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*
The erotic ménage High-Risk Fever came out Nov 7, and it’s available on Decadent | Amazon.com | Amazon.uk | Kobo | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | All Romance eBooks | Goodreads
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?”
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.”
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.