Readers who know my work may be a bit surprised to learn that my latest book, Thrill-Kinky, is science-fiction romance. Or maybe they’ll wonder what took me so long to venture into yet another subgenre. I already have paranormal, contemporary and fantasy romances under my belt (and one short historical romance in Delilah’s Conquests anthology), not to mention dark fantasy and short erotica featuring every possible combination of consenting adults having naughty fun.
So why add science fiction romance to this conglomeration, other than the already obvious “I like variety”?
I blame and thank my husband.
I’ve always flown my geek flag proudly. In seventh grade, I turned in a paper written in Tolkien’s Dwarven runes. (My handwriting was too bad to pull off Elvish script.) My first several novels were heroic fantasy, which still live in boxes in my closet, awaiting the time I’m brave enough to reread them and see if there’s anything there to salvage. I worked at Del Rey Books in the eighties and binge-read every fantasy book they published and a lot of the science fiction. But while I went through a stage of reading just about anything that involved wizards, witches, dragons, or people with swords fighting evil, I was fussier about science fiction. A lot of what I picked up seemed to be more focused on technology and (admittedly cool) world building than on characters. The male characters were two-dimensional, the female ones even flatter. With a few exceptions—Ursula LeGuin comes to mind—I preferred my fantasy. Sure, some of the women of fantasy were basically plot devices waiting to be rescued, but Mercedes Lackey! Anne McCaffrey! Guy Gavriel Kay! Even going back to my roots, Tolkien had some impressive women characters and some emotional arcs as epic as the adventures involving swords and sorcery. And of course, there were his delightful, down-to-earth hobbits thrown in among the fierce and mighty.
And then I met Himself, who realized I’d managed to miss out on Star Trek when I was growing up and got me watching both the original and the various spin-offs. From there, we branched out into other science fiction TV shows: Farscape, Babylon 5, and what became my favorite, Firefly. In these series, action was important, but interaction was even more central. You cared about the firefights and the capers and the narrow escapes because you’d come to care about the team of characters, not just because Spaceships are Cool and Aliens are Awesome. I mean, both of these things are true, but Firefly’s spaceship was the space equivalent of someone’s rickety but much loved first car held together with duct tape and bubble gum, and there were no aliens—and the show still captivated me. Himself also got me watching anime, enjoying the completely goofy plotlines and random bits of humor and sexiness in dark scenarios. And then there were the superhero comics and movies…
With all this imagery in my head, it was inevitable I’d try my hand at science fiction sometime—but science fiction my way. With wacky aliens because they’re fun, political complications worthy of Babylon 5 because those interest me more than space battles, and an independent freighter with a motley crew I can imagine drinking with Malcolm Reynolds and the rest of the crew of Serenity at some seedy spaceport bar. There’s also a cat-girl sidekick, thanks to too much anime. Of course there are tough women, handsome men, hot sex and true love, because all that kind of inevitable if I’m writing the book.
And the name of my rickety independent freighter? It’s the Malcolm, a direct bow to Joss Whedon’s wonderful series and its hero, Malcolm Reynolds, a.k.a. Captain Tight-Pants—who would have gotten into different and more fun kinds of trouble if he’d been my character!
Chronicles of the Malcolm,Book 1
Sexual freefall is like a game of chicken, except the first one to let go wins.
Humans may have expanded to the stars, but they still have the annoying need to work for a living. Which is why Rita, crew member of the space freighter Malcolm, is stuck collecting recyclable slag rather than attending her favorite festival celebrating love and sexuality.
Things go from boring to interesting when she discovers a badly injured man who’s been thrown into a recycling bin to die. The catch, he’s gorgeous, winged, and naked.
Drax Jalricki, reformed (mostly) art thief and reluctant covert operative, is on an undercover mission to protect three planets when someone in his own government brands him a traitor. By virtue of association, Rita and her crew are going down with him.
From their first, hide-in-plain-sight quickie, the erotic spark between Rita and Drax is fueled by danger and adrenaline. But their growing suspicion that there’s more to their connection than lust may not matter if they don’t live through the night.
Warning: Hero and heroine who straddle the line of criminal behavior—and definitely violate public indecency statutes. Exhibitionist, dangerous sex. Dark, sordid pasts. Wild risk-taking. Giggly cat-girl sidekick who’s not just another pretty…tail. And the greatest risk of all: true love.
Definitely something in the danger-as-aphrodisiac theory, because in a fetid alley, with the law and outlaws both after them and her no doubt out of both a job and a home when the guys found out she’d dumped the slag and abandoned the floater, Rita was getting more turned on than she ever remembered being. She’d been excitable to start with, from the kiss, and from simply being around Drax’s dangerous good looks, but now she could feel herself getting slick, hot, ready for the cock that she could now feel all too well against her bare skin.
And his wings—marling stars, she’d never felt anything like the soft, sensual caress of all those feathers against her back, her ass. So good. His hands gripped and kneaded, and his wings stroked and soothed, and all the while he was kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, sending sparks down the connections from her lips to the mouth of her sex. Her common sense told her they needed to move, couldn’t take the time to play there when the overpriced thugs in the Fiero might show up at any second.
Her common sense lost the argument with her libido.
Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but hot paranormals and BDSM-spiced contemporaries were her favorites until she realized science-fiction romances offered new possibilities for outrageous adventure, wild sex and love that overcomes serious obstacles, including being from different species! Find her at www.teresanoelleroberts.com, on Facebook, or on Twitter, where she hangs out as @TeresNoeRoberts.