I noticed that lots of independent authors are writing stories that they classify as erotic or sexy when it’s just back to back sex scenes, neither real story nor real plot just people falling into bizarre sexual scenarios and that is classified as sexy.
All sex is not sexy. Sometimes its violent and disturbing and completely unrealistic, that’s not sexy. I don’t find being back alley pummeled a sexy thing. I find that the sexiest things are rarely the actual act but the anticipation. Maybe it’s just a matter of taste or what is expected, but not all sex has to be an act of aggression or some kinky thing that is meant to shock.
Don’t get me wrong, aggression is wonderful. And I love a good shock, but not at the expense of my characters. I love when the unexpected happens, but the tease so something wonderful is the best part. That’s why it’s called a Strip Tease, it entices the anticipation of what you know is coming.
****Also, side note, weird does not equal erotic. There are so many series that a published independently with the most bizarre story lines and I know that there must be a audience for it,I just cannot understand it. Far beyond the S&M world that has exploded in the wake of Fifty Shades of Grey where the sexy stranger has a twisted sensibility of what is sexy, things have gone from sexy to perverse. Did you know there are series’ about women having sex with dinosaurs? DINOSAURS! I say sex because honestly, that isn’t a relationship. I mean, Jurassic Park is not remotely sexy, it’s not a sexual thriller like Body Heat or Basic Instinct- It’s Jurassic Freakin PARK.. so Why? Who reads this and.. WHY? Sweet Baby Jesus on Fire. WHY? ***
Back to what I was saying…Sexy, in my opinion, is the flirtation of a couple. That feeling of -will this be it? In my book, The First to Fall there are several example of the tease, but this, one of the first true flirting scenes is my favorite:
“She understands. You’re just a hard man to forget.” She met his eyes, he paused, his cup half way to his lips. Silently, he placed the cup back on the table, his eyes smoldered and she could feel the room warm as the electricity in air rose. The lights dimmed slightly and flickered. The other patrons glanced up a few groaned but no one paid a great deal of attention to the change.
“Really?” He asked a twinkle in his eyes. In this light, they seemed more of an aquamarine than turquoise. He leaned back in his seat, openly observing her. She waved a hand at him.
“Please,” She snorted, trying to rein in the growing warmth of her body. “You know you’re gorgeous.” She said her voice low. “Just look around the room. The women are eating you up.” He glanced around the room and found that a few women and a couple of men were openly ogling him. Embarrassed, he shook it off.
“Once Ms. Deadwood got a taste, albeit a tiny taste, she realized that you are something special.”
“What about you?” He had absently reached for her hand; his thumb stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist, and her mouth went dry. His voice deepened and he leaned closer, his eyes darkening to a deep shade of navy.
“Would you like a taste?” Her cheeks grew hot and she crossed her ankles squeezing her thighs closed as a new heat began to grow. He gave her a wicked smile and in one swift movement, he pulled her chair closer until her thighs were trapped between his legs, holding her still just in case she’d planned on running again. His smile widened and those dimples made an appearance. Damn those dimples.
“Are you flirting with me, Detective?” She finally managed once she found her voice. She’d meant for it to sound light and fun, instead it came out low and throaty. She couldn’t help but focus on his lips; they were full and soft, tilted up in the most delicious smile. She wanted to nip his bottom lip with her teeth.
“Well, I’m trying my damnedest.” Her stomach fluttered at his intimate tone. “How am I doing?” He had her hands again, his finger around her wrist, pulling her closer still.
Simple. A conversation between people we know are attracted to each other but haven’t made that move just yet. As in life, we flirt with people all the time, but when it’s THE PERSON, a simple joke can become wrought with sexual tension in a split second. That is the art of seduction. That unexpected turn that has your heart racing and your palms sweating wondering- Is he/she going to kiss me? Should I kiss him/her?
A mood needs to be set . No one wants to be sexy when they are in danger, but when that danger passes, even for a brief moment.. that’s when sex is right. That need to feel alive and the best way to do that sometimes is with your protector, your savior. There is a reason we call the protagonist the Hero. It’s sexy to feel like someone is there to catch you when you fall, to hold you and bring you back from the verge. That hot, deep whisper against your skin, that’s what’s sexy. Strong arms holding you, protection. That’s sexy.
“I have you.” A deep baritone whispered close to her ear. She stopped moving, feeling hard arms encircling her waist, holding her body still against a very masculine, very naked body. His hands were large, strong as they moved up her ribs, his lips brushing the tender flesh just beneath her ear.
“I have you, love.” He spoke in a language that was long dead, so ancient it had no name, yet she understood. It was the language of the primordials, something that she had known when she was younger. The language of her grandmother.
“Give me your lips.” He said and she felt her body turn into liquid heat, melting against him. She turned her head in the gloom and his lips captured hers. Soft full lips pressed against hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips, tasting her. She moaned, leaning back into him, her hand moving up to cup the back of his head, holding him, bringing him closer. His head was smooth and cool beneath her fingertips. “Open your eyes and breath,” He breathed into her mouth, his fingers tracing the curve of her breasts, his body hot and erect against the small of her back. She did as he said, slowly opening her eyes and gasped in surprise.
Maybe I am biased since I love a sexy story, but like I said, sometimes the sexiest part of the story has nothing to do with the actual act. People need to realize that what is sexy is not kink, which can be sexy but not necessarily. Sex is not the story; it’s not the point of these two characters coming into each other’s lives. Even the most sexually charged characters have to have more than just sex. They need a true connection a real feel that these people belong together. One of the sexiest things I have ever written, was the moment that led up to sex, that tenderness and affection that lead to the raw abandon of two people who cannot be without each other, yet in the moments before- he barely touches her.
In the blush of the fire light, her caramel skin glowed golden, the thin lace of her panties and bra slick to her skin, her nipples straining the thin material. She looked magnificent, like something out of a dream, which she was, after all. He motioned for her to sit beside him on the rug in front of the fire. Holding her arm, he looked at it .The dozens of tiny holds looked painful, and her arm was swelling and bruising in the dim light. He flinched at the sight of it.
Carefully, he reached for the first aid kit and began cleaning the wound. “What happened?” He asked. Quietly and through clenched teeth, she told him of her battle with the demon. Guilt and anger played across his face in tandem.
“I tried to call, but didn’t you answer. Why won’t you look at me?” She inhaled sharply as he began patting her arm dry, pain racketing through her body in waves. He couldn’t face her; instead he focused on wrapping bandage around her forearm, securing it. When he was done, he turned away, not able to meet her gaze. Instead, he focused on the crackling fire.
“Eli, look at me.” She touched his cheek turning him to face her. He kept his eyes averted, staring at her lips, her earlobe, anywhere except her eyes. He was ashamed of himself.
“I can’t. You need to take everything off. I’ll put them in the dryer.” He said referring to her underwear, his voice thick and low. She stood slowly, willing him to look at her as she slowly released the clasp of her bra, and let the material slip off of her arms and to the floor. He turned to watch her out of sheer need, unable to explain it; he was compelled to look at her. When she touched the elastic of her panties, she could hear him inhale sharply in anticipation. She took her time, pushing one side off of her hips, then the other, her injured arm held closely to her chest. As she moved to get the robe; her entire body covered in gooseflesh; he’d never seen anything so sexy in his life.
He reached up and took the band from her hair, letting it fall in drying curls past her shoulders, singed chunks falling to the floor. She looked at him with heavy lidded eyes, her moist lips slightly parted. He grazed her lips with his, a touch so light it could have been a thought, no other parts of them touching. She closed her eyes, and felt the void of him in front of her. She felt him move behind her where he took the towel and began drying her hair, from the top of her head, gently moving down.
“Your hair is burned.” He whispered close to her ear, before he took his time, separating the tangled waves with his fingers, his lips on one bruised shoulder blade, and then the other.
Finally, the towel dropped to her feet, his lips touching each of the bruises on her back, and then he was still and silent. Turning to face him, not saying a word, her eyes searched his face. He kept his eyes down cast as she kissed him softly on the cheek, trying to get some reaction, something from him other than silence. Instead, he reached for the robe, wrapping her in the thick terrycloth that smelled so strongly of him, she inhaled and snuggled into its warmth.
Like I said, sometimes sexy isn’t just about the sex.