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Six Sentence Sunday: Tied With a Bow
Yes, angels, it’s Six Sentence Sunday, that time of the week when I join in with hundreds of other writers to blog six playful sentences from one of our works. This week, I’m picked the freshly-minted short story “Tied With a Bow,” about a shy bookstore owner who writes scorching smut on the side, and the upstairs neighbors who find out about his secret kink and offer to indulge him, which I will be sending off to a chipper Christmas-themed erotica anthology in the next few days once I get responses from my beta readers. And now, here’s Paul, my shy bookstore owner/author, whose bedroom is right under his neighbors/crushes’ bedroom and gets to listen in to their romps whether he likes it or not…
What was it like, having sex with someone you loved? He’d never thought about having a threesome before Tim and Rory, but now…
He could imagine Tim on his hands and knees, saying something sweet and filthy over his shoulder as Rory fucked him. Or he could be on his back, legs hitched over the taller man’s shoulders. Or maybe the smaller man was the top, holding Rory braced against their headboard as he fucked deeply into his husband’s ass. He could almost see the redhead’s arms outstretched, holding onto the bedposts as if they were tied there, moaning helplessly at every thrust.
*pinches bridge of nose, sighs*
As a writer, I’m of the firm belief that I should read extensively in my field in order to know what’s popular, what’s not, and how best to entertain my audience when I write a story. (Of course, I also read outside my field so that I’m exposed to new concepts and don’t get boring as fuck, but that will be a topic for another post.). As a result, I’ve got one hell of a big library, both hardcopy and electronic, which includes a wide variety of SF, mystery, and erotic romance novels.
The electronic library is fairly new and is primarily erotic romance, mainly because of two things that happened at the same time — 1) I finally decided to load the Kindle app onto my iPad and 2) I discovered Bookstrand.com. As a result, I wound up buying a lot of ER novels over the last couple of months, both for pleasure and to study the field as I started writing in it. Some of these novels are by amazing writers such as Tymber Dalton (I cheerfully admit that I’ve got about half of her backlist on my iPad right now, and I plan on buying the rest as treats for myself when I hit certain writing goals), and they are a delight to read.
And then there are the ER writers, some of them mightily prolific, who…well, let’s be honest. They really, really need to work on their dialogue. There’s one series in particular that’s a guilty pleasure for me because I happen to enjoy the worldbuilding and the hot man-on-man action, but oh my sweet Fanny Adams the characters’ dialogue literally has me squirming in my seat, and not in the fun tingly way. Look, if you have two gorgeous wranglers ready to tear off their jeans and make with the sweet Alpha/beta man love, you expect them to sound…well, like guys in heat. Which is to say, grunts, moans, and sighed phrases along the lines of, “Oh, fuck, baby, your ass is so tight.” When they sound more like pedantic female English professors, it pours ice water on what should be a smoking hot scene and yanks me right out of the story.
That isn’t to say that a writer needs to be restricted to a certain class of words while writing a sex scene — I’ve read some pyroclastically hot stuff that never once named body parts. If a writer doesn’t want to use terms like cock, cunt, or asshole, that’s fine — different strokes and all that. Nonetheless, I damn well expect said writer to write dialogue appropriate to a character’s gender, social class and educational level, and if that character would say something like, “Get your ass in the air so I can fuck it nice and slow, baby,” then the writer had best pull on their Big Kid panties and use the appropriate words, or start writing in another genre. I mean, really, does anyone think that a big hairy-chested rancher who’s also an Alpha shifter would say, “Present to me — I want to view you”? (No, that’s not a real line of dialogue. Or at least I hope it isn’t.)
Don’t know what your cowboy would say? Rent some Westerns. Hang out at a kicker bar and eavesdrop. Go browse the local gear store and keep an ear out for conversations. That goes for any character — cops don’t talk like construction workers, professors don’t talk like engineers, etc. Do a little research, get a feel for how people talk. Just because characters are fucking like bunnies in Viagra is no reason to get sloppy with their creation and development.
Really, I don’t ask for much in exchange for my $6. Hell, I can even live with the gross overuse of the whole “you are my destined mate” trope if the sex is hot enough and I care about the characters. But please don’t make your cowboys sound like dowager duchesses — it just ain’t right.
Preview from the current WIP (working title Touched By the Sea)
NOTE: This section is most definitely NSFW and includes an NC-17 M/M/M scene. You have been warned.
He was floating in warm water. His eyes were closed, but he could see the red-tinged glow of the sun through the thin skin of his eyelids. He knew if he opened them now, everything would appear whitewashed, almost dreamlike. He just wanted to lie back, float away, never come back–
“Beloved.”
A hand trailed along his arm, across his body, coming to rest inches away from his cock, which started to thicken in anticipation. Greg sighed at the sensation. He wanted the hand to move down, play with him, stroke him. Make him come so hard he’d scream.
A chuckle. “All in good time, beloved,” a soft baritone murmured. Greg smiled at that, trusting the promise in his lover’s voice.
Another hand crept up between his legs, cradling his sac, rolling his balls in what felt like a broad palm. He let his head be tipped back, water gently rising into his hair, and lips brushed against his, gently, then with more intent.
He gave into the kiss, licking into his unseen lover’s mouth greedily. Warm lips sealed against his, the foreign tongue mapping out the interior of Greg’s mouth as if taking ownership.
Unexpectedly, he felt another mouth on his cock, making him moan in surprise. A playful tongue teased the bundle of nerves just under Greg’s cockhead, licking further down the shaft, pausing just long enough to lap at his balls before coming back up again to wrap around the tip. What felt like a luscious set of lips tightened around his cock, then, suction increasing as the mouth began to move up and down in a sure, stroking motion that made Greg squirm with need.
As if one lover devouring his mouth and another his cock weren’t enough, someone’s fingers were now circling his nipples, gently tweaking them. He whimpered, torn between all the sensations.
“So responsive,” the baritone purred. “You’re beautiful, beloved.”
The mouth on his cock disappeared, replaced by a hand. “Not to mention delicious,” said a lighter tenor, chuckling. “We’ve searched for you for such a long time, Gregory.”
Two men. Eyes still closed, Greg gently struggled in their embrace, just so that he could feel their bodies against his. He hadn’t had sex with a man in over twelve years, and he’d never had two men at the same time. Anna had teased him about that, joking that he needed two big, strong lovers to sate his appetite–
Anna. The memory of his late wife seemed to bring a cloud over the sun, as the bright light beating down on him dimmed.
“You’ve mourned her for so long, beloved. Let us take away the pain. Let us love you,” the baritone said, before his mouth came down on Greg’s again, tongue eagerly sliding between his lips. Blindly, he sucked at it, listening to the other man groan at the sensation.
His other lover went back to work, one hand wrapped around the base as he suckled Greg’s cock greedily. The friction grew, hot and electric, reaching down into Greg’s balls and spine.
The man sensed this and shifted attention, sucking and licking the plummy head of Greg’s cock like a piece of candy while his hand sped up and down the shaft in fast, firm strokes. A tongue (so long, Greg thought dazedly, no one could have a tongue that long) dipped into his slit, tasting the precome there, then swirled under the ridge oh so nicely.
It was the last bit he needed. Greg screamed into the baritone’s mouth, arching his back as the orgasm punched from deep within, roaring through his balls and out his cock in a creamy gush. The tenor sucked eagerly, taking what Greg gave him, swallowing every drop and soundlessly begging for more–
Greg woke up with a gasp, staring blindly at the bedroom ceiling as he came. One hand was already under the waistband of his boxers, roughly stroking his spurting cock. It wasn’t nearly as good as the sensation of his dream lover’s mouth, but he groaned as he pumped out the last few dribbles of come, feeling it soak into his pubes.
“Fuck,” he panted, tilting his head back into the hot pillow. The endorphins faded a bit, bringing a bitter, self-mocking amusement in their wake. This was absolutely fucking ridiculous. Yes, he hadn’t had sex in over a year, but he masturbated often enough to take care of his needs. No 36-year-old man should be having wet dreams like this.
He grimaced at the sticky sensation. It didn’t help that it was the hottest wet dream he’d ever had. Grunting, he wriggled the boxers down, yanking them off and wiping at the mess matting his pubic hair. No help for it — he needed a shower.
So
Is it bad that I’m shamelessly borrowing Michael Fassbender’s body for my hero (well, the German one, anyway) in Behind the Iron Cross? Because I’m watching Shame in between getting various tasks done, and I’m surprised there isn’t a shrine set up to him somewhere. Mmph. Now I know what Charlize Theron was talking about.
Gracious, I’m here!
Hello, duckies! If we haven’t come across each other in a Starbucks before, my name is Nicola Cameron, and I write erotic romance (or as it’s known in some rather dreary corners, “Mommy porn.” Excuse me while I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh noisily). Call it what you like, but I adore writing it. A warning, though — I’m not a strict M/F writer. In fact, the erotic ecofantasy series I’m currently working on has two M/M/M books, two M/M/F books, and one M/M/M/F/F book in it (what can I say — “the more, the merrier” is fun to write!)
I’ll be advertising my latest publications here and talking about my works in progress. Thanks for dropping in!
Nicola Cameron Writes 