Hot Mad Guy

What is it about a mad guy that is so damn hot? Especially in romance novels. Or in movies. In real life a mad guy is not so hot, I suppose, but this is why the fantasy of romance novels and film can be so enjoyable. There is just something about the idea of a hot mad horny guy fueled by a jealous rage that is so titillating. Taking a woman with forceful zeal and all that. My fascination with the Hot Mad Guy started at a young age with the movie Gone With the Wind, when piping hot mad guy, Rhett Butler, carries a resisting Scarlett up the stairs to have his way with her. In the next frame we see her plumped up on her pillows, looking thoroughly satisfied. She obviously enjoyed her heated tryst with her hot mad guy.

Here is an excerpt from my novel, The Devil Duke. It is one of my favorite Hot Mad Guy scenes--a Tessa trademark.


“So, it’s true then,” he seethed. “You went to bed with him?”

“To bed? No—we did it in the green house.”

“Come back here, you nasty little tart—don’t you walk away from me.”

“You don’t have any control over me anymore,” she threw over her shoulder.  “I can do whatever I want. I am rich now, remember? Maybe I’ll stay in England and see where things go with Bryce. I plan on having a lot of sex from now on. You’ve made me like you now. I’m going to go all over the world having sex with positively everyone!”

“You are an outrageous bloody liar.”

“Am I…Your Grace? ”

“Quit bloody calling me that!”

“I’m not gonna call you Trevor anymore, that’s for sure.”

“I’m still Trevor.”

“Only your lovers call you Trevor—remember?  And we aren’t lovers. In fact, I hate you!”

He snatched her arm as she made for the staircase. She hissed and grunted as he dragged her up the steps. When she tripped on the second to the last step, he picked her up under one arm and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom. He marched directly into the bathroom and turned the sink on full blast. Rolling up his sleeves, he shoved a washcloth under the faucet.

Izzy screeched when he pinned her against the wall and began wiping the makeup off her face. “What the frig’ are you doing!”

“Cleaning this horrid paint off your face. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“Ouch! God! What is your problem with my makeup?”

“It makes you look like…like…”

“A what? A tart—a trollop, a whore? Maybe that’s what I am now! But I won’t be your whore Your Grace!”

Water soaked the front of her shirt as he scrubbed her eyes and cheeks and mouth. “You had to have one last bloody row before you left, didn’t you?”

She kicked him hard in the ankle and broke away. The Duke went after her as she hurried into the bedroom.  She ripped off her drenched shirt and yanked off her boots, throwing them at him one by one. The heavy heel of one caught him in the shin and he snarled under his breath. She faced him in her black lace bra and schoolgirl skirt. She hadn’t bothered to take her socks off—they were of the white, knee-high variety.

His eyes seemed to spew lava as he took in the sight of her. “You wore that getup just to torment me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe Bryce likes knee socks too…Your Grace.”

“I’ll make you forget that boy if it’s the last thing I do, and if you call me that one more time so help me—.”

When he lunged for her she skittered across the bed. She shrieked and hissed as he crouched over her. Her half naked body stretched and strained as she fought to get away from him. Her miniskirt was shimmied high, exposing her white lace panties. Her dark nipples pressed against the sheer mesh of her bra. The need to possess her was overwhelming. Like a savage beast he attacked, yanking the straps of her bra down with a ravenous growl. He ravaged her erect nipples, licking, biting and tugging—pressing her into the mattress with the weight of his aroused male body.

Izzy writhed beneath him. As soon as he put his mouth on her, she too was enslaved by lust. She should be hitting him and pulling at his hair. Instead, she arched her back and moaned. She loved the feel of his hard muscles crushing her and his hot mouth devouring her flesh.

Abruptly, he pulled back and sat back between her splayed limbs. His gaze ran over her legs covered to the knee in those crazy-making socks. She cried out in surprise when he reached between them and shredded her panties. She was all spread out for him, the ripe bloom of her womanhood fully exposed.

When he went for her goods, she quickly covered his hands with hers. “You said you didn’t want to make another mistake with me, remember?”

“I don’t care what I said. You’ve pushed me beyond reason. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it?”

She panted and shook her head no.

He pushed her hands away and she pushed back, shading herself from his penetrating stare. His gaze alone caused her to grow moist between her legs. Now he was perilously close to the part of her that yearned for him most. 

She trembled again and his expression of anger melted away to one of longing. “Let me look at you, Isabel—let me touch you.”

She hid her face in the pillow. “No, you weirdo pervert. I don’t want you anymore. Get off me.”

He found his way through her laced fingers, delving into the damp folds of her womanhood. “How can you say that you don’t want me? The proof is right here.” He slipped a finger into the depth of her weeping body. “You’re dripping wet.”

She grimaced, trying to hold the overwhelming pleasure at bay. “How do you know it’s not for him?”

His upper lip pulled back in a dangerous snarl. With a cry of alarm Izzy pushed him off of her, and rolled to the side. Desperately, she made a run for it. She had hoped to lock the bathroom door behind her but he was hot on her heels, backing her up against the marble counter. There was nowhere to go. She was immobilized between his hard, unyielding body and the cold porcelain sink. He lifted her so she was sitting on top of the counter, then he grasped her knees and pried her legs open.

“You can’t do this. It’s not fair.”

 “You don’t play fair, why should I?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she protested weakly. “I have to forget you. Please…don’t.”

Trevor ignored her wavering entreaty and sunk to the floor, burying his face in her honey-soaked divide. Her body slid across the mirror as he gorged on her exotic sweetness. With her flavor soaking his tongue, he was lost in a lustful inferno. The urge to dominate her coursed through him in an intoxicating rush. He rose and pulled her down to the ground, turning her to face the mirror. Hurriedly undoing his trousers, he bent her over the cool marble slab and hiked her skirt high. He gripped her narrow hips in his palm, positioning her just so.

The Duke’s reflection loomed behind her. He looked like a sapphire-eyed demon who was about to take possession of her body. She shuddered as his scalding fingertips burned a trail down her belly. He found the distended bud of her arousal while his male hardness probed her from behind. He slid himself back and forth over the slick, syrupy alcove between her legs.

He breathed fire against her ear.  “You want this, don’t you? You want me inside you, not that bloody boy.”

She hung her head in defeat and braced herself for his corporal intrusion. “Yes…”

“Say it then.”

“He never touched me,” she whimpered.  

A heady mixture of relief and victory washed over him. He repeated the command—his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Say it, Isabel.”

“I want you inside me…Trevor.”

He entered her with searing precision.  She gasped as the power of his unyielding male flesh threatened to split her in two. Izzy braced her hands against the mirror as he moved deep inside of her, conquering her with his body. He controlled her by driving her backward, impaling her again and again until perspiration dripped from both their bodies. Each stroke sent a lightning rod of white-hot pleasure straight through her. The explicit words he whispered in her ear inspired dark, decadent urges. He licked the sweat off her back as gusts of ecstasy overtook them both.

Faxon Russ