Love scenes. It’s a critical part of the romance genre. There are the sexual love scenes but there are also emotional loves scenes. At times, I prefer the emotional over the sexual. Getting through the pain to the other side, when you can feel the love the characters have for one another practically leaping off the page and curling up inside you. I read a book the other night that had a moment like that… There was no sex, no nakedness save for the naked emotion. These are sometimes so powerful…
I aspire to write scenes, emotional love scenes that make the heart clench and the belly flutter.
Warning: Explicit sex scene…
She got out of the car and walked up the dusty drive to the bottom step of his front porch. He’d known she would come eventually. She’d taken her own sweet time about it, however, and he couldn’t say he was happy about having been kept waiting. He was tired of living with this need inside when there was an answer, a cure. Albeit a stubborn one.
She had the prettiest, softest voice and she was a better woman than a man like him deserved. Didn’t mean he was willing to give up the chance to have her though. He was country, she was city and he was the last man on earth she should be with. He was her brother-in-law, she was his dead brother’s wife. They couldn’t do this, shouldn’t do this. They couldn’t be, shouldn’t be together and there were a million reasons why, but he’d be damned if he’d turn her away. Neither of them could deny the feelings. Not when his whole family had known for years, not when his brother lay in the dirt in his arms, telling him it was okay that he love her. He needed more than the absolution of his twin, more than any church could ever give him, but he’d take her, take her body and live with her contempt after.
“You said if I ever came back through this way, I should stop by.”
She must have been visiting his parents or sister. There was no other reason for her to be in this neck of the woods. “Yes, I did.” He’d said it out of courtesy, fully expecting she wouldn’t, always hoping, knowing deep down she would.
She took one step up then another until she was standing just to the side of him, looking down as he swung back and forth slowly in the double porch swing. Her petite, full-figured body was covered in a pretty yellow and white knee-length sundress. Her feet were clad in a pair of yellow strappy sandals and her toes were painted a bright shade of purple.
Jethro liked looking at her. Always had. She had the deepest green eyes he’d ever seen and the truest strawberry blonde hair that hung down her back in one long sheet unless she had it pulled up in a ponytail like she did today. She had an all-knowing look about her, even though she was soft-spoken and hesitant in her approach toward him.
“Did I come at a bad time?”
“Nope.” He raised his gaze to her chest, to the little nipples poking through the thin cotton of her dress. “You wearing a bra under that thing?”
“Sort of. The dress has the wires and cups sewn in because it’s backless.”
She was every fantasy he’d had for the last ten years. “Uh-huh. Panties?”
She blushed so pretty. “Yes.”
“Take ‘em off.”
“You heard me. Take ‘em off.”
“What are you doing out here, Caitlyn? I told you what would happen if you came back. I told you I’d fuck you and that if you showed up, I would take it to mean that’s what you want too. I told you to come by if you wanted it, otherwise to stay the hell away. You’re here, so take off the panties. I won’t say it again.”
Awareness dawned. “But… Out here?”
He nodded. “Out here. Not as if anyone’s around but us.”
She didn’t move right away and Jethro was content to wait until she was ready. He wasn’t in any hurry at the moment. He would be once he got inside her for the first time, but not yet.
She finally pulled the skirt of her dress up her thighs until she could reach under and tug her panties down. He saw them as they slid down her over her knees and landed at her feet, a bright yellow piece of lace pooled on top of her sandals. She stepped out of them and looked expectantly at him again.
“Good girl, Caitlyn.” He stopped swinging and focused on her face as he lifted his hips off the wooden bench and unfastened his jeans. He liked how her eyes widened when he pulled his cock out, all hard and angry purplish-red. He shucked his t-shirt and tossed it at her feet in the direction of her panties. “Climb on.”
“Just like that?”
She was stalling. He wasn’t going to give her the option of walking away, of giving her an out, of making it easy for her. “Yes.”
“Will it hold us both?” She looked skeptical, as though she wasn’t sure it would. He fought the urge to smile. Of course it would hold them. He’d built it, hung it, sat on it almost every night jacking off while thinking of her.
“Yes. Climb on.” He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he tugged her down over his thighs. The skirt of her dress rode up her legs and he liked the sight of the creamy-white skin against the dark blue denim of his jeans.
With his hand on her lower back and his fingers just brushing the top of her ass, he pulled her close, closer still until she could slide down on his cock. Her pussy was wet, easing the penetration into her body.
“Didn’t know you’d be so tight.”
“It’s been a long, long time.” Her hands gripped his shoulders as she tested the length and breadth of him, lifting up then dropping back down. “Didn’t know you’d be so big.”
Jethro laughed and nipped her shoulder. “Don’t know why not. I’m a big man.”
He took her mouth in a hard kiss, tasting, not for the first time, the sweet temptation of the big city girl she’d tried to become. She kept him up at night, thoughts of her keeping his mind charged and his dick hard. He bit her tongue and tried to swallow her whole. And then…he started them swinging.
Just a small motion, front then back…front then back, the straightening and bending of his legs sending his cock deeper inside her. Her small nails dug into his skin and she wobbled slightly. “That’s my girl. Hold on for the ride.”
“Feels so good.”
He kissed her neck and held her tighter, using his teeth to mark her. “Yes it does,” he said, licking at the redness left from the sucking of his mouth.
She moaned into his hair, moaned into his shoulder, moaned against his lips when he picked up speed in the swing. His boots came up off the floor when they swung forward and pushed her into him. When they swung backward, her head dropped back and her dressed pulled tight over her tits.
The swing hadn’t been built for this purpose, but after this afternoon, he wouldn’t be able to look at it any other way. It was always going to be theirs now. Whether she came back or not, the swing was theirs, sacred.
He pulled her hair from the ponytail and sifted his fingers through the strands. It fell down her back in a fall of red, and when she arched, dropping her head back farther, the ends brushed his thighs. If he were naked, it would be an amazing erotic touch.
The dress was, as she’d said, backless and his fingertips drew circles on her skin. Her nipples stood out against the thin material and he slipped his hands under the straps, gently tugging them down her over her shoulders, exposing just the upper swells. It wasn’t enough, but at the same time it was very sexy seeing her like that.
She was the one woman he shouldn’t want and the one woman he was bound and determined to have.
He buried his face in her chest, licked at the salt and sweat in the valley between her breasts. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she rocked her pelvis in tight, short motions. She fucked herself on him as he held her against his body, as he used the movement of the swing to propel them back and forth.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“But we are.”
“I won’t come back.”
“Damn you, Jethro.”
“Yes, Caitlyn. I know.”
He felt her tears on his neck and her body shuddered in orgasm. Her muscles pulled and pulsed over his cock and he still rocked them, still screwed her until his own come shot into her, matching her throb for throb. And that’s what this was. A screwing, a fucking. It wasn’t soft and sweet. It wasn’t tender, even though he had the most tender feelings toward her. He couldn’t stop wanting her. No matter how many times he saw her, talked to her, fought with her, he couldn’t stop wanting her.
She was right in damning him. He was damned the moment they met. He was damned when she walked down the aisle to marry his brother. He was damned the day his brother was put in the ground. He’d been damned for years and would remain so. He coveted his brother’s wife, the one woman in the world he shouldn’t want but couldn’t live without having.
He held her for a long time until her breathing calmed and she lifted her head.
“We can’t be together.”
She was wrong. “I know.”
“And I mean it, this can’t happen again. This won’t happen again.”
“Stop being so fucking agreeable.” She pushed against his chest and scrambled off his lap. She righted her dress and backed away.
He knew the come would slide down her thighs. He’d used no protection and she’d asked for none. They both knew he couldn’t get her pregnant. “What do you want me to be? Angry? Sad? What, Caitlyn? What do you want me to be?”
“I want you to feel the same turmoil that I do, Jethro. I want you to hurt as much as I do.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“Because you…you’re so distant, so callous, so in control.”
He stopped the swing and stood. His leg pained him today and had for the last week. It always did around this time of year moreso than at other times. It was the second anniversary of the day he’d pulled Marcus out of the upside-down Humvee. It was the day his brother died from war wounds. It was the day he let himself hope Caitlyn could finally belong to him. He hated himself sometimes for wanting her so much, but more than he hated himself, he loved her.
He took one step then another and another until he had her backed up against a post on the porch. “He was my twin. He was every other thought in my head. He was the one person I loved more than anything in this life besides you. He was the last of my family. He was your husband.”
Jethro kissed the corner of her quivering mouth and licked softly at the tear streaming down her cheek. “I do feel pain, every day. I have the physical scars to prove it. I have the nightmares that wake me up in the middle of the night. I have… Caitlyn, I have the broken heart beating inside my chest. I do feel pain. I do hurt. And fucking you today on that swing I made for us to share was the best and worst mistake.”
He pulled her bottom lip in between his teeth and tugged, sucked. He took her mouth in a scorching, searing kiss as he held her captive between his body and the wood at her back. He could drown in her taste, and one day he’d have his face buried between her thighs, drowning in her creamy, hot cunt.
“I have to leave.”
“Yes, you do. You have to keep running away from this. You have to keep being the strong one, the one able to resist.”
“You bastard. Be a man. Don’t let me go.”
She was crying harder now, beating on his chest with her fists, and he let her. He let her take it all out on him because he didn’t know what else to do. This time he was the one held captive. She had him pinned against the front wall of the house, her mouth devouring his, her tongue so, so deep in his mouth. The moment he started to wrap his arms around her though, she broke free and ran out to her car.
She drove off, spinning her tires. He watched after her until the dust settled then fastened his jeans back. He started to sit on the swing again, but instead went inside the cool, dark house.
Unless he had her, nothing would make much sense. She didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t let her go as she accused him of doing. She chose to leave. She chose to run just as he’d told her she had to keep doing.
Nothing would bring Marc back. Nothing would stop Jethro from loving his brother’s widow. Nothing would ever feel right without her now that he’d had her.
He glared at the dozen or so beer bottles inside the fridge then slammed the door. It wasn’t alcohol he wanted to drink. He wanted to drink from Caitlyn, from her mouth, from her cunt. Instead of beer, instead of Caitlyn, he went back outside, this time out the back door toward to woodshed. He’d work himself into exhaustion, just as he’d done nearly every day for the last year and a half. Between the sex and the woodworking, maybe he could sleep one full night without seeing things he couldn’t have anymore.
It was then he remembered the small scrap of yellow lace still lying in the same place she’d nudged them to when she took them off. Shit.
I love this book, this story, these two characters…
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Have a great weekend!