The Girl Who Wrote Erotica, Book One: The Method (Contemporary Romance)

DARK ANGEL: A Mafia Romance

Book One: Hunter, Hunted

A sizzling romance with sex so hot, it leaves a body count...
Karen's a free spirit, and she's not about to let anyone boss her around -- that is, until she meets Angelo DeSilva. But Angelo's got a secret... 
Can Karen keep her head on her shoulders, even as she gets wrapped up deeper and deeper into Angelo's dark world?  Or is she doomed to fall prey to her DARK ANGEL?

The Method

Chapter One: The Inspiration

I walked into the coffee shop at 10:30 AM, just as I did every morning, and waved hello to Amy, my regular barista.

“Dark roast and a banana muffin, please,” I told her with a smile.

“Surprise, surprise,” she replied with a coy grin, and turned to fetch my order. I just smiled and shook my head. Was I really that predictable?

She handed me the coffee and muffin, and I passed her a five-dollar bill. While she made change, I glanced around the cafe. It wasn't too crowded, which was just how I liked it. I got more work done on days like this.

“So, what steamy stories are you writing today?” she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I took my change and blushed. “I'm not sure yet, actually. I get a new assignment today.”

She leaned forward slightly, an earnest look on her face. “Well, I can't wait for the next one, Natasha. I've read them all. You're a
fantastic
writer.”

“Thanks!” I replied, smiling, though I was a bit taken aback. I was always thrilled to receive compliments on my work, but I was still having a bit of trouble adjusting to my newfound fame – however modest it was.

“You know,” I said, “I'd be happy to sign something for you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, totally! I mean, come on – you guys keep me caffeinated. Without that, I would be completely lost!” We both laughed. “Just bring in a book or something tomorrow, and I'd be happy to sign it.”

She seemed starstruck. “…I’ll do that!” she managed, after a beat. I smiled inwardly at her reaction. I still couldn’t believe it.
You’d think I was actually famous or something,
I thought.

“See you tomorrow, then,” I said coolly, and waved as I headed towards the milk and sugar. I was relieved to snag my usual seat in the back corner by the windows, facing in towards the entire cafe. I liked to observe people here in the shop and try to incorporate them my stories, to make my writing feel more realistic. And to do that, I needed a good vantage point. I set up my laptop, popped in my earphones and started typing.

Maybe it’s a gift, or maybe I was born under a good sign – who knows. But for some reason, words have always seemed to just flow from my fingertips. I’ve been a writer my whole life. I was a journalist for six years, but eventually I got fed up with how much B.S. I had to deal with at the city newspaper – and so, I quit my job on an impulse two years ago. Ever since then, I’ve been writing full-time, and making a decent living off it to boot.

My genre of choice? Romance…
erotic
romance, that is.

Within five minutes, I was completely immersed in the text at hand. It never took me long to get into the “writing zone,” as I called it – especially when I was writing erotica.

Just as I was getting into a hot scene between a woman and her ex-boyfriend – involving lots of torn clothes and pulled hair – I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder. I jumped a little, startled because I hadn’t heard them approach. I glanced up to find a young man standing before me, maybe a year or so older than I was. He was looking at me anxiously, like he had something to say.

I tugged my earphones out and gave him a smile. “Can I help you?”

He grinned devilishly and slid into the seat in front of me. “Well, I was hoping that
I
could help
you
.”

“I'm not sure I understand—”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean,” he pushed. “You're Natasha Banks, the erotic fiction author, right?” His eyes gleamed brightly, and he had a lecherous look on his face.

Oh, jeez.
I groaned inwardly, trying to swallow back my annoyance. This had been happening more and more often recently, ever since my latest book,
Hunger in the Night
, was picked up by one of the major publishing houses. These days, you could find my book in any bookstore you walked into – with my smiling, black-and-white photo inside the back cover. So for the last three or four months, I’d been getting this all the time: creepy men approaching me on the street, thinking that they could be the star in my next erotic book.

“Yes, I am Natasha Banks,” I confirmed with a sigh. “But I’m kind of busy right now, unfortunately…” I glanced back to my computer screen, trying to give him a hint to go away.

“Isn't it true that you write from real-life experiences?” the guy asked, leering at me with anticipation. He was making me uncomfortable now. “I think that’s
so
hot…”

I sighed and closed my laptop abruptly. I needed to put this guy in his place.

“Look, do you think that you're the first loser to come along hoping he can get his fifteen minutes of fame as a character in my books?”  The guy looked embarrassed now, and he peered around to see if anyone was listening. “Well, think again, bud,” I continued. “Yes, I write from real experiences, but
I
pick the guys. And if this is your idea of a pick-up line, it is
not
working.”

My harsh words had the effect I intended. “Okay, okay,
sorry,
” he said indignantly. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

My eyebrows raised up a mile high. It was much too early in the morning for this.

“You’ve got about two seconds to leave this table,” I said icily, “or I am going to stand up and beat the shit out of you.”

Now
he stood up. Lucky for me, the author description in the back of my books also mentioned my proficiency in kick-boxing. Awkwardly, the guy stood there next my table staring at me for a moment, and then just walked away and out the door without another word.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my eyes. Suddenly, I felt myself getting a headache. Guys like that made me sick. What did they take me for?

I looked over at the next table to see a young college-aged girl, giving me a look that said she felt my pain. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied in a messy bun, and her black-rimmed glasses sat nicely on her dainty nose. From the looks of her, she probably knew exactly what I was going through. I smiled back and shook my head, as if to say,
thanks for the sympathy
. She giggled.

I decided to brush off the degrading encounter. I had a lot of work to do today, and the first order of business was a new assignment from my publisher. After opening my laptop again and scrolling through emails from my editor, I found my new assignment – and it was a doozy.

Tasha,

There is a high demand for girl-on-girl erotic romance. I know it's not your area of expertise but I'm desperate for good writers. The assignment is under the theme of 'first time lesbian experiences,' and try to keep it within 3,000 words. Let me know if you have any questions.

Helen

I groaned. “Are you
kidding
me?” I muttered. Girl-on-girl romance? How was I supposed to know anything about that?

I took a swig of coffee and leaned back to ponder over the email. Why would my editor suddenly change my genre and give me an assignment I knew absolutely nothing about? I write from personal experience; that’s my secret weapon. Helen knows that. I wouldn't know how to even begin to hit on another woman. It’s not that I was opposed to the idea, it’s just… nothing like that had ever crossed my mind before.

How was I going to pull
this
off? I sighed, crossing my arms and slumping my head over them. It wasn’t even 11:00 in the morning yet, and already this day was shaping up to be a doozy.

Just then, the girl from the next table got up and came tentatively over to my table.

“Hey, are you all right?” she asked, noticing my dejected position. “Are you still creeped out by that guy? …I can sit with you a while, if it helps.”

I couldn’t help but smile  “Oh, no, thanks,” I replied. “I've totally forgotten about him. Right now, I’m just at a total loss with my job.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” I replied. “I've totally forgotten about him. Right now, I’m just at a total loss with my job.”

The girl smiled and crooked her head sideways a bit, examining me with curious interest. “You're an author, right?” she asked. She was awfully cute, I noticed. I couldn’t help but smile –
perfect timing,
I thought. Maybe this was the writing gods’ way of giving me a chance to practice flirting with a woman.