I first found Grant Antrews about 20 years ago (I think). In a dusty paperback book in Powell's Bookstore I discovered one of the best F/M romances I'd ever read. In fact it was the only F/M romance I'd ever read. It was called My Darling Dominatrix and it was utterly fascinating. A BDSM romance featuring a female top and a male bottom.
Well, it turns out that Grant has resurfaced after all these years, and he's taken up writing again, luckily for us. You can find his current and former offerings on his web page at http://www.grantantrews.com/Grant_Antrews_Books.htm.
The excerpt that Grant has so graciously allowed me to post here is from one of his older works called Rogue's Gallery. This is a romantic, light hearted scene between the two principal characters. It's a birthday scene (and we know what happens on birthdays). The tone is light, but the action is hot!
"Make a wish and blow out your candles," she whispered. For an instant her singing had made him recall Rogues Gallery, but then it didn't matter.
"I couldn't wish for anything more, Beth. I've got more than I could ever wish for."
"Expand your expectations."
She stood, came behind him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed his neck. He felt an electric rush of goose bumps between his shoulder blades, and he wished a daring wish and leaned forward. She released him to the important task. The candles belched plumes of silver-blue smoke. The room was dark now in the gathering winter twilight. She tugged her chair way out from the table and carefully sat, offered huge expanses of her wonderful flesh to his voracious eyes; she pushed back her hair and thrust out her breasts and her eyes locked on his.
"Come here, Jimmy."
He stood beside her; the air was electric. He tried to bend and kiss her, but her hand stopped him, kept him upright. And then she was tugging at his belt. It released. She unbuttoned his waistband and worked his zipper down. He felt his chinos drop to his ankles. Her fingers caught the elastic waistband of his underpants and took them down, down to his knees. He felt a little ridiculous and wondered what was about to happen. Then she patted her lap.
"I want you right across my lap, sweetheart."
In a flash, a dozen clever objections roared across his mind and were rejected. Here it came. the Mistress of Ceremonies was about to display her kinks for him. and then the secret would be out and the air would be clear. He didn't even consider the humiliation or the possibility of pain. He couldn't think of a good retort or any real reason to refuse, and so he leaned far forward and over her. He felt his naked manhood hanging out, perking up, threatening to make a mess of her beautiful velvet gown, but she put her hand under his backside and coaxed him, actually pushed him with a surprising amount of force, and he moved across her and lowered his hips onto her lap. The velvet was a strange sensation. He was filling with the hot blood of desire, and she pushed him, tugged him, ordered him to offer himself more blatantly. And he complied, awkwardly, but without question.
"Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday dear Jimmy Happy birthday to you"
Crack! "One." It stung.,. it had shocked him with its suddenness, but now the hurt was soaking up from underneath and he was vividly aware of it and,
Crack! "Two." Jesus, the other cheek! She hit hard; the sting was infernal.
Crack! He wanted to revolt, but she anticipated him. Her left hand, resting ion the small of his back, made itself known.
Crack! "Four." Damn, the second layer just multiplied the stinging!
Crack! "Five." Methodically, almost to a silent rhythm,
Crack! His left toes lost grip on the carpet and sprang upward. "Six."
Crack! Oh, it was starting to hurt now, smarting hot and uncomfortable from inside out and Smack! Even harder! "Seven."
"Eight." She paused after the twenty-fourth, wondering if he was going to cry. He adjusted his feet to dig for a better grip in the carpet. He flexed his fingers, anything to take his mind off the incessant stinging. She shouldn't hit so hard! Her palm must be on fire!
"Enough of your foolishness, darling. You're wriggling all over the place. Get yourself up here and make yourself a gift to me. Lift up for more. that's it. Thirteen more. not lucky for you, I suppose, but don't be a baby."
Crack! "Owww!" A note of protest in his voice. "Twenty-five."
Was she giggling? Whack! "And one to grow on!" Smack! A blessed pause.
"Okay, you can get up."
His erection was enormous, inflated and throbbing, wobbling ridiculously, like a thick flagpole. He knew he had soaked her glamorous dress. His palms rubbed at the ungodly heat radiating from his scorched asscheeks! He was ashamed, but also stimulated, desperately hot for her. Her eyes stopped him cold.
"Put your pants on," she said, brooking no nonsense. "You've got to open your gifts and cut the cake. Then I'll take you over to the couch and do something about that."
Her eyes dropped to his bursting organ.
"Well?" Jim dressed carefully. She was grinning now, enjoying watching him. He raised his zipper, then went to his knees in one fast, surprising motion and kissed her toe, sprang up and into his chair and seized the knife, grinning too. She was obviously shocked.
She almost whispered, "Where.?" out loud. But then she captured it. There was a long moment of uncertain pause, and then she handed him a gift.
"Hap. Happy birthday, sweetheart!" They burst, laughing, out of their chairs and went to each other. They collided, lips crushing, eyes squinted shut and breasts hot, awash in passion, relief, and just a little fatigue. They kissed hard, searching, answering, and then they broke. He still had the gift in his hand, and she sat him down to open it. His bottom was sore, and he shifted on the chair to soothe it.
Excerpted from Rogues Gallery, 1997 by Grant Antrews.