The Art of Making Love…On Paper

One of the most challenging things for me to write is a bed scene between my hero and his lady love.

Why?

Because lovemaking isn’t just the joining of two bodies with one singular purpose. Lovemaking is emotions made tangible.

Pages and pages of sexual tension, heated looks, and fiery touches culminate in that moment. The world and its cares melt away. And this couple, who have been fighting (maybe even ignoring) the pull between them, is left alone in a cocoon of sighs and moans, of whispers and groans.

Sexual tension between the hero and heroine often begins with a touch–a brush of fingertips, the clasp of hands, an accidental embrace, a kiss.

It’s purely physical at first. Brooding heroes casting lust-filled stares at the heroine. Delightful shivers dancing down the heroine’s spine when she catches the hero’s attention. A simple greeting from one to the other evokes images of entwined bodies, tangled sheets, and pleasure beyond their wildest imaginations.

But will that moment live up to the hype?

The connection shared by the hero and heroine has to be, in my opinion, felt from the very beginning. It has to grow from Point A and explode by the time they reach Point Z. Without that kind of tempo in a story, sex is…sex, a copulating of bodies seeking physical satisfaction in one another.

And that, my friends, can ruin an utterly fantastic book.

What happened to the fire, the heat? Who are these two people you’re reading about? Where’d their undeniable need for each other go?

It’s in this moment that a writer can truly shine.

Can I, the author, make this couple’s lovemaking more than just mechanics? Can I make you feel hot and bothered with just words? Can I make you feel like a welcomed voyeur in this couple’s private world? Will you close the book feeling satisfied that nothing was lost between this man and woman? Or will you close the book wondering what the hell happened?

This is where the use of your senses, made tangible through descriptive writing, comes in. Descriptive writing, when done correctly, draws the reader into the characters’ world. It sucks you into each page, makes you hold your breath in anticipation, and sigh in satisfaction.

It’s not enough to write, He touched her. She moaned.

Those simple statements demand so much more: How did he touch her? Where did he touch her? What did he touch her with? Why did she moan? How else did she react? Did she like it? Hate it? Want more? Less?

So let me try again:

He touched her then, dragging his fingers over her shoulders to her back, massaging her soft strength while rolling so she was beneath him. Her softness yielded to his hardness. Her curves molded to his angles. He groaned. She was made for him, made to take him, made to be his and his only.

He angled his head, caressed her lips with his tongue until she moaned and opened for him, welcomed him into her moist heat with an answering sweep of her tongue against his. Leveraging his weight on his forearms, he tore away to trail his mouth over her throat. She arched up with a gasp and mumbled incoherently when he nipped where her neck curved into her shoulder. He chuckled, delighted by her reaction to him.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly. “Touch me.”

He laughed again then sucked hard at the skin rising over her black bra. Goosebumps rippled over her chest. Sweat glistened in the hollow at the base of her throat. “Where? Here?”

He tongued the valley between her breasts. She bucked beneath him. He clamped his hands to her hips, holding her in place despite her whimpered protests.

“Or here?” Using his teeth, he drew one lacy cup down and touched the tip of his tongue to the dark pink nipple cresting her perfect breast. She shuddered and he smiled before drawing more of her soft flesh into his mouth.

The best love scenes I’ve read are written so eloquently, so beautifully, that I’m utterly enthralled by the characters and this passionate act. I can see them clearly in my mind, see every kiss, every caress, every thrust; can hear every soft slap of flesh on flesh, hear every whispered promise and plea, gasp, sigh, and moan.

The art of making love doesn’t differ between reality and fiction. It’s learning to take that reality and make good, readable fiction.

I don’t just want to write a good love scene. I want to write a terrific love scene.

I don’t want to write a “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” love scene. I don’t want to write about a man and woman going through the motions. I don’t want to write about a couple with a minor interest/attraction to each other.

I want to write slow love scenes, the kind that gives the reader goosebumps. I want to write about a couple that are so attuned to each other that their feelings are completely palpable to the reader. I want to write about an attraction so powerful it takes the reader’s breath away when the couple finally lands in bed together.

The art of making love on paper isn’t a simple, unemotional process. Rather, it’s one filled with emotions, hopes, fears, needs, wants, like, love, and lust. It’s being able to take something so natural in our world and making it absolutely beautiful in the characters’ world with just words. And it’s being able to paint an accurate picture that doesn’t shortchange the author, the reader, or the characters.

Gone

Another sneak peek at the fantasy I’m working on.

You’ve met Arkana, the New Earth healer, and Alexander, Aleria’s King, in Touch. Now meet Treynor (Trey), Alexander’s eldest son and Crown Prince of Aleria.

This scene takes place in Arkana’s bedchambers.

~~~

She was gone.

Nothing of her remained, not a stitch of her linen clothing, not the sweet smell of her Borellean perfume. It was almost as if she’d never been there.

Trey turned in a slow circle and imagined her there–standing by the windows bathed in sunlight, sitting on the chaise at the foot of the bed, walking from the connected bathroom with little more than cotton wraparound on. He slammed his eyes shut but that particular image lingered, burned forever into his memory since the day it’d happened.

He’d run her to ground that day, chased her from one room to another based on information from the servants, his guests, and his family. Furious and frustrated that she eluded him by mere seconds, he stormed uninvited into her room, bellowing her name as the doors swung shut behind him.

She appeared from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wet and fragrant and glorious to behold. The dark purple wraparound clung to her every curve and stopped mid-thigh. He swallowed, struggled to remain standing when all he wanted was to throw himself at her feet and kiss every inch of her long, gorgeous legs. Instead, he snapped his gaze back to hers. Concern glittered in her dark eyes and lined her forehead.

“Yes?”

Trey’s anger dissipated with that single word. He forgot why he was looking for her, forgot why he needed to speak with her. Desire flamed through his veins. He longed to take her in his arms, trace her warm flesh with his fingers, follow the path of that drop of water with his lips and tongue. There were no words to describe the goddess before him, not that he could have formed a single sentence to save his life. He was too aware of her effect on him to care about anything else.

Trey’s eyes snapped open and he looked down with a groan. Apparently he was still too aware of her effect on him.

But memories weren’t what he wanted. Not right now.

He wanted her.

But he couldn’t have her.

“Sir?”

Lost in thought, Trey hadn’t heard the double doors to the room open. He gasped and spun. His father’s head servant Corlian stood in the doorway.

Irritation simmered in Trey’s chest, at what or at whom he didn’t know. Clearing his throat, he gestured for the old man to enter. “What is it?”

Corlian held out a transmission disc. Aleria’s symbol of arms, an upside-down V against a background of flames, decorated the curved surface. “She left it for you.”

Trey didn’t need him to clarify the “she.” They both knew who “she” was. “I see.”

He took the disc, turning it over to inspect the smooth bottom. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The quiet snick of the door signaled Corlian’s exit. Trey shook his head at the man’s ability to come and go so quietly, then turned his attention to the disc in his hand. He flipped it over and pressed his fingertips to the symbol of arms. Instantly, her image appeared. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and traced the curve of her holographic cheek. His fingers passed through the flickering image. Loss enveloped him, stole his breath away.

Fates, he missed her.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on Arkana’s image. She stared at him, as if she could see him, her gaze so intense it made his skin crawl with anticipation. Would her message be good? Or bad?

Time slowed. His surroundings disappeared. Then, at last, she spoke.

Touch

Below is a portion of a fantasy I’m beginning to work on. A brief introduction to the characters you’ll meet:

Arkana: A New Earth healer who’s come to the planet Aleria with one purpose: heal King Alexander Weysh.
Alexander: A childhood accident involving an S-1 Transport robbed the reigning king of his ability to walk without a cane or medication. Doctors from across the galaxy have tried for years to rid him of the pain that plagues him but to no avail.

This scene takes place in the study in the home of Alexander’s oldest son, Trey. Arkana has sought out the king to offer her help and make him whole again.

Enjoy.

~~~

“Why would you do this for me and ask for nothing in return?”

Arkana understood the wariness in Alexander’s voice. No one recommended a service, not even the kind she was offering, without demanding efficient compensation in return. But she had no use for money, land, or hollow promises. None would return the years spent away from her father. None could give her the security she craved in living one more day without fear of her mother.

What she did, she did out of obligation. She was gifted to heal, to ease the pain and suffering of those deemed worthy by the Fates. To ignore the pull of those who needed her and to deny the chance to be used as the Fates saw fit would only result in her experiencing unthinkable pain and suffering. Arkana shuddered. She’d experienced that once, and once was enough.

“I do this because I have to.” It wasn’t the full truth but Alexander needn’t know what consequences would befall her should she choose to disobey.

Skepticism darkened his brow as he studied her. She could see it in his expression, how he weighed the pros and cons of obliging her simply because she asked. He was a king, the commanding officer of Aleria’s army. He was raised to put the needs of his people first, taught to heed the advice of those closest to him when he doubted himself. In the eyes of his people, he was a tower of strength, a source of reassurance, a man who stood tall and held firm in the face of opposition. He didn’t give into the whims of a citizen, not even for the promise of being made whole. But she needed him, just this once, to trust someone beneath his rank and believe that she could do what she promised to do.

“You have nothing to fear, Your Grace,” she said softly and slid from the chair to kneel at his feet. Bowing her head, she continued. “It costs you nothing to accept my gift, and you have my word that I will not speak of this to anyone.”

Silence met her vow, stretching ruthlessly between them until she wonder if, perhaps, she should rise and leave. But something in her insisted she wait, that she give him just a few more seconds to think on what she’d said. So she waited, head bowed, hands clasped on her thighs, for his answer.

“Your discretion in this situation would be appreciated more than the promise of healing my bloody leg,” Alexander muttered. “I’ll hold you to your promise of keeping quiet.”

Arkana sighed in relief and nodded her consent. “Of course.”

Reaching out, she grasped the hem of his left pant leg and quickly rolled it to his knee. He bent and clenched the material in his fist.

“Thank you,” she whispered without looking up.

“Get on with it,” he growled impatiently.

She nodded and took a deep breath. Strength and resolution coursed through her veins, starting from her heart and spreading down her arms and into her hands. She smiled as that familiar warmth encompassed her being. It was that one moment before a healing began that she enjoyed the most–the calm before the pain. Taking one last soothing, calming breath, she wrapped her hands around Alexander’s calf and closed her eyes.

For a moment, all she saw was darkness. Then pinpoints of light poked through the murkiness to guide her to where she needed to go.

The faint outline of her hands appeared, the healing blue aura surrounding her fingertips telling her she was in the right place. But the muscles, weak from botched surgeries and years of lack of use, shriveled at her initial touch. Searing heat poured into her palms, stunning her. He was rejecting her! Whether willingly or not, his body was turning on her, pushing her away!

Sending a silent prayer to the Fates and hoping they were listening, Arkana tried again. Alexander’s pained cries echoed in her ears, nearly prompting her to stop. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not when she’d waited so long to be here, to do this!

Please, don’t let my coming here be for nothing! Desperate to ease the king’s pain and to fulfill the promise she’d made, she pushed forward, reaching through the scorching heat to the muscles beneath. They firmed and tightened, stretched until they couldn’t. Only then did Arkana sigh with relief.

Because it was done.

The year of waiting, of praying and hoping for this chance, had been worth it. And she could leave without a single regret, return to Farran knowing she served the Fates well and fulfilled her promise to Alexander.

He was whole again.

Writer’s Thoughts

It’s October 31! Can you believe Halloween’s here? Psh. Can you believe the end of October’s here?

Yeah… I can’t either, lol.

Just some quick thoughts from my cluttered mind before I hideaway for a while and edit AW:

My prayers and thoughts to those on the East Coast who have lost loved ones and/or things in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. I pray for God’s peace as you piece together your lives again, for aid to come quickly where it’s needed most, and for this nation to rise and offer its support for our fellow Americans.

Angel’s Wings will be pulled down from my blog tonight so I can begin edits. I’m thrilled to start on it and I’m hoping (keep your fingers crossed!) to sub it to Sweet Cravings Publishing, the sweeter side of Secret Cravings Publishing. The story’s a long way from being submittable material but I’m hoping to get it there in the next month or so.

I haven’t written diddly-squat since ending Angel’s Wings. I’m so happy for the break too. Never thought I’d be elated to actually admit that but I am. I’ve taken up origami (a favorite pastime from my childhood) and am teaching it to Kid 1. We’re gonna make a mobile for Kid 2. And here I thought I didn’t have a crafty bone in my body!

My one sports related thought has to do with my hometown baseball team. Yup! I’m a born and bred San Francisco girl. My loyalty belongs to the SF Giants. Congrats, guys, on your second World Series Championship win since moving to SF! Woohoo!

LOL

Have a safe and sane Halloween tonight, everyone! Don’t eat too much candy! Don’t drink too much! And I’ll see y’all around the blogging world!

Until next time, happy reading!

Mirriam

Writer’s Thoughts

It’s official.

Angel’s Wings is complete. I’m sad and happy to say that. I can’t remember the last time I wrote a story where the characters meant so much to me.

Yet Caleb and Angelina have.

I suppose there’s a special place in every author’s heart for every character they create. After all, each hero and heroine aren’t just figments of our imagination. They do, at some point, become real people to us. Maybe it’s because of the situations they’re put in. Maybe it’s the circumstances under which they emerge a better person. Maybe it’s the way they love. Not just each other, mind you, but the way they love those they hold close to their hearts.

The ending to AW was heartbreaking to write. I didn’t want their story to end but I knew it was time. They met, faced and conquered their fears, overcame the bumps in their relationship, and emerged a strong, united couple meant to be together. It wasn’t just a love story for now but a love story forever.

I can say I accomplished my goal, because I did. They found love in each other’s arms, found a way to thrive despite past mistakes, came to understand that comparisons to past loves don’t matter one iota in their present relationship.

But I’m still sad to write “The End” to their story.

*sigh*

Edits will begin on AW in a few weeks. I want to take a breather, want to be able to read their story with a clear head and without feeling like I’m saying goodbye forever to something.

I don’t regret the way I wrote their story. I don’t regret the lack of sex scenes. *grins* Believe it or not, I questioned my writing and actually asked my Muse if I should’ve written out their first love scene. She said it was fine the way it was, that the reader knew where it was going. *chuckles* Made me feel better because (to be honest) I didn’t want to write out a sex scene in this book. I loved Caleb and Angelina’s connection, but felt it would be disrespectful to Angelina to write out such an intimate moment.

Weird, huh? Disrespect for a fictional person! Anyone care to explain that to me?

Yet I’m happy with it the way it is. Hopefully, I’m happier when it’s edited and ready for publishing.

So while this blog is silent for a few weeks as I prep for edits (and work on something new, lol) I thank you, my faithful friends and readers for your patience as this story was written. You have no idea how much I appreciate that you take time out of your busy days to read what I post here, and you have no idea how much I appreciate that you are here  to begin with!

I hope your October goes splendidly well for you. Happy Halloween, don’t eat too much candy, stay away from unwrapped goodies, and enjoy the smell and fell of Autumn that’s all around you.

Happy reading!