place–that’s it, another yummy excerpt!
He turned with a frown. “Why are you here?”
“Oh.” She pulled herself up straight. “To yell at you.”
“Can you get it over with so I can finish here?”
“Love to. Leave my stuff alone and mind your own business.”
“You don’t mean that.” Marc bent and put another pie in the oven.
It annoyed her that she got distracted by how great his butt looked in the faded jeans. “What?”
“I think you really, really want me messing with your stuff and minding your business. In fact, I think you’ve realized that I’m the only one you want messing with your stuff and that’s why you’re here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?” He looked up and made lasting eye contact for the first time. “You’re going to pretend that you don’t know? And act surprised that I know exactly what you’re doing?”
“What I’m doing? I’m not reading your mail and messing with your stuff and confusing everything.”
“Is that right? I’m the only one messing around and confusing everything?”
“You’re the one touching me all the time and flirting and smiling at me—” She stopped, realizing that she was on the verge of admitting things she shouldn’t say out loud even to herself.
“And every frickin’ time you—” He stopped and visibly gritted his teeth.
She stared at him when he failed to go on. “I what?”
He scowled at her. “You respond.”
“I respond,” she repeated. “What does that mean?” But she knew exactly what he meant. She responded to him in ways she never had to anyone, or anything, before.
“It means that all I can think about is getting you naked and making you respond over and over again.”
Her body definitely responded to that and she had to concentrate on breathing normally. Still, she tried for flippant. “I think that’s maybe more your problem, than mine.”
“Maybe it is.” He didn’t look up and was stirring the ingredients in the bowl like he had a personal vendetta against them. “After all, you have another guy hanging on, don’t you? When you get all worked up you can just go off to his office and have him scratch the itch. The itch I created.”
He really seemed upset and she knew he wanted her to believe it was because she was driving him crazy. But she thought just maybe it was her and Luke together that was driving him crazy. Which meant he was jealous. Which made her want to smile. She resisted, but she definitely wanted to. “He’s the guy I’m going to be living with. He should be scratching my itches.”
“The guy you might be living with.” Marc threw—not tossed—the spoon into the sink. He thumped the ball of dough he’d created onto the wooden counter top and began flattening it.
The man drove her crazy. “And you’re pissed because you think he can do better.”
“That’s probably why I should be pissed.” He hit the dough with the rolling pin.
He didn’t answer, just kept rolling.
“Why are you pissed then?”
Nothing. His jaw was tight and the dough was getting a beating, but he wouldn’t even look up.
“Oh now you’re going to shut up? You open this up and now you won’t follow through?” She wanted emotion from him, a reaction, even if he was mad about something. She wanted to know that this was more than casual to him. “Let’s talk about these itches I need help with.” He still didn’t look up.
“Come on, Marc. If we’re gonna fight, then fight with me!”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he muttered.
The muttering drove her crazier than any yelling might have done. “Well, I want to fight with you!” And she did. She had so many pent up emotions, so many frustrations and it seemed that many, if not all, stemmed from this man. She wanted to let loose with…something. And Marc was the closest target.
Marc, who was simply rolling out piecrusts and muttering at her.
That wasn’t going to fly. If he didn’t want to fight with her now, he soon would.
She reached out and grabbed the closest thing, a can of apple pie filling. She scooped out a handful and flung it at him, hitting him directly in the center of the chest.
He froze, the rolling pin gripped in his hands.
When he didn’t react further than that, she took another handful and threw it. It hit him on the front of his right shoulder.
He put the rolling pin down and finally looked up her. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he began unbuttoning his shirt. “That’s how you want to do this?”
Her heart was pounding and she was sure it was from anger. It had to be anger.
But as more and more of his chest was revealed she knew that lie wasn’t going to make it much further. He shrugged out of the shirt entirely a moment later and her heart rate kicked into high gear.
Wow. He was muscled and broad, skin tanned with light hair gracing his pecs and stomach. She wanted to touch it. All of it. With her tongue.
This was bad.
He started toward her. She backed up. “How I want to do what?”
“Get me naked.”
“I…don’t…” But she couldn’t quite get the lie out. She did want him naked. Bad.