Halfway Sexy: Writing An Assertive Love Scene

Carlie McEwan is smart, tough, principled, and. . . young. She’s in her early twenties, so life is still unfolding for her like a series of doors that unlock as she grows.

Her lover is not young. In fact, Wulfric is more than a thousand years old, but he’s emotionally young in the sense that he’s been alone. Cut off from the world, and his own self. 

I have to ask myself how they come together. How do I show Carlie’s desire meshing with Wulfric’s need of her?

Here’s a sample from the next volume in the Halfway series. Tell me what you think.

“Hey.” Wulfric’s voice was warm in my ear, and I started lightly and turned to him in one smooth motion. His dark eyes regarded me with unbridled joy and I saw he’d tied his long blonde hair into a rough plait. The kiss of sun was on his golden colored skin, and a glowing face told me of the days ranging far across his lands.
 I forgot such details at our first touch.
 He swept me up in his arms and kissed me, long and deep, his lips cool at first but warming to the task. I wrapped myself around him like ivy, inhaling the woodsy scent of his clothes and that indefinable spice of his skin. He felt like home, and for the first time I started thinking that I didn’t really like him living in a cabin. In the woods. Far away. Yeah, the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.
            “Missed you,” I said into his chest. I had, but it melted away like a bad dream. I found a hidden reserve of strength and leaped onto him, wrapping my legs around his narrow hips.
            “You look tired, babe.” He held me upright with one powerful arm, the other hand stroking hair from my eyes. I knew I looked like roadkill, but his gaze flipped a switch in me from which there was no going back.
            “Take me upstairs.” My voice was rough with promise and need. He nodded, kissed me again, and began walking with me held to him so tightly I couldn’t tell where his mouth began and mine ended. I was ragged, dizzy with lust, and hollow from using so much power. I didn’t need him, I craved him.
            He lowered me to my bed with a delicacy I wouldn’t think such a big man could manage, his eyes simmering with a want so visceral I felt the hair rise on my arms. I smiled lazily as my eyes roamed over him, then I pulled him to me so I could get lost in his delicious tangle. The sheets flapped in protest as we slid beneath, our hands busy and mouths busier.

            He was wrong. I wasn’t tired. At least, not until he was, too.

What do you think? 

Cheers!
Terry

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