Samhain Publishing, $2.50, ISBN 978-1-60504-536-8
Fantasy Erotica, 2009
Candy, a 31-year old werewolf, is in trouble. You see, every time Michael Trent is in the same room as her, she… let me check. Ah yes.
My sex throbbed at the benign contact, my nipples peaking tight as my instincts screamed in a desperate attempt to encourage me to claim him. To remind me how phenomenal sex was supposed to be with a mate. My body heated from the inside out, goose bumps shivering over my skin when he shifted his leg and leaned closer to me.
The poor thing. With every part of her body throbbing and swelling like that, I’m surprised no one has asked her by now whether she is suffering from an allergy reaction. The problem here is that Michael is gay. Or so Candy believes. She clearly doesn’t read enough ménage à trois stories because everyone knows these gay guys in such stories are just waiting for the right woman to join them in bed. Therefore, it isn’t long before Candy realizes that she experiences the same throbbing, peaking, swelling, and gasping reaction to Michael’s boyfriend Stephen as well. Bring on the pumpies, people!
For a very short story like It’s Raining Men, it seems like Ms Jordan has her priorities a little messed up here. For so long, there are plenty of scenery chewing as characters that will not be sleeping with Candy show to interact with her. Note that I don’t count descriptions of dripping, twitching, and swelling bits on Candy’s body as “erotic scenes” – I find such descriptions painful rather than sexy. It is only late in the story when the going gets heavy, and even then, it’s just a few pages before the show is over.
Let’s be honest here: the only reason you will want to read a story marked as “Red Hots!”, especially a story as short as this, is for the sex scenes. It’s okay, I’m not passing judgment on you. I mean, why do you think I read this story for? The length is too short to expect much in terms of the depths and drama. So I don’t know why Ms Jordan takes so long to warm up the engines and get the twelve-inch cylinders going. I’m here for the party, so where’s the party? All I get here is people milling around and babbling aimlessly before someone remembers too late that they have to take their clothes off to have a good time.