The Writers' Circle

Hi Ladies and Gents. I would like some feedback on the first chapter of my novel. I am mostly interested in your opinions about the flow, any areas where you lost your visual image, confusing areas, boring areas and your overall interest or lack thereof for the chapter in general. Also, if you particularly enjoyed some aspect of it, I would love to know what I'm doing right as well.

Please consider yourself forewarned. I write erotic romance so the content is hot, vulgar and graphic at times. If this is not a genre you typically read but chose to do so, please critique me on the quality of the writing.

The chapter is incomplete. I will be finishing it up soon.

Just a quick note. My story is an inter-racial paranormal erotic romance. My hero is a Brazilian vampire and my heroine is an african american human whose realms intertwine.

                                            On The Metro

I wanted him to plunge his cock down my throat. So deep I would choke from the pleasure he gave me. I wanted to kneel before him offering my submission as a gift as he suffocated me with his manhood. Towering over me with authority, he would reward my supplication with the heated release of his come. Down my throat. And I would recieve it with gratitude swallowing every drop he gave me with delight, with the knowledge that he loved and cherished me as I him. And when he gently helped me to my feet, pulling me close to his body, hand entangling my hair, coaxing me toward his mouth, unperturbed by the trickle of his seed that slid lazily down my greedy lips, I would feel his love for me reverberate through my body like the thrum from an African drum as he penetrated my mouth again with the urgency of his perfect kiss. And I would know he desired only me.

That's what I fantasized might happen if he actually knew I existed.

Instead he sat, indifferent by default, oblivious of my prescence among the throng of passengers both eager and apathetic to reaching their destinations. He sat arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, staring blithely out the window as my scrutinizing eyes appraised him from down the opposite end of the aisle. My heart rate increasing as I psyched myself up to approach him, determined not to cowar and miss another opportunity to aquaint myself with his company.

So much noise and gratuitous chatter. I needed to remain focused, though it was slightly becoming harder to breath as doubt and insecurity threatened my resolve. What if he blew me off? No, he couldn't blow me off. Well technically he could, but he wouldn't. Not easily anyway. Not when he would look at me and see that I was immaculately outfitted in my short sleeved black and white dress that hugged my body just enough to accentuate my curves showing just a hint of cleavage. Not when he'd undoubtably comb down my body with his eyes and notice how sophisticated I looked in black stilettos. 

I imagined my presentation at least would buy me the benefit of his sustained interest. I hoped so anyway. Otherwise I'd look like a fool, which was technically what I should look like because I had no business doing what it was I was about to do. Not when I had a girlfriend. Here I was on the Metro train with a camera, an excuse and an apology, waiting to approach a perfect stranger on a Friday evening during rush hour.

I traced sweaty palms along the frame of the camera cradled in my lap as I rehearsed the script I'd prepared in anticipation of this moment. As much as I told myself this was just business, I knew it was just an excuse. Never before had I been motivated to do anything like this. I felt devious,desperate and ridiculous, and somewhat vindictive, which made me feel guilty.

It wasn't hard to notice how the man seated across from me kept smiling at me with his big "How you doin' miss lady?" smile and how the little boy in front of me kept turning around to face me despite his mothers pleading insistence that he stay still. I also noticed how my handsome stranger never seemed to move, always motionless like a statue. No fidgeting or idiosyncratic movements to indicate his inner state. He looked perfect, flawless, almost porcelin. His pale complexion starkly contrasted by the hues of those who sat around him. His dark hair, cut short in back and tappered on the sides, tossled with more length on top, along with thick nicely arched brows and dark mysterious eyes helped give him an exotic appeal. Italian maybe?

His look was always clean, casual and classic giving him a look of quiet sophistication. He looked like a Calvin Klein model and I would know. I've taken plenty of their pictures. Without even a hint of a smile he could easily stun you with  just the exquisiteness of his masculine profile. Which is why I'd been stealing photographs of him for the last several weeks. Which was also why I needed to speak to him.

I wiped the sweat from my hand down the length of my skirt using the gesture to smooth down the fine material in the process, then patted to make sure my sexy secretary ponytail was still in place. I was nervous as hell but determined.

Placing my camera on my shoulder, I took a deep breath as I reached for my briefcase on the floor. You can do this. I hesitated before bringing my briefcase up onto my lap, just to give myself a few extra seconds to gather my composure. I'm glad I did because I wasn't prepared for the two dark eyes that penetrated me with their intensity once I'd glanced back in his direction. Is he looking at me? 

I was immediately struck with panic and indecision yet I couldn't break away from his gaze. My stranger hardly ever moved in his seat let alone divert his gaze and there he was eye-locked with me for seconds that felt like an hour. For a moment I was angry with him. He was trying to mess me up, thwart my plan, although I knew that was ridiculous. Now how stupid would I look walking over to him? Now he would think I was some ansy chic who'd gotten the wrong impression by his eye contact and was coming over to push up on him. I'd look...eager. Like the unattractive guy you don't want to look at at the bar because if you do you know he'll try to buy you a drink. Damn him for putting me in this position.

I scrinched my eyes at him a little, all I could do to minimize the ferocity of his stare, but I couldn't, wouldn't look away from him. Although his expression barely changed, his eyes looked pecularily cautionary. Transfixed, I continued to drink him in with my irises, flattered he found me worthy of a few moments interest. O.k. this is getting really awkward.  When I absolutely couldn't take his burning regard any longer, I did the only thing that felt natural. I laughed. Like a professional idiot, I laughed. And smiled. And gave him a tentative wave with the one hand that wasn't holding my briefcase.

I was sure I must have looked like an idiot too, until his mouth crooked up into a little smile and some of the heat dissipated from behind his mysterious dark eyes. He averted his gaze back towards the window as he settled his hands in his lap, one of which teasingly draped across his dick then he licked his lips, which seemed like an involuntary action, sending my heart into a tizzy.

I resisted the urge to snap his photo. From the weeks that passed, I knew it would have been a futile effort and the fact he was now cognizant of my prescence would have made it risky, if not utterly obnoxious.

Heart pounding heavily in my chest sending adrenaline coursing throughout my body, I needed to make my move before the train arrived at my stop. I estimated I had less than ten minutes. I rapped my fingers along the edge of my briefcase, stealing looks at him, wondering how many times I'd psyched myself up to approach him only to succumb to my fear of his rejection. Only to go home frustrated that I had missed yet another opportunity. Afraid I would never see him again.

Taking a deep breath in, I secured my camera strap on my shoulder and used the grip bar to steady myself as I rose to my feet. This garnered a few appreciative male glances but the only one I cared about was my strangers. Or rather his lack of one. It frustrated me slightly that he wasn't as keenly aware of my prescence as I was his but I imagine stalkers feel the same way.

I stepped into the aisle, briefcase clutched tightly in one hand, and proceeded to walk towards him. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thou-- I was taken aback when unexpectadly his eyes darted toward me with a pleading look of warning. I would have felt small going back to my seat to sit down, which wasn't an option anyway as it had abruptly been snatched and I was so flustered by this point I didn't know if I'd read his expression correctly or if it was my self-consciousness trying to break my resolve. So unflinchingly, I proceeded, down the aisle.  And for the most part in an upright manner, that is off course, until I lost my balance and felt my knees buckling beneath me with my forward momentum. I felt the scorching blaze of humiliation turn my honey colored skin to ashes as I propelled my briefcase forward unwittingly to use my hands to brace my fall.

This isn't happening. Before I hit the floor, just before I hit the floor, before I was consumed by the smoldering fires of eternal embarrasment, before the wet accumulation of mortification had a chance to swell behind my eyes, he grabbed me.

I felt two strong hands around my waist pulling me upright away from the floor. I must have been red, I felt hot and flushed. I staggered a little trying to regain my balance which was difficult with my broken heel. He continued to hold me, steadying me from behind, breathing softly along my neck sending turbulent gusts of arousal throughout my body.

Aware of all the eyes on me, I instantly felt ashamed. As if the other passengers had known what my hot ass had been up to when I began my strut down the aisle.

Then I heard his voice in my ear, with an accented lilt, masculine and sensual in tone. "Focus on my hands steadying you. It'll make you less aware of their amusement."

I nodded slowly, trying to remember how to breath. He shifted his hands slightly, resting them along the curve of my waist. Instantly images of him entering me from behind permeated my mind arousing me further.

"Are you o.k. now?" He asked his voice trailing into my ear from behind.

"Yes," I managed to choke out."Thank you."

"No problem." He bent down to pick up my briefcase as he said this, carefully maintaining a hand along my waist as if letting me go entirely would cause me to fall. A small gesture which made a huge impression. Once standing, he tightened his grip around my waist pulling me closer to his body when I realized the purpose. He was supporting the side that I'd lost the heel on so that bearing weight wasn't awkward for me.

"Hold on to me. Let me help you back to my seat. You're less prone to fracture in a seated position." He smirked. And I laughed as I limped along next to him letting him guide me to his seat.