“Aileen….” Filled with despair, I drop my head and try to find my resolve. “Sweetheart….”

  “What is it? Please tell me what’s wrong. I don’t understand.”

  “I want you too much, and I’m all wrong for you—and your kids.”

  “Shouldn’t that be up to me to decide?”

  Before I can reply, a soft cry comes from the baby monitor.

  Aileen is up and off my lap, gone in a flash to tend to her child.

  I take deep breaths of the cool air, trying to find my balance after kissing and holding her. I never should’ve done that, but I can’t wait to do it again. I hear her through the monitor and wallow in the sweet words of comfort she gives her daughter.

  I never had that. I don’t know how to be soft or sweet or any of the things they’d need me to be. I’m selfish and arrogant and focused on my career. I need dominant, kinky sex the way some people need caffeine to jump-start their day. It’s not just what I like. It’s who I am.

  Listening to Aileen softly sing to her baby, I’m stunned when tears sting my eyes. Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t cry. I haven’t cried since the foster family I’d started to love kicked me out to make room for one of their sons who was coming home from college.

  I should get up, tell her I’m leaving and get the hell out of there while I still can. But I don’t move. I remain riveted by the sound of her voice and the sweet way in which she loves her child. For the little boy in me who never knew softness, sweetness or love from his mother, my emotions are all over the place, listening to her give everything she has to her baby.

  I take a deep breath, as if that could slow the wild beat of my heart. Once again, I’m moving before I consciously decide to, drawn to her so powerfully, I can’t stay away. I stand in the doorway to the bedroom, watching over them as Aileen soothes Maddie back to sleep.

  She sees me there, bends to kiss Maddie and gets up to come to me, her arms sliding around my waist and her head returning to my bare chest. I’m powerless to do anything other than wrap my arms around her and hold her as close to me as I can get her. I don’t care that she can feel the obvious proof of my arousal pressing against her.

  “I should go.” Even my voice sounds different—gruffer, thicker.

  “Stay.” She holds me tighter and looks up at me with her heart in her eyes. In that one instant, I get why Flynn married Natalie without a prenup. If he feels even a fraction of what I do gazing down at Aileen, I get it. I’d give her everything I have with no questions asked if it meant she would look at me, just like that, every day for the rest of my life.

  Without breaking the intense eye contact, I lower my lips to hers, which are swollen from our earlier kisses.

  Her hands slide up my chest to link around my neck, trapping me.

  I’ve never let any woman trap me. I do the trapping, not the other way around, but in this case, I can’t be bothered to care about details that would’ve mattered with anyone else. Here with her, the only thing that matters is more—of everything. All the reasons why I’d planned to stay away are long gone as I lift her into my arms, carry her to the sofa and come down on top of her, losing my fucking mind in a kiss.

  A fucking kiss. When was the last time a kiss alone was enough to take me to the brink of release? A million years ago when I was new to such things. But this…. This is new to me, the feeling that comes from kissing her, the desperation, the craving. I’ve never experienced anything remotely like it, and I can’t get enough.

  It’s like the highest of highs with no drugs required. That thought is yet another reminder of the many reasons I should not be making out with Aileen on her sofa. But when I pull back from her, she whimpers, her fingers grasping my hair to keep me from getting away. I have zero ability to do what I know I should. Losing the power that saved my life ought to terrify me, but I can’t spare the brain cells to think it through, to ponder the implications of what I’m giving up to her.

  How can I think of anything but her when she’s wrapped around me, the heat of her pussy pressed tight against my cock, which is so hard, it aches?

  The one thing I know for certain is I can’t let this continue toward its inevitable conclusion, not with her little girl injured and sleeping in the next room. If—or I probably should concede to when—this happens, I want to be completely alone with her so I don’t have to hold anything back.

  “Aileen,” I whisper against her lips. “Sweetheart….”

  She looks up at me, seeming as dazed as I feel. Her lips are puffy and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes are wide with wonder that makes me want to say fuck it to propriety and anything else that doesn’t have me inside her right fucking now. I’m shaking from the effort it takes to hold back. I can’t remember the last time I held back like this. It’s far more common for me to take what I want than it is to show restraint.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Other than the fact that I’ve lost my mind, my heart and everything else to her, I’m fine. Better than fine. Being with her like this is amazing.

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I didn’t stop because I wanted to.” I caress her face, my fingertips gliding over her soft skin. She’s so incredibly responsive that even a light touch has her hips rising, seeking me out. I bite back a groan of frustration.

  “Then why?”

  A very good question. “Because when we do this, I want to be completely alone with you so we don’t have to be quiet.” I nuzzle her neck, and she arches into me. “And I want to take my time.”

  She trembles, and I feel it everywhere, especially in my cock.

  “I should go.”

  “No.” She tightens her hold on me, and I love that. I love that she wants me so much. No one has ever wanted me the way she does. Women want me for what I can do for their careers and the things I can buy for them. They don’t want me for me the way Aileen seems to. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

  I sag into her, my painfully aroused body molding to hers.

  “It feels so good to be held by you. It’s been such a long time since anyone held me, and it’s never felt as good as it does with you.”

  And she’s so refreshingly honest. If she thinks it, she says it. When she asked me earlier if she’d done something wrong, she nearly broke my heart. I’m not used to refreshing honesty from women. I’m far more accustomed to games, intrigue, cat-and-mouse and hidden agendas. With Aileen, what you see is what you get, and I have a feeling I ain’t seen nothing yet.

  Copyright © 2017 by HTJB, Inc.

  Our columnist, Julie Pitzel, has been a receptionist, radio DJ, bill collector, telemarketer, administrative assistant, community college instructor, and an expediter (aka professional nag). She’s been involved in the Houston writing community for many years including two years as President of a local Romance Writers of America Chapter. She writes paranormal fiction from a geodesic dome south of Houston, where she lives with her husband and a pair of cats. Most recently, her story “The Dance” was published in The Death of All Things” anthology.

  YOU READ THAT?: DARK FANTASIES

  by Julie Pitzel

  What are your fantasies? I have the standards: win the lottery, travel the world, achieve J. K. Rowling style fame and fortune, eat ice cream and lose weight. You know, the normal daydreams I can talk about at work or with the in-laws.

  But I have other fantasies, too. Most of us do. Naughty fantasies with a bit of a dark twist.

  According to a report from Psychology Today most women—about 90 percent of those surveyed—have sexual fantasies. In a study performed by Notre Dame and the University of North Texas, almost two-thirds of the women reported fantasies of apparent forced encounters. The women who confessed to these types of imaginings tended to be sexually open—they had lots of fantasies about lots of different things. The study found them to be comfortable dreaming about situations that they wouldn't want to actually happen.

  The key take away is that having erotically risky fantasies is common among women with healthy, normal sex drives. The report went on to state: "Women who have rape fantasies don't want to be sexually assaulted. They feel comfortable with their own sexuality and are happy to embrace their erotic fantasies—wherever they may lead."

  The term "rape fantasy" is a bad descriptor. Women aren't dreaming about a violent, negative act. It's more about unbridled desire, imagining that we bring out uncontrolled lust in our chosen partner. A better term might be ravishment fantasies. In another Psychology Today article, “Don’t Call Them 'Rape Fantasies'”, the author states they're about voluntarily relinquishing control and choosing to allow our fantasy partner to be dominant. It suggests the act of forfeiting control actually gives us power.

  And some of our romance novels play into those riskier fantasies. I always considered them a form of controlled danger—like a riding a roller coaster, watching a horror movie, or shopping for a swimsuit. We can read about women succumbing to the seductive force of a hunky bad boy knowing that he won't hurt her. Because it’s a romance, we know he cares for her more than he's willing to admit—yet. We can live the fantasy from a safe distance with the foreknowledge that everything will turn out at least happy-for-now.

  The bodice rippers of the 80's and 90's were filled with non-consensual sex. The heroines were abducted and raped, sometimes by the hero. When we talk about those books, we usually focus on how badly the heroines were treated. Today it's difficult to understand why readers put up with that mistreatment. From my own experience, there were a couple reasons. For one, the women in these stories enjoyed sex. The only other books I'd read where that was common were the porn paperbacks I found when my older brother moved out of my parents' house. And the other reason was that at the end of the book, the heroine was in command. She had gained control of her captor. She'd tamed him and won his love. It was very liberating.

  That's also a common trope in the Billionaire/CEO/sheikh romances. The heroines in these stories are frequently a secretary or someone without clout or authority. The people who deride these romances see the heroine as weak. They believe the billionaire has all the power. But the lowly shop-girl eventually teaches him how to live and love, and ultimately proves to be as strong—or stronger—than the hero.

  Whether the stories include vampires and werewolves or sports figures or the guy next door, the romance genre is about fantasy. It involves the belief that love can overcome conflict. That's a powerful idea because it doesn't come true for everyone in real life. Still, we read romance because we want to live that fantasy for three hundred pages. We want to experience the ups and downs, cry when a character walks away, cry more when that character comes back, and swoon when they ride away into the sunset.

  In an article at Jezebel, "The Romance Novelist's Guide to Hot Consent", one of the authors interviewed specifically talks about young readers finding these stories and learning about consensual relationships. And I understand her point, we want to teach the young adults who read these books to have a healthy respect for themselves and to know what a good relationship looks like. But romance novels can also show them that sexual enjoyment comes in many different forms.

  We're bombarded by information, especially through social media. Sometimes it's difficult to find out what's normal or acceptable, especially if our interests involve a little kink. A Google search is more apt to provide questionable websites than useful information. But we can search through Goodreads and other book sites for the type of fantasies we want to discover. Books are a safe way to explore darker fantasies, especially if we only want to live those scenes in our imagination.

  And sometimes our books can show the negative effects of bad relationships. As a genre, romance covers so many different subjects. Some stories touch on dark subjects that have nothing to do with sexuality. There are stories about addiction and abuse and poverty and bigotry. Ugly things happen to our heroes and heroines and we accept that it's part of the journey. The characters are flawed and need to face internal demons to become the best version of themselves.

  If part of the job of a romance novel is to teach about consensual relationships, the presence of non-consensual situations is also called for. Sometimes we need to see the characters misbehave. We need to see the problems that misbehavior creates. And we need to see how the other character reacts. It adds to the lesson to show a lowly secretary tell her boss to keep his hands to himself—and if he's our hero, for him to realize his mistake.

  I do believe that consensual sex in my romances is sexy and thrilling. A good hero who can woo and seduce and make the heroine (and by extension, me) want to jump him, is fun and magical and exciting. We also like our alpha heroes, and some readers like it when the hero takes charge and fulfils our ravishment fantasy. Many women enjoy risky fantasies, and our romances should include them in the mix.

  Having a healthy respect for ourselves and our sexuality includes having a healthy respect for our fantasies. All of them, including the darker ones.

  Helpful Resources:

  https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/all-about-sex/201508/why-do-women-have-rape-fantasies

  https://jezebel.com/the-romance-novelists-guide-to-hot-consent-1822991922

  https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evolution-the-self/201411/don-t-call-them-rape-fantasies

  Copyright © 2018 by Julie Pitzel

  C.S. DeAvilla writes award-winning science fiction, fantasy, and romance under another pen name. She has been a romance fan since she sneaked a peek at her mother’s massive historical romance bookcase and fell in love with all the characters. She reads every romance genre—as long as two people are falling in love, she’ll give it a read. Her favorite authors are Jennifer Crusie, J.R. Ward, Darynda Jones, Suzanne Brockmann, Sarah MacLean, and Kristan Higgins. But she always has room for one more.

  RECOMMENDED BOOKS

  by C.S. DeAvilla

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  Title: Sweet, Filthy Boy

  Author: Christina Lauren

  Publisher: Gallery Books (Simon and Schuster)

  ISBN: 1476751803

  Release Date: May 13th, 2014

  Continuing my Christina Lauren kick—I read through Wild Season’s series in a few days. It has an irresistible premise. Three friends take a girl’s trip to Vegas and meet a group of three guy friends doing the same. They quickly become friends and spend a wild night together in which each pair off and marry by the end of the night. Two of the couples quickly annul their marriages the next morning, but Mia and Ansel do not. Keeping Ansel to a promise she forced him to swear to while drunk, Ansel convinces her to join him in Paris, his home city. She declines, but soon decides to throw caution to the wind and surprise him at the airport by using the ticket he’s purchased. What follows is a sweet, unexpectedly easy—yet hot and heavy—romance. But is it too easy? Ansel’s past slowly creeps between them and all that perfect Paris love tarnishes too easily as secrets become revealed. Reading through this tale reminded me of another amazing book with similar themes written around the same time, Melanie Harlow’s Frenched. If you loved Frenched, Sweet, Filthy Boy is sure to please. Lauren’s writing style is fresh. Her characters are real in a flawed and loveable way. And the conflicts pile on just as you’re planning the character’s wedding (or in this case, brainstorming a way these two can remain married and not get that annulment they’ve promised each other by summer’s end). If you become as obsessed as I did while reading about Mia and Ansel, then you can dive right into the next books in the series and see what the other fated Vegas couples do to find their ways back to each other.

  .

  Title: Dangerous Books for Girls

  Author: Maya Rodale

  Publisher: Self-published

  ISBN: 0990635627

  Release Date: April 21st, 2015

  Dangerous Books for Girls is a deviation from my usual review. One, it’s non-fiction. Two, I consider it a must-read for all romance readers. I’d read it about a year ago and recently picked it up for a second pass. Each chapter and section is meaty, offering historical references to the romance genre and why romance—more than any other genre—has developed an undeserved reputation in the literary world. Romance remains steady in its ability to be the highest grossing genre. Its readers have proven to be among the smartest and well-read, yet the perception is that readers of romance are uneducated. Critics of romance point out its short-comings, often that the genre is anti-feminist—but that couldn’t be further from the truth as romance has and continues to push the boundaries of women’s roles. Dangerous Books for Girls details each slight presented against the genre and counterpoints it with proof and data to the contrary. I remember my early years as a reader being chastised by my fellow classmates in graduate school for reading Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander. They’d said it barely counted as an intelligent read. “Don’t you think it’s an unrealistic view of love and men?” as if I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality after reading. Had it been a murder mystery, would I then go out and try to solve a murder crime? Accidently fall into the life of a serial killer? I didn’t agree and the next class after I finished my book I made sure to bring in Jennifer Crusie’s Bet Me to prove they wouldn’t scare me away from the kinds of books I enjoyed most. If you’ve ever been put down for the types of fiction you choose, this book is the one you need to bring you confidence and pride in your choice. Women who read romance are truly choosing the most dangerous genre—written mostly by women. One that continues to thrive despite its many, many critics.

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