“I bought Killing the Tides a few days ago and started reading it in my spare time,” I say before popping a shrimp in my mouth.
“Really?” he asks with amusement. “So what do you think of it?”
“It’s really great,” I say after swallowing my food. I spear a sugar snap pea and open my mouth again.
“No… what do you really think about it?” he asks, his gaze probing, his meal neglected.
Setting my fork down, I turn slightly in my chair to face him. “I think it’s raw, disturbing, and overwhelming. It reminds me of you.”
Picking up his own fork, he stabs a shrimp and gives me a dark smile that sends shivers up my spine. “Good answer.”
Savannah doesn’t know me well at all, but she understands that Killing the Tides was borne of a pervasive darkness that’s within me. While she’ll never know the hell I was mired in while I wrote that manuscript, she understands fully that every word in that book was inked in the blood of my wounds.
But I don’t want to talk about that.
“So tell me, sweet Savannah,” I drawl. “What did you think of the erotica component?”
I take immense pleasure in the redness that stains her cheeks from my question, and I know without a doubt that she’s read enough of the book to get to the first sex scene. While the plot line is simple… a hero with magical powers tries to save modern-day Earth from a demon uprising, I wove some hardcore erotica into the story that was nothing more than my baser desires being revealed. During the time I was writing the book, I experimented in some twitchy kink, visiting various sex clubs throughout London and the surrounding areas. I’ve pretty much tried it all—BDSM, fetish, swingers clubs, voyeurism, orgies—you name it, I’ve sampled. I used those experiences to spice up what, I thought, was an otherwise unoriginal story. In fact, but for those erotic elements, Killing the Tides would have gone nowhere fast.
In that first sex scene, my hero ends up saving a woman who was on the verge of being devoured by a particularly nasty demon—one that had the spirit of an incubus and who had made the woman so consumed with lust that she was in pain.
I mean… what was the hero to do at that point? Fuck her, right?
And so he did… in a dark alley in the middle of New York City. He pushed her skirt up, ripped her panties off because she was begging with tears in her eyes, and fucked her hard. Her cries of pleasure and relief filtered out onto the streets, and a few miscreants stopped to watch while my hero nailed her over and over again.
Savannah doesn’t answer my question, chewing on her bottom lip with her eyes pinned to her plate. I feel the need to make her uncomfortable for some reason, so I push at her.
“Come on, sweet girl,” I murmur. “What did you think when Max fucked that woman against the wall?”
I watch as she swallows hard, her hand gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles are white. I think she’s going to ignore me, or maybe even throw her plate at me, but instead, she raises her eyes and her voice is steady. “I think your hero was trying to fuck his own pain away,” she says. “After his parents were killed at the beginning of the story, I think he stopped caring about propriety. Yes, he was fueled by an almost unquenchable need to help others, almost as if he was trying to make up for not saving his parents, but he also took stupid risks, allowing himself to lose control.”
I blink at her hard, because that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I figured she’d fumble over her words, cheeks flaring hotter, and try to find a way to deny she was turned on. Instead, she saw straight through to the subtle hint of truth in my words and exposed it brightly before me.
“You see a lot,” I tell her, turning back to my food.
“It was also pretty damn hot, too,” she says as an afterthought, and I can hear the smile in her voice, although I don’t look back at her.
We eat in silence for a bit, and that’s no chore because fuck… the woman can cook. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal, and Asian cuisine is my favorite.
“What are you working on now?” Savannah asks and because it’s no secret, I tell her.
“New York loved the book so much that they want to turn it into a trilogy.”
“So, you’re going to leave me with a major cliffhanger at the end of Killing the Tides?”
“Actually, no. When I wrote it, I made it a stand-alone. I had no intention of ever writing another book after that… ever again.”
“Why?” she exclaims. “You’re really gifted… I can’t imagine you not continuing on.”