Tuesday, February 2, 2010


She wiped away her tears as she sat her newest romance novel down and wrapped her arms around herself. Caroline knew what sex was. She'd even made love to a couple of men. She wasn't sure it rated as high as the just-for-fun sex she'd had, but it was certainly pleasurable and she wouldn't deny it if it came her way again. What she felt starved for was passion full of the energy only great urgency could cause. Passion, she thought, is what they portray in romance novels. She went to sleep with these thoughts in her head.

Two months later, she was dating a man who made her feel giddy, light headed, dizzy with the anticipation of just seeing his silhouette in the glass of her front door. The relationship was moving slowly, a change from the normal rush-to-intimacy she usually expected and kind of craved. He would hold her hand when they were walking down the street and he kissed her goodnight at the door or sometimes in the kitchen or living room, but there had been little else.

She was surprised when he came over a week later, unannounced, and told her he couldn't wait any longer to make love to her. Just the words sent a strong current of electricity through her body. He approached her, cupping her face between his hands and pulling her lips to his. Her body followed and they embraced tightly. She could feel the entire surface of her skin warm as they entangled themselves stumbling to her bedroom. She wanted nothing more than to be with him.

He laid her on the bed, his kisses following the curve of her neck to her collarr bone and down the line of her sternum. Her breath was quickening and she closed her eyes against the bright white walls, choosing to savor his touch. His hands moved from her waist to her hips and then under her dress. She could feel him slide her black lace panties over her thighs, her knees, her ankles with a single smooth action. She expected to feel his weight on top of her and him entering her like all the other men. Instead, he stepped back.

Alarmed, she opened her eyes, propping herself on both elbows so she could see if there was a problem. He stood about a foot away, looking at her intently, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She smiled at him warmly. "It doesn't have to be rushed like this. Let's slow down." he said quietly. She still wanted to be with him, but she wanted him to be the hero from one of her Harlequin books. Part of her was disappointed that their path was changing so abruptly. Part of her was grateful for the different experience.

He approached her again, lifting her from the bed. She traced his well defined muscles, kissing his chest. She could feel his breath quicken again. He turned and sat gently on the bed, sliding her dress up and pulling her down so she was sitting on his lap. She moved to wrap her legs around him. He began to kiss her again, just as before. He reached around, unzipping the back of her dress. The straps fell off her shoulders, baring more of her breasts. He pulled her closer still. They fell into an easy groove.

It wasn't until every cell of her body fell into chaos that he entered her. The feeling made them both cry out and their movements quickened, moving well beyond the passion they had in the beginning. They clung to each other, giving more and more of themselves with each passing second. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades and he placed rough kisses wherever he could plant them. Finally, they laid trembling next to one another. She kept her eyes closed and felt the slowing of her heaving chest. She felt his fingertips lightly scraping against the side of her arm, the weight of his body draped over hers, the hotness of his breath still in the crook of her neck. Romance novels, she thought, had a lot to learn about passion.


  1. Well I don't know what to say. I like it but there are a few pacing problems. I can't put my finger on it It is almost as if you are holding back something.

  2. I think I spent too much time deciding how far to go with their actions. I started with one destination, basically chickened out, and was forced to a different end spot.

  3. I feel challenged to write that scene in my head from my Victorian story I will add it to my list.

  4. Um...well...it was good. I agree with VIcki, there is something missing, but it is good, though. If you feel like you were trying to decide something (and want to work with this again), perhaps you can just rewrite it AND NOT THINK...don't even go near the backspace/delete button. just write. Curious to see the rewrite.

    Nice racy story, I must add.