Author Spotlight: Cari Silverwood 31 Flavors of Kink

When I first came across 31 Flavors, I found the story to be an intriguing one. One that wasn't your typical BDSM romance read. I thought this book would be a welcoming take on this genre, one I hadn't read yet. It was new and fresh. This story delves into the marriage of a couple who work on their sex life. I know what you're thinking- a story about a sex life? Please. But it's so much more than that. It's the emotional and physical aspects they go through together that binds their ties as a couple. It's about being open and honest with each other, willing to meet each others needs with an unconditional love. When I found out there was a lot more truth to this story then fiction- I was sold. That made it even better for me. 

Unfortunately for me, when I went to go purchase the book it was no longer there. I just about cried!

I later found out from Cari, that her book 31 Flavors, had been pulled for some tweaking. Naturally I was upset at the time since I couldn't have the book right then and there when I wanted it. How spoiled we've gotten with our ereaders. So I followed her on facebook and watched for the new book cover release and info regarding 31 Flavors. 


I was a little nervous at first when I asked Cari if she wanted to do a post and excerpt on My Secret Romance for the rerelease of 31 Flavors, now titled 31 Flavors of Kink. I've never asked an author before for something like this, and I wasn't sure if this was "proper blogger code". But I wanted to help get the word out more about the rerelease so I took the chance and asked her....I am beyond happy she agreed! 

Before I let Cari take the reins and tell us about her time with 31 Flavors of Kink, we need to stop and admire the new book cover for just a moment. How gorgeous is this! 

31 Flavors of Kink from Loose Id

This book is a rerelease of “31 Flavors” with some minor tweaking done to show more of the ‘why’ behind the story. 

I think what makes this book different from many other BDSM romances out there is not just the truth behind it, or the real people, but the way it shows how a married couple works out how to adapt to a major change in their relationship—a good change though. At the beginning things were rather sad for them, sexually, which is why I’ve picked the excerpt I have. It’s not a red-hot BDSM excerpt, though that does happen in the book, it’s just plain heart wrenching, or so readers have told me. It shows where it all began.

This scene has a few of the ‘tweaks’ so readers can see more clearly why Sid desperately needed to do what she does. Some readers thought she should just soldier on, but vanilla sex really was painful for her, and if you think the man gets a lot out of sex when his wife is not aroused, you need to readjust your own ideas. It’s way more fun for more men if you’re enjoying it.

I was surprised that some women would think Sid should have just carried on, as always, as to me, this is dark ages thinking. As in—lie back and think of England, ladies, and just let him do it, even if you hate it. You don’t need to enjoy sex, really. It’s too gross for us dainty women.

One of the great things about BDSM is that it makes you open up your mind. It makes you need to discuss your sexual preferences with your partner, because if you don’t, you won’t get very far. No men I know truly have ESP, and the same goes for women. Yes, being a Dom or a Domme does not bequeath super-powers.

Although the last few chapters of “31 Flavors of Kink” are partly fiction the rest of this book is heavily based in reality. Many of the scenes at the end did happen also, just we connected them differently—the house full of balloons and the crazy shibari both happened. But even before we took a few liberties for the sake of fiction, this story always was a romance, a deep wonderful romance between two people who rediscovered how much they truly loved each other.

EXCERPT:

It’s Thursday night, and Nick and I watch our comedy lineup together in bed. I lay my head on his chest. His little bit of curly black hair chafes the skin on my cheek. I glance up. Firm, manly lips, a jaw that’s pretty square but not perfect. A scar where he fell over as a kid and hit a shovel blade. He often has a simple hairstyle with mostly, like now, buzz-cut hair. If he were Fabio or Jimmy, he’d have long, flowing locks. I grin at that thought. I’ll never be able to run my fingers through his hair, but I don’t care. 

I snuggle closer. His body is always a slightly higher temperature than mine. And he smells like love and comfort. 

He strokes my hair as we laugh together through the shows. Humor is a big part of our relationship. In fact, I’m convinced he married me because I make him laugh. I remember my dream. Nick—serious and full of authority. I snort out loud. Never gonna happen. Even Mistress Helvetica can’t save us. 

The TV goes off at ten p.m. sharp, and I roll over, tucking myself under the heavy white comforter. Before the light goes off, I trace the cherry blossom design. When we bought our little two-story, two-bedroom cottage a year ago, Nick gave me free rein in decorating. In turn, I don’t question his remodeling projects. That’s how our relationship works. We’re each in charge of separate little compartments of our lives. We’re like a business. The cherry blossom quilt, the bonsai tree on the dresser, the elegant bamboo window blinds are my ideas. The hand-built patio outside, right next to where the yard runs down to a little park—that was Nick’s. 

I take a deep breath and process my day. Work too damn early, lunch, work, dinner, dishes, TV, bed. This is my life. I’m not complaining. We have our health. We have job security. We have the house with the dog and the white picket fence, minus the two-point-five children. Maybe someday we’ll even have that. We’re just like every other red-blooded American family. Except most couples probably have sex more than once every few months. And most women actually enjoy it.

But we have a strong relationship. Internally I pump my fist in the air to accentuate it. We don’t need sex. We have love, a foundation, commitment. 

But no orgasms, my libido is quick to point out.

I sigh and briefly wonder if there’s a section in the phone book for “Dom Trainer.”

A hand snakes under my shirt and around my waist, warm against my bare skin. Nick’s breath sifts across my ear. Every muscle in my body tenses. I know what he wants. His cues are not so subtle.

I am in a constant state of guilt for always denying him. Tonight I will give it the old college try. His hand reaches my breasts and kneads one gently. I feel a tingle between my legs. Yes, that’s good. I can do this. 

His fingers tweak my nipple, stimulating me in an uncomfortable way. I stiffen, then squirm a bit, reflexively, before forcing myself to remain still. Nick takes this as excitement. He kisses my neck. I melt into the mattress, looking up at him as he turns me onto my back. My neck, my ears, my collarbone—those are my erogenous zones. I wish he’d bite me. Just the thought of it makes my thighs clench. For some reason, I think the pinch of pain will help somehow. That’s based on instinct, not logic. How could pain make me relax?

He pulls my nipples again, and all I can think of is a cow being milked. I groan, but not in bliss. It’s really more of an irritated growl. But I can’t find it in me to say no. Everything from that point on makes me more and more uncomfortable. I’m ticklish and sensitive. It doesn’t feel like my husband’s loving hands on me but grating sandpaper. I want to crawl out of my skin. I tense at every touch, every kiss. I can’t help it. My body is a ball of anxiety. I will it to calm down. This is my husband, I yell in my head. He won’t hurt me!

No, but you want him to, a voice inside me yells back, smirking.

Ugh! This is so frustrating, I want to cry. And the worst part…it isn’t just me who’s suffering. It’s Nick, the man I love.

He enters me, and I fight to keep my thighs open. My face scrunches in pain. He stops and looks down—so much love and concern in his eyes that I choke on my guilt. I wish I could beat myself with a paddle. I’d deserve it.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.” I give a shaky smile.

He ponders me for a moment. “I know what you need. Lube.”

I sigh as he reaches under the bed to get it. Yes, I am that woman—the one who’s as dry as a desert. Cold. Impassionate.

“Better?” he asks, rubbing his erection at my opening after lubing up.

I nod. I hate lying, but I’ve ruined this too many times before. I’m petrified he’ll cheat on me if I don’t put out. So I grit my teeth and take it. The lube doesn’t help the pain much, but it keeps me from tearing. I stare at the ceiling and wait for it to be over. He finishes inside me. I am blank. Numb.  

He rolls off me, then goes to clean himself.

I turn on my side and curl up in a ball under the blanket, hiding this horrible wrongness clawing at my soul. He climbs in beside me. If he hugs me, I’ll cry.

“I love you, honey,” he whispers in my ear.

I hate myself.

I fall asleep with the salty taste of tears in my mouth.

I must say, I'm glad I didn't read it when it was first released. I'm off to buy the book. What about you? 


BUY THE BOOK HERE