Welcome to Lea Bronson talking about her move from
crime drama to erotica.
Back in ’97, the movie “The Crow” threw me into the
world of powerful crime lord Top Dollar, brilliantly played by much underrated
actor, Michael Wincott. Top Dollar and most of his slimy, brutal gang members
died, but I couldn’t help thinking, “What if he didn’t…?” The idea bugged me
for a while, until three years ago, when I decided to re-create him. In a
similar setting, but with a wider array of feelings, a heavier baggage, and a
different vision of life. His heart and soul were talking to me, and I was
determined to write his story – a copy novel from a criminal’s perspective,
giving a badass gangster a voice. I made him cold, lethal and unlikeable. Scum,
trash, society’s outcast. Then, as the story moved along, I humanized him, gave
him a heart to deal with and a conscience to account for.
The crime drama Wild Hearted was born Feb 2013, and
the funny thing was that someone who read the book said my sex scenes were too
graphic for sweet romance readers. I thought, “Who cares about romance? This is supposed to be erotic, with the same
attention for detail and level of edginess as the violence and the gore in the
book!”
Shortly after the release, I was invited to write a
story for an erotic anthology. I found the necessary inspiration – a dripping
hot photo of British dancer, Aaron Sillis, seemingly begging for a story to be
told, ha ha – and started writing, focusing heavily on the sex in every single
chapter.
Unfortunately, the antho didn’t happen, but I was
on a mission. I continued writing the story that would become High-Risk Fever, progressively
broadening my genre spectrum from hetero to GLBT, from erotic romance to
dripping erotice, and from F/M and M/M to multiple partners/ménage.
It wasn’t easy. I had already told the POV of a gay
boy in Wild Hearted, but this was different: describing full-on gay acts and
choreographing steamy foursome scenes so long they spanned over several
chapters was an entirely new experience and quite the challenge!
What I liked about the new genre was that I could
push the sex scenes to the extreme without having accusatory fingers pointed at
me. When you read erotica, you expect a certain level of eroticism on every
page, and I have to admit that I really enjoyed maintaining that tension
throughout the book.
Sometimes, the sexual aggression even led to
semi-violent scenes, which in turn made me go back and revisit the intensity
and edginess of Wild Hearted. My genre change had gone full circle, which
pleased me immensely – I was able to combine two very distinct genres!
And still, to this day, I juggle between them: I’m halfway
through a gripping psychological thriller and, in parallel, a sweeter erotic
interracial romance. The romance has its hard, brutal moments, and the thriller
includes love and highly graphic sex scenes, too, *big grin*
Here's an excerpt from a scene that combines both genres. Enjoy!
Before she
could collect her thoughts and produce another half-coherent lie, he stepped
toward her, bumping his large chest into hers, and pushed her back against the
shelf. She winced as hard wood grazed her spine, pain spreading like tiny
electric shocks.
Yet the
contact brought forth the sex-infused memory of a very naked Micaela caging her
in the same way last night and, for some strange reason, heat rushed to her
lower stomach. Gasping, she put her hands behind her, clutching the rough wood
of a shelf for balance.
Brian came
closer, towering until every muscle on the front of his body pressed against
hers, flattening her breasts. He stood so near, she could no longer discern his
pupils. His chest heaved against hers.
A sudden
click—a brutal, sickening sound in such a desolate place—and the light went
out, plunging them in perfect blackness. He lifted his arm and reached behind
her. A metallic clatter on wood told her he’d put the flashlight on the shelf.
She
shuddered. For the first time in their two-year relationship, she considered
her husband a possible threat and regretted being alone with him.
“You know….”
His menacing voice filled the eerie silence. He moved his face to the side of
her head and whispered into her ear. “I can’t help thinking your odd behavior
in bed yesterday has something to do with this.”
Oh, fuck.
Everything was coming back at her. One by one, he pointed out irregularities
and uncovered holes in her explanations. He must have given this some serious
thought.
She
swallowed, listened to her own breathing. Sweat slid along her flanks, cold as
rain. The inability to see her husband caused the hair on her neck to stand, as
if the spookiest ghost appeared before her.
Anne shook
her head. “Brian, sweetheart, you wanna talk about last night? Honestly, I
don’t know what came over me. I think I just wanted a little more—I don’t
know—diversity?”
“Because
what I do to you isn’t enough? Is that it?” He cupped her cheeks in his warm
hands before moving to her ears and squeezing, pressing the back of her neck
against another shelf. Her temples heated.
She didn’t
know what to say, and feared where he was going. Being in a cold, humid, and
darkened cellar didn’t seem a good moment to discuss the lack of variety in
their sex life.
“Anne, I
love you more than anything.” Pressing his hips, he rubbed his obvious arousal
back and forth against her thighs.
Oh God. The
movement lit a fire in her belly. She couldn’t believe he was handling her in
such a rough manner, but at the same time, it was quite exciting.
“I’d give my
life for you.” With one hand entwined in her hair, he yanked her head until it
rested atop the shelf, exposing her throat. While a thousand tiny needles in
her scalp made her whine, his warm breath pulsed against her bare skin. “Don’t
you know that?”
“I do.”
With the
other hand, he unbuttoned her blouse between their chests, snuck warm fingers
beneath, and found her breast inside the bra.
She gasped
at the intrusion.
“How do you
want me to prove that?” He pinched the sensitive nipple, and a sharp,
electrical rush of pain spread through her breast. “Marrying you wasn’t
enough?”
Wanting to
tolerate the hurt, she clenched her teeth.
He obviously
thought roughness would arouse her. Well, she was tired of his oh-so-careful,
gentlemanly lovemaking and did indeed crave a little harder handling. It could
be the moment she had waited for.
“No, you
want excitement.”
Yes.
His
breathing picked up, as did the fondling of her breast and the moves of his
erection between her thighs, only separated by their clothes. “Excitement.” His
voice was loud in her ear. His moustache tickled the skin of her throat as he
leaned forward, hot breaths leaving dampness before he placed his sharp teeth
on the sensitive tissue and bit.
She yelped,
jerked sideways, but his fingers entangled in her hair held her in place.
“Do you know
what would happen to me if I lost you?” His voice cracked.
For a
second, a cruel rush of sorrow filled her chest.
Yes, I know
what that would feel like. I love you, too, Brian.
He released
her hair. His strong hands moved to her ass cheeks, cupped them, and with
perfect ease, lifted her.
She
squealed, helpless to the shelf scraping her spine. Unbalanced, blind, she
flapped her arms in the dark before leaning forward and clutching Brian’s
shoulders.
With a few
adjustments, he positioned the hard bulge in his pants into the crevice of her
inner thighs, pressing it against her panties. So ready.
Oh God. The
intimate touch made her inner muscles clench with lust.
Did he want
to fuck her here? Standing?
“I’ll do
anything to keep you.” He buried his face in her cleavage with a choked,
guttural sound, his moustache prickling the skin between her breasts.
She didn’t
know what to say, could only fight back the warm tears threatening to fill her
eyes.
He moved his
face in front of hers, quick breaths brushing her lips.
Thank God I
can’t see your eyes and what they’re telling me.
“You want to
be fucked hard and fast, Anne,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “I’ll fuck
you hard and fast.” With no further warning, he dropped her to the floor.
She welcomed
the cement underneath her feet and let her hands slide down from his shoulders,
grazing the metal buttons of his shirt pockets.
He grabbed
her arms, spun her around, and pushed her against the wooden shelves. One met
the front of her thighs, another dug into her lower ribs, and the third—on
which sat the cartons she brought earlier—provided support for her head.
Tiny,
sour-smelling dust particles snuck into her nostrils as she rested her chin
atop the solid wood, and she barely held back a sneeze. Fumbling with her
hands, she found two vertical pillars on both sides of the shelf and clutched
them for balance.
Relentless,
Brian brought his hands to her hips, stroking her feminine curves, then lifted
her skirt to her waist. He pulled at the lace band of her panties until the
fabric slid down her legs. He groaned as he moved a couple of cold, meaty
fingers into her wetness and probed around, nails scratching her inner walls.
She gasped
from the sudden violation, her cunt gripping his fingers as if welcoming his cock.
“This is
what you want, isn’t it?” His face pressed into her back. “You slut.”
Oh, it was
the first time he’d said that word.
He removed
the fingers, stepped back a little, and the zzzzip of his pants sounded behind
her. “My own slut.”
Thanks, Lea. Next month it is the turn of Tamsin Baker talking about tackling MFM for the first time.