So I was going to publish Dear Diary this week but unfortunately, I got caught up with writing a certain sequel (*coughS&MIIIcough*) that I didn’t have time to polish and edit the freebie being released. So it’s been delayed until next Monday, February 13th.
Some things: one, it’s not a romantic Valentine’s Day story. The story is dedicated to you, the reader, for supporting me. It’s also one of two stories I’m releasing in between Gettin’ It and S&M III. If you followed the Facebook page, I mentioned I’m releasing another story next month (that one will be paid). Do the mental math and you have an idea on when S&M III will be released.
Something else that’s different: Dear Diary is written in first-person. Writing in first-person is pretty challenging and it’s not something I like to do often. There are so many things I have to do when I write in first-person and use so many tenses. Still, it’s fun to push myself.
As some of you may have noticed with Gettin’ It, I’m slowly moving away from the erotica-only genre of storytelling. Not that I won’t publish anymore erotica at all (several titles coming out this year are erotica stories) but I really want to tell a story that just happens to have some really, really hot fucking added in. I want the stories to be a mixture of sweet and sexy. How often do you find that in erotica?
Alright, I think I talked more than I should have. Here’s the sneak peek of Dear Diary, available next Monday, February 13th. Book cover will debut sometime over the weekend. You’re welcome.
A few days passed by and I started to wonder if Clay was just one of those typical guys; you know the type that’ll say they’ll call you but they never do. One night, a small pint of strawberry Haagen-Dazs was begging me to eat it and there I stood in my kitchen, wallowing my sorrows and fattening my thighs with creamy delight. Calling Clay wasn’t an option. You see, I can be brave in many aspects of my life. On Black Friday, I’ll cut a bitch up for the last pair of $200 jeans on sale. Swerving in and out of traffic to get home to watch Grey’s Anatomy is something I’ve done often.
But calling a man? Making the first move? I just don’t do that. Maybe I’m traditional in that aspect. Or maybe I’m just chicken-shit. Hmm…I think I’m the former, and not the latter.
Still, staring at his number made me both batty and sad. But I refused to call. I guess I’m just stubborn in that manner. I had to quickly get over being stubborn, though. Just when I was about to stick a match to Clay’s number and use it to light a vanilla candle, my phone rang. It was an unlisted number and since I don’t answer unfamiliar calls, it went straight to voicemail. But then the phone kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing. I finally pick it up because it was probably someone or something urgent.
“Yes, can I speak with Renee?” A voice said on the other end.
It was him. Clay called me. I recognized his voice instantly. Even though he often uses American accents when he does movie roles, I was very familiar with his native British tongue. “Speaking.”
“You may not remember me but I’m Clay. I met you a few days ago at Fry’s? You were wearing a yellow sundress and sandals?”
He remembered what I was wearing? “You have a good memory.”
“It’s not hard to remember a woman wearing a sundress and sandals in the dead of winter,” he laughed.
What can I say? It was laundry day. “I have eclectic tastes.”
“I’m sure you do,” Clay laughed.
I was surprisingly comfortable when I was talking to him and for a brief second I questioned if it was truly him I was talking to. My celebrity crush was actually talking to me! I was in awe. We chatted for a bit more and he asked if I would go out on a friendly date with him. I jumped at the chance and we set the date for the following weekend. I couldn’t sleep all night wondering how the date was going to pan out. Would he actually like me again? What should I wear? What topics should I bring up? Would it even matter?
It’s one thing to go out with a cute guy. It’s an entirely different ball game to go out with your celebrity crush. No fantasy I’ve ever had – sweet and innocent or Jenna Jameson-inspired – was ever remotely close to the reality I experienced. I have to re-live our first date just for you, Diary. There is a warning: it’s so hot, your pages might catch fire.
The following weekend, I drove to the ritzy hotel Clay was staying in. He was in town doing promotional work for a movie he starred in. I went past the concierge and headed straight for the elevator. I pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and was on my way. I didn’t know what to expect and truth to be told, sex was the least on my mind despite me meeting him at his hotel. Believe it or not, seeing him on a casual date made me happy enough.
I knocked on his door and am greeted by sheer hotness. Let me describe this beautiful man for you: Clay is a tall glass of wonderful chocolate goodness. He’s Black, tall and muscular. He often wears a goatee and has these deep brown eyes that look into the depths of your soul. Okay, that might have sounded a bit cheesy but it’s true. He’s just gorgeous no matter how I describe him. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans. Hell, he could have been wearing a potato sack and I would have loved it the same.
“Renee, you made it,” my name rolled off his tongue. He was surprised that I showed up. There was no way in blue hell I was going to miss this date. “Please, come in.”
When I entered his suite, it was so romantic. The lights were dimmed and the curtains are open to see the city lights. A few candles were lit and room service was ordered. I had already decided whether or not he typically did this with other women, Clay was definitely getting into my panties that night.
He helped me out of my jacket and I give him a gift I picked out specifically for him. “You didn’t have to,” Clay smiled at me.
“I know.” Trust me, I did know. The gift created a dent to my barely there savings account. But I felt obligated to give him something. Clay opened the box and held the cashmere sweater to his chest. “It’s a large.”
Clay smiled. “Thank you, darling,” he said as he put the sweater away and stood closer to me, “but I’m an extra large.”
The heat rose between my thighs and quickly spread throughout my body. “I bet you are,” I barely whisper before his lips are crushed against mine.
Something ravenous takes over us and before I knew it, I was on top of him as we fall to the bed. I straddle his waist and our tongues play with each other. His lips were so soft and tender; his tongue was experienced and welcoming.