I'm so excited to introduce you to a new group I started. We have 12 authors who have started writing stories together. Take a look below.
Who are the Sexy Scribblers?
The Sexy Scribblers are 14 romance authors who have come together to compile short stories and take you on an adventure. Step inside and meet them.
How does it work?
We have only three rules:
1. The first author writes the first episode (approx 500 words) of any kind of story they want and the next author takes the story wherever they want to go. The last author ends the story however they see fit…or maybe it continues for another round. No brainstorming, outlining, or discussion of plot ahead of time. We write by the seat of our pants.
2. No changes can be made once an episode is written other than basic grammar corrections.
3. No censorship of language or sexual content. You have been warned!
Now that you know that, let me introduce you to our first episode.
Episode 1 by Chanta Rand
He smelled bacon.
He mentally struggled with whether to get up and eat or to lay comatose.
Comatose felt good.
Eating would mean dealing with his cotton-dry mouth and the insistent pounding at his hotel door.
He rolled over in his king-sized bed and cracked an eye open. His gaze landed on a plate stacked with strips of bacon, and a mountain of scrambled eggs slathered in Tabasco sauce—just the way he liked them.
He’d eaten the same breakfast ever since he’d bought this hotel years ago. Everything was as it should be, except for the idiot at his door. Who had the balls to disturb him after a night of…hell, what had he been doing last night?
His mind barreled through his memory bank until he remembered. Oh yeah, he’d gotten shitfaced with his cousin, Willard and his brother, Bubba. He could hold his liquor better than the average man, but last night he had a good reason for getting tanked.
Grumbling, he tossed his sheets aside and slid out of the bed stark naked. He yanked on a pair of jeans he found discarded on the carpet in the bedroom of his suite. He hobbled barefoot to the front room, but he pulled up short when he saw a buxom blonde sit up on the couch and wipe the sleep from her eyes. The words, Big Tits Ain’t a Crime stretched across the front of her tight t-shirt.
Incredulous, he rasped, “What the hell are you doing here, Anita?”
She yawned. “Hope you don’t mind, Reed. I crashed on your couch. But don’t worry. You and me didn’t do nuthin’. You was too drunk.”
Thank God! Sex was so much better when he had the memories to rewind.
“I don’t have to be at work for a few hours,” she added, a flicker of hope dancing across her cherub face. “I got time for a quickie.”
Anita was a maid at his hotel. In addition to her irritating habit of using her key to get into his room, she was also engaged to Willard. Reed enjoyed a good fuck, but not at the expense of someone’s fiancé.
“Some other time,” he lied as he walked with a slight limp toward the door. The hangover was temporary. The limp wasn’t. Most everybody in town knew how he’d sustained his injury. Women thought the cane he used was sexy. There was no accounting for female reasoning. His family had run this town for three generations. Power was one hell of an aphrodisiac.
He hoped Willard wasn’t on the other side of that door with a a pair of steel knuckles. Of course, it could be the police, too. He’d been known to raise hell during a night of drinking. But, he didn’t take the cops seriously. He’d gone to middle school with half of ‘em and played varsity football with the other half.
When he opened the door, he stared into the face of a strange woman. She was graced with high cheekbones, a mane of raven hair, and a long, slender neck he would love to sink his teeth into. Her stunning sable skin was marred only by the tight scowl she gave him. It was obvious she had a bone to pick. Adam had already sacrificed a rib for men everywhere. Reed would be damned if he let this beauty take one of his.
Read the rest of the story: