Hannah’s Luck, by Lora Leigh
You know you’re reading a Lora Leigh story when the hero is as terse as he is tumescent and the heroine is so copiously wet from the mere thought of him that she needs her own herd of lifeguards to rescue the surrounding populace from the continual flash-floods.
The word “explode” is used in ways that are meant to be sexy but are, instead, very very disturbing.
He wanted to feel that tight little pussy exploding around his cock…
Groaning her name he felt his balls jerk, his semen exploding from the tip of his cock…
On a purely nitpicking note, I’m fairly sure that there is a comma missing from that previous sentence. Also, there should be a one-time limit on the number of times that variations of the word “explode” is used in the same sex scene. (Yes, the above was from the same scene.)
His hand slapped against the shower wall as he fought for the strength to hold them both upright. His release pumped from him, sending lightning-hot surges of ecstasy racing from his balls to the base of his spine where they exploded in a feeling so intense it weakened his knees.
Seven pages later…
As Hannah fought, the bathroom seemed to explode.
I laughed out loud. At work.
Reckless, by Red Garnier
You know you’re reading an erotic story when a womb “clenches” within the first 5 pages. (Perhaps it’s afraid of exploding semen.) Another clue is when the hero and heroine say something along the lines of, “We have to leave right now to get away from the evil villain!” and then take a moment (oh, just 3 or 4 pages) to grope each other and exchange body fluids.
Sadly, even in a really good story, things that should never explode are exploding in places where they shouldn’t:
Butterflies exploded in her stomach.
On the plus side, at least it’s not a body part that’s exploding this time (Lora Leigh, I’m looking at you!)
The biting bulge of his erection scraped against her stomach.
Does that thing need a muzzle? I’m sorry, if it bites, I’m not letting it out.
And the first prize in the category of, “Really? Is that really the word you wanted to use there?”, goes to:
he caressed through the soaked fabric, using three fingers to expertly stroke the tenderized flesh lying desperately in wait under her panties…
No wonder it’s “weeping” a page later.
Well, that and the fact that:
His hands continued to mold her, goading her with the biting press of his hardness….
It’s biting again. Obviously, some sort of obedience school is needed before animal control has to get involved.
Tempt Me, by Alexis Grant
“I will be back at nineteen hundred hours, sharp, ma’am,” he said.
“In plain English, sir,” she said with a wide grin. “And will you cut the ma’am and just call me Anita?”
“Six pm, Ms. Brown.” He smiled.
He also must have flunked basic training. Nineteen hundred hours is 7pm. Six pm is eighteen hundred hours. Oops.
You know, once is possibly an editing error. When the author did it a second time, I lost all respect for her and any desire to read the story and skipped ahead to the last one. Could it be my annoyance that such a glaring, yet oh-so-easily-avoided, mistake persisted throughout? Could it be I’m just a nitpicky that way? Could it be that I’m a veteran and when the supposed member of some super-badass military force constantly says and/or thinks “nineteen hundred hours” when he purportedly means “6pm”, it drives me up the freaking wall?
Yes. Yes, it could.
So which is worse: expoding, biting, tenderizing, or misusing military time?