Friday, August 8, 2014

Villains we love to hate #eroticaromance #paranormal #vampires

Forbidden Fruit Friday


Dedicated to exploring the recesses of the sexual realm that may be considered decadent indulgences, immoral pleasures, and desires that are tempting…but sinfully dangerous, Forbidden Fruit Fridays features thoughts, articles, educational guides, visual stimulation, experiences, trends and conversations with friends that explores sex in every flavor richer than vanilla.

And don’t forget; always keep a lover close at hand after visiting Forbidden Fruit Fridays.

Trust me, it will make your weekend that more…satisfying.


Villains We Love to Hate 


For me, penning an antagonist in a story is more daunting than creating the protagonist. Above, I have a collection of some of my favorite villains: Ravenna, Loki, Peyton, James, Juno and Black Hat. These villains had a certain chemistry mix of sexiness, finesse and mystery that even though you knew how twisted, diabolical and purely evil they were, you couldn't help but want a little more taste before relishing in their demise.

So finding that quintessential balance in my characters was key. Like a recipe, I started with mystery and darkness as the base ingredient, added sophistication and intelligence, laced it with evil and mayhem then gently folded in their sexual power and allure. But with each character, the amount of each ingredient varies to create a memorable villain we love to hate.

Come meet some of them: 

Armand from Flesh Fantasy
Madaline- Veil of Seduction 

Cassian from Dark Companion

Silas from Blood of Luna
Zirah from Dark Companion
 
Ryan from Veil of Seduction


Dorian from Dark Companion

Excerpt from Flesh Fantasy:


Chapter One:
Girls and Their Games


Rain

I was thirty-five years old.

Correct that. Thirty-seven years old.

I seemed to forget just how old I really was then, my mind firing thirty-five as a knee-jerk reaction anytime I was asked. It was nothing intentional, like trying to shield my real age or anything. I just truly lost track of dates. Who knows, maybe a milestone birthday would’ve changed that.

I guess I’ll never know.

But one thing is for sure, there was once a point where I was preoccupied with age. Actually, preoccupied downplays it. I was downright obsessed about it. My views, they transformed you could say, when I emerged from my official midlife crisis. I don’t really know how I got through it. In the end, I guess I just finally accepted what I could not control– reciting a mantra to the effect that Mother Nature would always win. It left me a stronger woman. I was resolute, spirited and confident. And I think it all showed quite nicely on the surface.

As corny as it may sound, I was living the best years of my life. I never felt more beautiful, healthy, or alive. And the body? Well, that is where that acceptance junk came into play again. At some point I had to accept that all the workouts and diets in the world couldn’t give me that ultra-flat stomach, skinny thighs, and petite butt if the right genes weren’t there. Don’t get me wrong, I worked out like a fiend. But I did it to feel good, not to emulate the size two models out there, or from what I have read a few times, size zero.

Seriously, that’s not even a number. It’s a non-size.

No, I was a picture of reality, a real woman. I embraced my 38D chest, my rounded ass, and curvy hips that could be nicely packed away in a size eight, although a little more comfortably in a ten. Hell, one look at me and a man would know I could handle some rough sack time.

Clearly I was not someone that would snap like a twig with any physical force.

And while on the subject of men, preferences regarding the opposite sex, the ‘must-haves,’ the ‘not in a million years,’ the ‘I can learn to live with it,’ and the ‘bonus’ categories were definitely reevaluated and prioritized like a flow chart in my mind. My tastes definitely evolved with each passing year. An addition here and a reclassification there, my edits were relentless. And after the midlife crisis, my list grew more uncompromising. The task of finding my ideal man was quite challenging.

So, with all this said of my finicky concept of an ideal man and my life-altering acceptance breakthrough, why was I outside Zen Grooves, agreeing to play a very immature game?

Simple.

I was tired of my only form of intimacy being of the battery-operated nature.

Ideal or not, I still craved the touch, feel, and smell of a man. And, courtesy of commitment-phobic males that flocked to this club, the game allowed me to get what I needed, no strings attached. Not that you would see me admit this to Kimi, Rachel, or Erika. No, my cover was purely as a research tool. See, I was trying my hand at writing erotic short stories and my girls were very supportive, informing me that drawing inspiration from real-life experiences and fine-tuning the encounters with my wild imagination could produce some intensely naughty scenes.

Convenient cover, I would say.

Kimi, Rachel, Erika, and I were a tight-knit circle of friends. We were all professionals. Kimi was an attorney, Rachel a CPA, Erika a marketing executive, and me, a financial crimes investigator. And we were all single. Denver’s version of Sex and the City, as some had branded us.

I met Kimi first, in a coffee shop in the Lodo district. I still don’t know what sparked me to start a conversation with her, but I remember looking at her sitting in that purple wingback chair, reading, and thought she looked like an interesting person to talk to. Turns out we both were born and raised in small towns that had recently picked up and moved to Colorado. Kimi was from Alaska, and I was from Hawaii. I think she would agree that if it wasn’t for that chance meeting of ours, the adjustment to life in this town would’ve been much tougher.

A few months later, we met Rachel and Erika at a speed dating event and have been attached at the hip ever since. The four of us romantic hopefuls, as Erika coined, continued to attend events geared for singles. We went to mixers, joined networking clubs and even took cruises. Event after event, the selection of men fell short of expectation. The only time we all had a glimmer of hope was on a Mediterranean cruise.

Talk about a strong dose of reality when the realization surfaced that the ideal man possibly lived on a different continent.

Yet we were accepting, knowing that the path that would lead to our future husbands would be a long one. And brutally patient as we were, it was the thought of living one more day in abstinence that frayed on our nerves and gnawed at our self-regulated discipline. I mean, we tried to be good and principled, but I think it was one too many cozy sessions with the spin cycle that made us crack under the pressure.

So it was then that the girls agreed that physical needs were a necessity, and I remained impartial, citing my thirst for raw material as the primary objective instead.

Deep discussion over dark chocolate and red wine ensued, and we all came to the decision of making it all a game, where the right guess would determine the reward. Somehow, the idea of letting luck and rules of a game guide your actions was less sluttish than asking a random guy if he wanted to bump uglies for the night. All right, so we rationalized, kind of like arguing the need for an expensive purse or pair of shoes. We went back and forth, arguing points in the game. By the end of the night, our game was hatched.

The Junk Trunk.

The next morning, we each received a bound handbook, a product of a print shop’s overnight service. Complete with a laminated cover, section tabs and a signatory page, the handbook read like an ironclad contract. It addressed every rule and regulation from the honor code, selection process, approach, and most importantly, the oath to unequivocal secrecy.

Leave it to the attorney with a touch of OCD in the group to have created this.

The Junk Trunk, in a nutshell, no pun intended, was this. Sticks were pulled before entering the club. The shortest stick determined the winner. The lucky lady took her time to observe her surroundings. Then three potential contestants were selected. Once the final choice was made, the winner stated her guess on the type of underwear her unsuspecting contestant was sporting before she headed off to start the game.

As simple as it may sound, our handbook called for details. And playing this game for months had not only proven that underwear options for men had really evolved, but that men were actually open to experimenting with some of the trendy and risqué options out there.

I mean, it wasn’t just the basic knit and cotton boxers, boxer briefs or tighty-whities to consider. There was an amalgam of styles that we had to account for in the details. Silk, sheer, mesh, personalized, metallic, and spandex were always the obvious considerations.

Then there were more of the off-the-wall alternatives to keep in mind.

Thongs, chaps, jockstraps, novelty, and bodysuits—yes, bodysuits, were unfortunate realities of the game. Add to this list, as we then discovered on the Internet, anatomical pouches. Now that was something I wouldn’t have minded seeing in the flesh, no matter how weird it sounded.

It was also prudent to bear in mind the contradictory option to all of this. The one option that said he was free-spirited, broke the rules, didn’t follow mainstream, a real man’s man…or a man that just couldn’t do laundry on a regular basis.

That option was commando.

As far as the approach angle was concerned, this was all left to interpretation. But there was one steadfast rule. The question of what he was wearing on his trunk to contain his junk had to be addressed within the first ten minutes. If you guessed right, you were allowed to reward yourself with all the erotic adventures you were willing to indulge in with your contestant for the night, guilt-free and without judging eyes. If you guessed wrong, it was a simple kiss on the cheek and a good-bye, no matter how much further you may have wanted to take it with the guy.

And yours truly drew the shortest stick...again.

“Let the games begin,” I said as we entered Zen Grooves.



Click here to see what happens when Rain enters the club and meets Armand Anastasio and a mysterious stranger at the bar.


About the Author

Author Maya DeLeina

Maya DeLeina is a multi-published Erotic Vampire Romance Author with Siren,  Evernight and Ellora's Cave Publishing.

 Her current series includes Ambrose Heights Vampires, My Naughty Vampire and Vampire Architects.

Born and raised on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, Maya could be seen at her favorite beach, Lanikai, performing with an all-girl band where she played keyboards, guitar and provided vocals, working as editor in her high school's yearbook  and volunteering her time at a humane society through UH of Manoa civic groups.

In 2006, Maya relocated to Colorado. Her crystal blue oceans, waterfalls and eighty degree year-round weather were traded for four season weather, enchanting forests and majestic mountains which led to her rekindled love for vampires.

In winter of 2010, she began penning her first manuscript and by 2011, Flesh Fantasy was under contract and released by Siren Publishing. To date, Maya has published four novels- Flesh Fantasy, Veil of Seduction, Blood of Luna and Dark Companion, with another novel and a novella anticipated for release in September and December of  2014.

In 2014, she banded with other Colorado romance authors to form the group, Mile High Muses, in which Maya serves as "The Vamp". Catch her Forbidden Fruit Friday blog and guests she hosts on Sultry Saturdays

Not only does Maya have theatrical book trailers that bring her vampires to life, all of her vampires were featured in Singer/Songwriter Jill Cohn's music video "Blessing Moon"



www.mayadeleina.net

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