Sex Please, I’m Sophie: guest post by Justine Elyot

Today we have a guest post from the lovely Justine Elyot.Which is good, because I’ve been out of town sick as a dog since last Monday and have nothing to say that isn’t related to Thanksgiving at my mom’s being sick for five days of holiday break when I should have been writing, eating yummy food, and enjoying life–whereas Justine has sexy goodness to share about her book On Demand.

It’s great to be here with the wonderful Teresa again – thank you for having me! (And it’s great to have you here again with what sounds like a fun and refreshingly joyful book. – TNR)

In these boom times for erotica and erotic romance, it’s interesting to me to look back at my first book, On Demand, and see in what a hopeful, sex-positive, joyous frame of mind it was written. Sophie, my heroine and narrator, has her dark spots of the soul, but she doesn’t let them interfere with her frank enjoyment of an adventurous sex life. There’s no dire angst or intimations of abuse or suffocating co-dependency. There’s a simple lust for lust.

I think this would be near-impossible to pitch to a romance publisher now.

Yes, there’s a relationship that takes a long time to flower, and a happy-for-now ending, so the book defaults its way into the erotic romance shelves, a little ray of fun amongst all the Dark Passion. Isn’t it nice to have a bit of contrast sometimes?

Here’s an excerpt:

In the underground car park, he bent me backwards over the bonnet and mashed his lips into mine. That well-cut cloth was covering my feeble manmade fibres, rubbing them up and down, sparking them into static cling. My nylon stockings nudged at his trousers, slinking up beneath his jacket and around his hips, wrapping around his back and clamping that central hardness right into the open maw of my skirt.

I ground my mound around it, enjoying the sensation of the fabrics pressing into me, while his tongue plunged downward and his hand excavated the hidden depths behind my blouse. His fingers plucked and sneaked under the lacy cups; there was pressing and kneading and hot breath and jammed pelvises and mock-thrusting, and all beneath the spotlit concrete ceiling of the public car park.

‘Do you want it then?’ he asked, holding my wrists pinned to the cool shiny paintwork.

‘Maybe in the car?’ I whispered, moving my head sideways to check for CCTV cameras and irate attendants.

‘My command is your wish,’ he said, pulling me up as if preparing for an energetic jitterbug and spinning me around to the side of the vehicle. He ducked inside the door, pressed the button to recline the passenger seat and bundled me on to it. I was a little confused when he shut the door, leaving me supine on the chilled leather, but he soon reappeared on the driver’s side, kneeling on the chair and looking ravenously down at me.

‘Get your knickers off then,’ he prompted.

Thrilled at his excellent grasp of the command tone, I wriggled them down my thighs, past my knees, bringing my still-shod feet up in the air to release them from the legholes.

My escort put a steadying hand on one of the legs, indicating that he wanted them kept up in that position, moving his other arm down for a good feel of my newly-exposed parts.

‘Now that’s wet,’ he said, impressed. ‘A good fuck is what you need.’

I couldn’t argue with him. The speed, the suddenness, the rudeness, the wrongness of it all was the turn-on of my life. It was dirty and slutty, but I like dirty and slutty, and so, it seems, did he.

In his haste to mount me, he lost a button from the placket of his trousers, swearing as it pinged into the distance, then he slipped swiftly and efficiently between my knees, levering me up by the bum in order to skewer my dripping centre in one move.

We groaned in chorus as it stole inside so easily, so satisfyingly, filling the hole in perfect proportion.

‘Do you do this often?’ he wondered, beginning to thrust.

‘Mmm?’ I replied absently, lifting my hips towards his, grabbing his bottom to push him greedily as far in as I could.

‘Pick up strange men in hotels for dirty sex? I bet you do it all the time.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest, to say no, that I’m not that kind of girl, but before I did, my imagination stepped in front of my indignation and I realised that I liked this idea. I imagined him as one of a string of anonymous men, using my body, day after day, week after week, in the hotel bedrooms, the toilets, the carpark. I’m not a whore, but I felt like one, letting this man whose name I didn’t even know slam his cock up me within quarter of an hour of meeting.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do.’

‘Thought so.’

Anastasia Steele she ain’t! I love her, though, and I hope all the new readers who are picking the book up in its new format with its new cover enjoy following her wild ride through the guests and staff at the Hotel Luxe Noir.

It’s available at all the favorite outlets, including Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/On-Demand-Justine-Elyot/dp/075354136X