Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Some like it hot
I think the essence of a romance novel is how well the love scene is handled. I've read bulletin discussions where some readers like the love scene hot and steamy, and others like to cut-away from it. Personally, I like it hot and steamy. Let's face it, I'm single and don't get much action (read, none), so I live vicariously through the heroines in the novels. And, I like to see my girls gettin' busy! I had a hard time writing my first love scene. Not because of the mechanics of how to phrase the scene or what goes where; but, because of who might read it. Most of you know that I lost my mother in 2000, so I wasn’t fearful of Mom reading it and looking down her glasses at me. No. For me, the fear came from my Pastor’s wife; who incidentally, used to be my elementary school music teacher. Double whammy! I tried to write a cut-away scene, but it didn't feel right to me. And, if it didn't feel right to me, then my readers would probably feel the same way. Robbed! I mean, after everything Jenee' and Thorne had been through, I felt that I had to show their love scene. This is my first attempt at hot and steamy. I hope to do better in the next book. What do you think: Except of Love's Web Never before had she felt so hot, so alive from a mere touch. She’d been thinking about him and wishing he were here so many nights, his hands caressing her in places she’d only dreamed of. What had come over her when she started undressing him in the living room, she didn’t know. She’d never initiated lovemaking before. But he had an addictive power; the more she listened to his silky voice every night, talking about the things he would do when he made love to her, the more she longed for him to do it. He pushed her oversized tee up over her head. The smooth whiskers on his chin tickled her with each swathe of his tongue, moving down, up, over and across every inch of her waist. He kissed her hip bone, his tongue running parallel to the waistband of her shorts. “You like that?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper. He continued stroking, caressing, and exploring every region of her body with his hands, his lips, and his tongue. When their mouths met again, she was impatient with longing, her body aching to be joined by his. He pushed down her running shorts, his hand tracing a pattern against the waistband of her panties. Her stomach fluttered. For several long, menacing seconds, his fingers teased her warm center before dipping inside. Her hips arched off the bed. Needing something to hold on to, she wound her arms around his neck, her head rolling side to side against the pillow. Was it supposed to feel like this? “Thorne.” She found her voice. “Please.” She unbuckled his belt. His remaining clothes soon fell with hers on the floor. He returned to his task of pleasuring her. He kissed the mound of her left breast, slowly running his tongue along the edge of her nipple. “Please,” she begged again. “I’ve waited so long.” His lips quieted her pleas. They covered so much of her mouth, she thought he would ingest her. Then he broke away from her, moving toward the foot of the bed and fumbling around with his jeans. She heard the crinkling and tearing of paper and saw the movement of his arms at his waist and knew she wouldn’t have to wait any longer. He rejoined her and gathered her in his arms, his long legs running parallel to hers. Hovering over her, he gazed into her eyes, separating her legs with a gentle push of his knee. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Look at me.” Her eyes fluttered open at the soft command. He raised his hips slightly. “Guide me inside you.” She reached for him, stroking him gently, and he glided inside her. She closed her eyes again, gasping in sweet agony. “Open your eyes,” he said, cupping her head in his hands. “I want to look into your eyes.” His hips moved in a circular motion, and she arched to meet him. She wrapped her legs around his, her head spinning. He called to her with each thrust, and she answered back. She’d never dreamed making love could be like this. Her body felt as if it were aflame. With each rush of his hips, she met him with one of her own. They moved in harmony. She didn’t know what came over her. She arched her hips and rocked against him, her head wrenching from side to side. The pleasure was pure and explosive. “Yes, baby,” Thorne croaked. As he roused her passion, his own grew. He stilled his motion, holding her tight through her release. He didn’t want it to end. Not yet. He knew the slightest movement would send him over the edge. She writhed beneath him, lifted her head off the pillow, and brushed her lips against his hardened nipple. An electrifying shockwave coursed through him. He buried his head in the hollow of her neck, singing out her name in sweet surrender. End of Excerpt I attended the Black Butterfly Review Holiday Explosion chat on Sunday, and from what I could tell, most of the authors in attendance like it hot and steamy, as well. Check out some of the wonderful authors I met during the chat: A.C. Arthur, Gwyneth Bolton, Sheila Goss, Saundra E. Harris, Barbara Keaton, Samara King, Celeste Norfleet, Pamela Yaye, and Pamela Samuels Young. I stopped by their websites and I received a shocking surprise when I visited Ms. Yaye's site.