Sex Scene from Liberty’s Secret

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If you haven’t read Wednesday’s post on the art of writing sex scenes, well, you don’t really need to but it might lessen my embarrassment when you read today’s post.

The following is the sex scene I wrote for Liberty’s Secret, the best of the three romance novels I wrote in the late 1990s and early 2000s (although I never attempted to have any of them published because I realised I wanted to head down a different writing path – now I call them practise novels).

A little back story: Quinn O’Connell and Liberty (Libby for short) Freeman have been given the responsibility of turning around a struggling publishing company. He’s the financial whiz and she’s the ideas expert and they’ve been working very closely together. There is an obvious attraction between them but Libby has frequently stated that she doesn’t get involved with people she works with.

Their boss has dumped them in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with instructions to “work it out” for the sake of the business. Quinn has offered to quit to overcome the issue of Libby not getting involved with people she works with. But something else (her secret, of course!) holds her back. They have fallen asleep, fully clothed, in each other’s arms. The story is told from Quinn’s perspective.

****

Quinn didn’t know how long he slept. And as consciousness stole over him, he wasn’t sure why he was waking again. It was still dark. And it was still cold. Maybe that was what had woken him. The cold was seeping inside his shirt, prickling his skin. Except for an intermittent warm sensation just over his heart.

It took a moment for his eyes to respond to the command to open. When they finally did, he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t still asleep and dreaming.

Libby was kneeling beside him and her head was on his chest, her ear over his heart, her eyes on his face. The cold that he had sensed seeping inside his shirt wasn’t seeping at all. The buttons were all unfastened, exposing his skin to the night air, the blanket pulled down to his waist.

When Libby saw that he was awake, she sat up hesitantly, her hair falling over one shoulder. She pushed the chocolate brown mass behind one ear, then rested her hands on either side of her as she leant forward slightly.

‘Libby?’ Quinn brought a hand up to rest on her thigh, and it was then he realised that along with the black jacket, her gown was gone, and she was dressed only in her underwear, a strapless white lace bra and matching pants. The other half of the blanket that was pulled up to his waist was draped about her shoulders, chasing off the worst of the chills.

He sat up half way, his hand on her thigh moving up to cup her hip, feeling the soft scratchy lace, tracing it with a finger. Her hand went to his, pressing it into her flesh, pressing it under the waistband, then sliding up his shirt-covered arm and around his neck. She moved then, her legs going either side of his and her arms going around his shoulders, her face buried under his chin.

Quinn didn’t question her motives, didn’t care at that exact moment. He just tightened his hold, sitting up fully and pushing back her hair. He didn’t want to speak because he always said the wrong thing. Instead he would kiss her.

But she made the move before him, her lips on his neck, working her way up until she found his lips, pressing brief, desperate kisses against his mouth, then his cheeks and his eyelids. And then suddenly she stopped, pulling back to look at him, and he let her have the control, knowing it was the only way.

He waited for the words.

“I…” She wanted to tell him, to say it, but it was too hard for her, so he offered her an escape.

“Libby, you don’t have to say it. I don’t need to hear it. I just need you.”

The look in her eyes was her answer, and her response was to push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and kiss her way along his collarbone from the tip of one shoulder to the other, pausing in the middle to focus her attention on the small hollow, tracing the line down his chest. Quinn threaded his hands through her silken hair, cupping her face as she rose and running his thumb across the softness of her lips. She kissed the pad of his thumb, and the fleshy base, his palm, and the pulse at his wrist.

Quinn caressed his way down her throat, over the bones in her chest, lingering on the perfect creamy slopes of her breasts, finally moving lower to circle the dark suggestion of her nipples through the lace of her bra.

Libby’s head fell back as she exhaled quietly her pleasure at his touch. He replaced one hand with his mouth, but only for a moment, moving back up to claim her mouth, wanting some sense of equality between them. Her fingers held his face as their tongues met and his hands went to the clasp of her bra, wrenching it undone with haste and disposing of the garment. She pressed herself closer as soon as the barrier was gone, and he felt the softness of her flesh so intimately against him, so warm, so perfect.

Libby captured his wrists and worked on the tiny cuff buttons, slipping the discs through the holes and sliding his shirt off until he was as bare as she was. Her hands stole over the light dusting of hair on his chest, tracing the muscles and his pebbled male nipples until the breath caught in Quinn’s chest. With unconscious teasing, she moved on, her fingers running the length of his torso, feeling the flatness of his stomach and the way he quivered when her hands moved lower. He was hard immediately and his control was under threat.

But Libby again moved on, whether with mischievous intent or innocent playfulness he wasn’t sure, and her attention went to his arms and the rippling muscles, the strength, running all the way down to lace her fingers with his and to push him back on the bed.

She came down with him, body to body, fingering his hair and pushing it back from his brow, and just looked into his face, studying every line, his eyes, his lips.

She closed her eyes and dropped her mouth to his, her lips moving in a sweet caress over his, and Quinn responded in a similar fashion, savouring the sensation of their bodies, their hips, their chests, their mouths pressed together. He strained against the pressure of his clothes, constraining the full force of his passion for her, and Libby recognised the movement of need in him. She kissed her way down his body, her lips leaving his mouth to trail hot wet kisses over his neck and chest, pausing with devastating effect, then continuing past his stomach to the waistband of his pants. She anointed the line of skin above his belt with her tongue while her hands went to work on the fastening.

She pulled the strip of leather free and flung it uncaring across the room before turning her attention to the zipper of his trousers. The delicate speed with which she dispensed with his pants only increased his arousal and for the first time they were completely equal. But even the short seconds it had taken her to free him from his clothes were too long away from Quinn’s arms. He acknowledged to himself that now he knew the satisfaction of it, he could hardly bear a moment of some part of them not being joined.

He pulled her back to him and turned her onto her back and immediately her feet were part of her seduction as they skimmed the backs of his legs. As soon as he could manage it, the final clothing barrier between them was gone and he was kissing her, his tongue teasing the corners of her lips, sweeping across her teeth, meeting and entwining with her tongue.

The cold night air no longer had their attention, no longer was felt on their skin. The heat they generated together protected them from the bite, cocooned them safely from feeling anything but their intensity.

Taking advantage of the leg Libby had wrapped around his hip, Quinn watched Libby’s face as his fingers found her secret core. He could tell she wanted to return his gaze, but as he stroked the junction between her thighs with ever-increasing rhythm and pressure, the resulting pleasure forced her eyes closed. She strained against him exposing the column of her throat, her hands tightening on his arms, her fingernails digging in to his skin.

She gasped as the power of the experience washed over her in wave after wave. Quinn leisurely explored the length of her throat with his mouth to allow her a moment to recover, but she didn’t want to recover. She didn’t want to pull back. She wanted to jump. And Quinn wanted to jump with her. He wanted them to jump together.

She drew him ever closer, drew him into her embrace, drew him into her body. He heard her deep indrawn breath as pushed urgently deeper, desperate to be as close as he could. Her other leg went around his waist to complete the circle with the same instinct, with Quinn setting the rhythm, knowing if he didn’t take control at this point then he would explode far too soon, driving him beyond being able to ensure their mutual pleasure.

He listened with satisfaction as the first moan was driven from her, then kissed the second back into her mouth, moving against her all the while, stroking his hands down her body, overloading her senses in the same way she overloaded his. Her own hands were feverish against him, in his hair, framing his face, on his back, scratching her mark into him, branding him. It all combined against Quinn’s plan to make this moment last forever.

He could see it in her eyes the instant it hit her. He could feel it in her body as she convulsed around him and it drove him over the edge with her. Together they were falling, they were dropping into the pit of an unimaginable pleasure, they were catching each other and riding the crest until it subsided, washing over them and creeping back out to sea until the next time they swam out.

Quinn breathed heavily into Libby’s shoulder, listening to her doing the same, her warm breath tickling against his ear. Their closeness was perfect and he didn’t want it to end. And Libby didn’t want it to end either. When he rolled off her and lay back against the pillow, she pressed close to him, her head on his chest, her hand on his hip, keeping him close.

The silence that followed was imbued with tension. Even in his contentment as he stared down at the top of Libby’s head, Quinn couldn’t help thinking ahead to wonder what happened next. He knew this had to be a turning point; it was an obvious breakdown of barriers, but whether they remained down was something else completely.

There wasn’t anything he could do except hope. He knew what he felt for this woman was exceptional, different. And she knew it, too. It wasn’t everyday he resigned from his job to prove it.

His hand sought Libby’s, lacing their fingers. Her hand was slack and he tilted her chin up to look into her face. In sleep she appeared more beautiful, if that was possible. He kissed her forehead, drawing her as close as he could and forced himself not to think beyond this one perfect moment.

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