Winter is coming. And by winter is coming, I'm not making a reference to Game of Thrones.
I mean that Winter is about to jizz his pants.
Ooh, sexual excitement, you say? Not fucking likely. For a book so filled to the brim by people on the brink of sexual ecstacy, it was shockingly dull. I ate dinner while reading this book, and I was almost drowned by my enormous bowl of soup. Sex and eroticism should make me feel titillated. It should not make me laugh.
“Oh, Winter. Oh, God. Oh, Winter.”
That’s right, he thought, drunk on power. One and the same.
She turned one cheek to the mattress and broke apart, crying out in long, wavering sobs.
Oh, Winter, you great big virile BEAST, you.
Mouth slack and wide, he bucked, squinted his eyes closed, and bellowed out an extended cry that reverberated through her as he shuddered in her arms like a great, divine beast taken down by a single bullet.
She was the one who’d been shot.
The main love in the book, Winter Magnusson, is constantly on the verge of orgasming in his pants every time he so much as smells a tantilizing whiff of the main character's juice-soaked panties. Ok, maybe I exaggerate. Winter doesn't cream his pants whenever he smells Aida's panties. He is also extremely aroused by freckles.
They began in a sliver of pale forehead above arched brows, gathered tightly across her nose and cheeks, lightened around her neck, then disappeared into the dipping neckline of her dress.
Man, those freckles.
Freckles on her legs—how about that? For some reason, he found this wildly exciting. Increasingly lurid thoughts ballooned inside his head after he wondered exactly what percentage of her skin was speckled. Did freckles cover her arms? The curving creases where her backside ended and her legs began? Her nipples?
Did I mention Winter is highly titillated by freckles?
The view only got better when she shucked off her coat: freckles covered every inch of her slender arms.
Talk about a fucking fetish, man. Winter even collects erotic postcards with freckled women.
[The postcard] featured a naked woman with bobbed hair. She sat upon the lap of a naked man, who was propped up against a pile of cushions.
She rode him, mouth open, with a look of ecstasy on her face.
And she was freckled.
Total word count of "freckle" in the book: 42. Ok. Aida's got freckles. We fucking get it.
It is a bad foreboding for the book when the lttle introductory blurb is entitled LOVE AT FIRST SIGHTING.The problem with this book is not so much love at first sight as it is lust at first sight. And the problem with this book is love, actually (Like the movie, ha ha ha, I am so clever. Not.).
There is an overwhelming, pervasive amount of lust in this book, at the expense at the credible development of love in this book, at the expense of the actual plot. Halfway through the book, I had to go back to the book's summary because I wasn't sure what it is that I was actually reading; I didn't know what the plot comprised. If you stripped the lust, the love, the jealousy, the overwhelming amount of doubts and uncertainties surrounding romance, this book would be roughly around 100 pages instead of its actual length of well over 300 pages. 300 pages on my ebook reader. In very, very, very small type >_>
Summary: I cannot summarize this book because there is not much to summarize, not much for me to parody. Essentially, the initial 30% of the book is filled with Winter and Aida's tremendous insta-attraction. The next 30% was composed of them deliberating their attraction and coming to terms with their jealousy. The last 30% is of them fucking like bunnies and falling further in love.
Paranormal, my ass. Spirits? There are more spirits on my now diminished liquor shelf. There is NOTHING here. If you wanted ghosts, you are in for a vast fucking disappointment. If you wanted danger, look elsewhere. If you wanted a love story, well, will you walk into my parlour, says the spider to the fly.
The Setting: If you wanted to read this book for the atmosphere of the Flapper era of the 1920s, you will be in for a disappointment. This book is almost completely free of flapper slang and colloquialisms, for which I am grateful, because I hate the extensive use of Flapper speak in other books (like Libba Bray's The Diviners). There are mentions of speakeasies, there is the depiction of San Francisco's Chinatown, Winter himself is a bootlegger, but other than that, I just absolutely do not get the feel of the 1920s in this book. Sure, it is set in San Francisco, but it could be anywhere from the 1880s to early 1950s, as far as I was concerned, because the setting was so underwhelming in every way.
The Characters: Developmentally lacking. Blissfully free of complexity. Forgettable, just like everything in this book.
The Romance: I love lust. Lust is fine. Lust has its place. Lust should not take the place of a plot. Lust should not overwhelm what should have been an important investigation. Look at Mulder & Scully in the X-Files. Keep it in your fucking pants until you get shit done, ok? You have a brain, blood flow to the brain should take priorities over, well, you know.
From the very first moment they see each other, there is a boner and a lady boner. Winter is a hysterical hyperbole of a man. He's just so fucking big, y'all.
My. He was enormous—several inches over six feet and with shoulders broad enough to topple small buildings as he passed.
Big everywhere, if you catch my drift.
But it was the thicket below his rippled stomach that drew her attention. And the substantial length that hung under it.
She wasn’t exactly an expert on men’s naked bodies, but she’d seen a couple, and neither possessed anything between their legs quite like that, and definitely not in a state of rest. She could only guess what it looked like when it woke up.
Ugh, spare me all your lady boners. Aida spends so much damn time dreaming of Winter's wang that I wonder when she has the time to think about anything else. Or do anything else. Like the case she's working on?
She may have possibly made a series of desperate noises. She definitely arched against him, bumping into his erection again. Well, rubbing herself against it, to be truthful.
What case? I don't even know, really. Winter has an erection every time he's around her. The truth is that their lust completely overwhelms the first 30% of the book, and by the time they had gotten over it, I had completely lost interest in what little there is of the plot. Their lust is so all-encompassing, so completely overwhelming that I cannot comprehend when and how it developed into love. Thus, their romance was unconvincing, their love story lacking in credibility, and they had lost me in the book far before that.