Welcoming Jane Leopold Quinn to the blog today as a guest writer for the writing workshops. She has some wonderful ideas for writing those hot, hot, hot! sex scenes. Enjoy!
HOW TO WRITE THE LIMB-NUMBING LOVE SCENE
© by Jane Leopold Quinn
Let me tell ya', writing the hot,
sensual, erotic, pulse-throbbing, limb-numbing love scene is only slightly less
fun than participating in one. Writing it might be better because there are
usually no miscues, no unseemly noises, no falling asleep right after it's
over.
Actually, I like to write a scene
that doesn't quite make it. I love to frustrate my hero. He becomes embarrassed
in his "failure" and then obsessed with making it up to the heroine.
I love a man who tries harder.
In truth, who can live up to what
we come up with in our imaginations? The kind of love making we write primarily
takes place at the beginning of a relationship and/or during some dangerous or
suspenseful situation which is often hotter than it devolves into as the years
go by. That's what makes it a romance novel. The initial pulse-pounding
excitement of new love, whether it's graphic or more sweetly written.
And I'm not saying that love
making down the road in a relationship can't be pulse-pounding, limb-numbing
sex, but generally, romance novels are about the dawn of love.
Let me list a few guidelines that
I use — certainly not a complete list — for writing my love scenes:
1. Pretend I'm the camera circling around my couple,
viewing them from all angles.
2. Close my eyes (most of us are probably touch
typists), go into my "zone," and run the scene through my imagination.
3. Choreograph my characters' actions step by
step, knowing where their hands and legs and lips are at all times.
4. Use a delicate flick or brush of a fingertip
to focus attention in a particular place. This makes the love scene, which is
already a personal thing, even more intimate and focused.
5. And, not least — I sometimes use humor to
give the scene another dimension.
I'll use some of my own favorite
scenes/examples to illustrate my points.
* * * * *
From HOME TO STAY, available now at - http://amzn.com/B00P3AQ8WQ
…a bit of humor
…Hank falls asleep…
Panic. It's too fast. He bent to kiss her. He nudged his hips between her
thighs, spread them, canted up her knees, his lips covering hers, consuming her
mouth, and with no more preliminaries, no more foreplay than that, he plunged
in. She uttered one low, continuous moan. It felt glorious. God, he was big,
expanding, filling her unused muscles, forcing them to accept his length and
breadth. He stretched out over her, straight-armed himself up again, and
started to withdraw.
"Christ. Christ. Oh…damn."
He was wild-eyed, shaking his head, hot breath puffing out like a steam engine.
She whimpered a no at what she
thought was the loss of him. Then, he dipped in, did a little something with
his hips, a little swirl just inside the entrance to her vagina. "Yes…yes…yes…"
She squeezed her eyes closed at the delicious feel of him, arched up to meet
him.
Balanced on one arm, he hooked her
leg and pulled her knee upright, sliding inside further.
"God," she wailed and
raised her other knee. Now, he was in all the way, filling her deeply, stroking
every little nerve ending. "Oh, God!" It had been months and months,
she was extremely sensitive, and he was magnificent.
It couldn't have been more than
five thrusts, and he came. He stopped, buried as deeply as possible and nudged
at her.
She moaned and tossed her head,
felt the throb of his ejaculation. Any second now he'd do it again, and she'd
come. God, he's heavy. No longer straight-armed above her he was crushing her
chest. She opened her eyes and really looked at him. Still inside her, he
groaned, a self-satisfied sound, his eyes closed, his face nestled against her
ear.
Goddamn.
He's asleep. The son of a bitch is asleep!
* * * * *
More from HOME TO STAY -
focused attention…
Hank suggested a certain purchase
to Nickie…
He thought he might bawl. His head
spun. Bare. Naked. Skin. "Damn,"
he rasped into her mouth. "You bought 'em. The thong." He pulled her
tighter against his hard, pulsing cock. "Goddamn." High on her hips,
he sought the elastic band from the top of the T stretched across the shallow
indentations above her ass. His forefinger delved down, tracing the path of her
crack. "Jesus Christ, Almighty," he intoned reverently.
Neither breathed now.
He wanted inside her. Wanted to
push her down and thrust inside her. His palm caressed her pussy, his fingers
led him to her wet heat. Closer and closer. He inched the elastic aside. Dizzy
with lust and hope, he lightly pinched her folds, slicking through the
moisture. She seemed to be as lost as he was, moaning softly, continuously, and
shimmying on his hand, pushing, urging him, pulling him into her heat.
She was so wet, so hot, so ready.
He wanted to take his time, wanted to do this slowly, wanted the maximum
pleasure for both of them. And, he didn't know if he could take it slow. Almost
terrified at the intensity of his feelings, he knew he was in this too far to
stop.
His lips skimmed over her face, her
moans and soft pleas rasped in the night air. He circled the softening entrance
to her body, the scent of her arousal drawing him in deeper. His thumb nudged
her hot, stiff clit. "I owe you," he groaned.
"Uh…yeah."
That was all the permission he
needed. He thrust two fingers inside her, filling her; his lips took the sound
of her guttural growl as she arched into him.
Hard thrusts in, slow, dragging
pulses pulling out. Over and over until she was stretched as tightly as a bow.
And he was the arrow. She was wet…so hot…tight. On the verge of coming—he could
feel the rippling contractions on his fingers—she panted and ground against
him.
"Oh, God," she whimpered.
He placed his lips at her ear. "Come
on, baby. I'm here." Slow and easy, he slid his fingers in and out. In
hard, out slowly.
Her body shuddered.
* * * * *
.jpg)
From VALENTINE'S DAY, available now at - http://amzn.com/B007JCTXRS
…focus and choreograph…
"Oh, God, do it."
"Do what, Val?" He made
his voice ingratiating, as if he didn't know what she wanted. I know what I
want. To push her knees apart and thrust his cock as far in as it could go.
Restraining his wild need, he gazed directly into her eyes. "What do you
want me to do, sweetheart?"
"Unh, you know." She
arched her back, thrusting her breasts in his face.
Her gem-hard, little nipples rasped
on his cheek. His voice went low and whispery. "Tell me what you want me
to do," as his lips caressed the outer curve of one breast.
"Unh…"
"Say it." He lapped a wet
path down her center, then nuzzled his nose into the fold under her breast.
"Tell…" Nip. "…me." Lick. Nip.
"Put…your…mouth…on…" She
was obviously in shivery agony, her quick breaths joggling his head.
"Where?" Rafe's mouth
hovered over a nipple, letting his hot breath bathe her. Letting her
anticipate. Torturing himself in the process.
"Nipple." She stretched
the word out, a shrill order.
With a loud, snorting, flumping
sound, Rafe obeyed and engulfed as much of her breast as he could get into his
mouth.
"Oh, Jesus."
He heard her, knew it was more than
she expected, and chuckled inwardly. Then he drew his lips up and suckled her
in earnest. Suckle. Swirl. Suckle. Nip. Lap. Her head rolled from side to side.
She'd drawn her knees up on either side of his hips and knocked them
frantically into him.
"Rafe," she begged.
* * * * *
.jpg)
From A PROMISE AT DAWN, available now at - http://amzn.com/B00KX8KGL2
…choreograph and humor…
"I haven't had an orgasm,
other than self-induced, in years," she whispered.
He cocked his head. "Pardon
me? Years? You mean since your husband died."
She rubbed a hand over her face,
pinching the bridge of her nose.
He threaded his fingers through the
hair at her temple and smoothed it back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
"Ken, my husband, was ill the
last few years of his life." She didn't want to say any more, hoping Gil
would understand.
"I'm sorry," he said
again. "You had a rough time of it."
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she
blinked them back. "I don't want to talk about that right now," she
whispered.
"Okay, honey. Let's talk about
this."
He brushed gentle fingers over her
cheeks, against the corner of her mouth and covered her lips with his. She forgot
the past. She concentrated on how wonderful it felt to be in his arms, to touch
his skin, to curl her fingers around his muscular shoulders. His pony tail
dropped over his shoulder and tickled the side of her face.
In the recesses of her consciousness,
she heard dogs barking and tore her mouth away from his. "Gil, someone
might be coming."
He nuzzled the hollow of her
throat, eliciting a responsive moan from her.
"Gil." She gave his
shoulders a little push. When he pulled up, she immediately missed the
blanketing warmth of his body. A breeze cooled the heated perspiration coating
her skin, making her shiver.
He got the message just as two
greyhounds loped up to them, stopping short to cock their heads at the humans.
Pulling the sides of her sweater together, she hastily buttoned it leaving her
bra undone. Gil grabbed his shirt and slipped it back on. The dogs were soon
followed by their owner.
"Hello, Mrs. Smithson,"
she greeted the older woman, hoping her smile didn't look like that of a guilty
teenager.
* * * * *
.jpg)
From JAKE AND IVY,
available now at - http://amzn.com/B00OEFC9LK
…focus and choreograph — literally,
choreograph…
He didn't know exactly why but one
dancer, eyes downcast, drew his gaze. Her feet slowly tapping a pulsing rhythm,
she raised her skirts above her ankles, white frothy petticoats contrasted
against her deep red gown. Then she hiked her skirts further, the ruffles
cascading down her side. He stared at her narrow stamping feet, her long slim
legs encased in black stockings. Her free arm sinuously, gracefully waved above
her head. At the same moment his gaze touched her face, her head snapped up and
her dark eyes met his.
And all hell—and heaven—broke
loose.
Frozen in place, his arm, whiskey
glass in hand, arrested as it rose to his lips. He clenched his other hand into
a tight fist. Holding his breath, aware of the heat blanketing his chest and
flaring through his belly, he heard a buzzing, like dozens of bees all fighting
a range war in his ears. Blinking once, slowly, and realizing his mouth was
open, he closed it with a snap of teeth. Grasping the warm stone arch next to
him helped recover his equilibrium.
Turning her face away, she twirled
around tapping out a beat echoing in every thud of his heart. Young innocent
eyes, wide eyes, locked on his again. As she moved, bending and weaving her
graceful dancer's body and arms, her sensuous Madonna smile teased him. After
every spinning turn, she unerringly found him in the crowd. His body, after its
long deprivation of female companionship, reacted to the messages sent down by
his brain. Heat radiated from his trembling middle like too much whiskey on an
empty stomach. Except this feeling was a hundred times more joyous and a
hundred times more terrifying—and baffling. The heat washed over him warming
his cold lonely heart. Sweat broke out over his upper lip. Nothing existed
except this moment—no future, no past. Just this. He had lusted before
certainly. But this was more.
And he knew it. Down deep.
He knew.
I
want her. He hoped he hadn't said it aloud. I need her.
No!
Panic-stricken, he argued with himself. Damn
it. I don't need anyone.
The girl was a fine dancer. The
footwork was simple enough but her arms and hands were the focus of her
movements. Her long slim arms demonstrating the push-pull of the lovemaking of
the flamenco hypnotized him. His lips pursed in a silent whistle. He wanted to
wrap his hands around her lean supple waist and caress every inch of her. He
wanted to trail his mouth all over her too—very slowly.
It was almost painful to watch her
face, her amazingly changeable face. She looked sweet and innocent as a kitten
one minute, the next she became sensuous and pouty, eyes flashing, hair flying.
Her dark eyes and red full lips contrasted startlingly against the white of her
face. His throat ached with the rapid beating of his heart and he passingly
wondered why a Mexican girl's skin was so pale.
* * * * *
From ANCIENT
TIES, alas, not available at the moment - coming soon!
…focus,
choreograph, and circling like a camera…
© "Take it off me," she countered.
His breath caught in his throat.
Aroused beyond what he thought possible by her demand and the low rumble of her
voice, he roughly jerked her tunic to her waist. Her bare breasts swollen and
quivering, his mouth watered at the compelling sight of their cherry red tight
nipples. Groaning, he bent his head and closed his mouth around one, suckling
hard, massaging her with his tongue. Sweet woman. Salty from sweat and tasting
of desire. He curled his big hands around her middle and pulled her up, wanting
her closer. She squirmed and wiggled, cried out, raked her fingernails on his
shoulders. Arousal building to the bursting point, he drew on her breast and
rolled her nipple with his tongue until he heard her shrill moans over the
pounding of his heart.
Abruptly, he released her and
dragged his bare chest across her soft breasts. Gripping her cheeks, he angled
his head and took possession of her lips. Parting them, he swept his tongue roughly
in, greedily invading every corner the same way he wanted to shove his cock
into her ripe pussy.
The tunic clinging to her hips had
to come off. Reaching behind his neck, he grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms
above her head, pinning them to the wooden door.
"Yes," Janney growled.
The man he'd fought, it had been the man from last night.
This was a different Marek. The
primal warrior she'd only glimpsed last night. His breathing, harsh and loud,
puffed on her face and neck as he kissed her hard. Her breasts bobbed with her
choppy breaths. He roughly palmed them, cupping and squeezing then together in
one large hand. Groaning gutturally, she arched into him. He jerked her tunic
down. She twisted her hips, frantic for him.
The soft material of his leggings
barely restrained his taut erection. She wanted that. Wanted his thick cock.
Inside her. She rubbed her pussy against his thigh and panted, "Fuck me!"
Hot and ready, begging. "Please…"
Two quick shoves and his leggings
came off. Kicked away.
She was dizzy at the sight of his
jutting cock, as hard and feral as he was. His muscles glistened—bulging
shoulders and thighs. He was huge, overwhelming, overpowering and she wanted
him to master her. To surround her in his potent heat.
His eyes glittered savagely and he
raked his gaze over her body from her confined wrists to her bare scrunching
toes. He ground his cock on her belly, his body slipping and sliding with sweat
against hers.
She hissed in carnal excitement.
With an answering growl, he
released her hands, roughly gripped her bottom and lifted her. "Spread
your legs."
Finally!
He thrust. Deeply.
Triumphant, she tightened her arms
around his neck and her legs around his waist.
Belly to belly. Chest to breast. He
was in. Her slick pussy closed around his heat, taking him home. "God,
yes…" The cry tore out of her. She rocked, felt her interior muscles
fiercely massage him, tighten around him. Started coming.
* * * * *
Here are a few questions that have been asked about erotic
writing. These are just my opinions, so anyone else should jump in here too:
1. What makes
erotic romance good?
If it turns you, as the writer or
reader, on then it's good. What's the point of it otherwise? Warm and fuzzy,
hot and bothered, or you need to run into the other room for your partner or a
device — whatever — that's the point of erotic romance. Whether there's a story
or not, if it doesn't turn you on, then it's not erotic. Sweet or mild sex may turn you on, but erotic must!
2. Do you write
only what appeals to you or cater to the marketplace?
You write both. You can do both if
you're creative. Readers expect certain acts from certain authors or certain
publishers. I've had to creatively write to that without sacrificing how I want
my scene to be. If there are scenes or sex acts or words that you do not want
to write, then look around for another publisher or publish the book yourself.
There's a heat level for every taste out there.
3. Do you
incorporate scenes toward the male audience?
I think we primarily write for women.
I think romance novels are a primer for love making. They show men how women
like things done and what women like. They should be "required
reading" for the male population. 
4. What appeals
to males?
I cut out an article from Cosmo a couple years ago called,
"101 Hot Sex Tips from Guys." I thought it would come in handy. There
were some very interesting and surprising things listed from the very obvious
to the very specific. For example:
Say my name.
Nibble my bottom lip.
Never knock your body.
Watch me go in and out of you.
Wear high heels.
Suck on my stomach right below my
belly button. (Now, that's pretty
specific!)
* * * * *
Bio for Jane Leopold Quinn
Sensual fantasies were locked in my mind for years until a
friend said, "Why don't you write them down?" Why not, indeed? One
spiral notebook, a pen and the unleashing of my imagination later, and here I
am with more than a dozen books published. The craft of writing erotic romance
has become my passion and my niche in life. I love every part of the creative
process — developing characters, designing the plot, even drawing the layout of
physical spaces from my stories. My careers have been varied — third grade
school teacher, bookkeeper, secretary — none of which gave me a bit of
inspiration. But now I'm lucky enough to write romance full time — the best job
in the universe!
My Books
Ellora's Cave
Lost and Found
Indie
Valentine's Day
His Hers & His
The Keeper
Soldier, Come Home
Winning Violetta
A Promise at Dawn
Jake and Ivy
Wooing the Librarian
Home to Stay
The Long Road to You (coming
soon)
Siren
Undercover Lover
Mercenary Desires
I'll Be Your Last
Jane
Leopold Quinn
My
Romance: Love With a Scorching Sensuality
