I find that, in my fanfic-to-novel project, I’m writing my sex scenes with more flowery — even purple — prose than I usually do. Part of it is because this isn’t quite erotica; it’s more like a novel that happens to have explicitly-sexual, often erotic, elements in it. Other parts have to do with the characters: Lily and Celeste are often ethereal in the way they touch each other, and Elizabeth, when she is with Chris, is coming from a more romantic place. Since I don’t have any segments from Chris’s POV, the only view we get into sex with him and Elizabeth is from Elizabeth. Such as this snippet here:

Chris wanted her to come. Wanted to taste her. He used his fingers to spread her open — her face flushed at the vulnerability of it — and drew his tongue along her lips before it found its way inside her. It was a soft intrusion, nothing like being fucked, but it still felt lovely. Her body reacted, blooming outward to his touch, to his tongue, and she knew she was getting wetter. He responded by redoubling his efforts, as if he wanted to drink her down like a sweet elixir, and she [responded] with whimpers and whines that rose higher and higher in pitch until his mouth found her clit and she flew off the edge of the cliff, a powerful orgasm that left her shaking and shuddering and completely out of her mind.

When she came back to herself, Chris was holding her in his arms, petting her hair. “That was amazing,” she said, her voice a little slurred. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re sweet.”

She reached down and found his cock, fully hard and hot as she wrapped her hand around him and started to stroke. “Can I be on top this time?”

“You can be anywhere you like.” She heard the smile in his voice, and she smiled back.

The condoms were in a drawer in his nightstand; Elizabeth opened one and handed it to him, and he rolled it on. Then she swung one leg over him, took hold of his cock again, and guided him into her, sinking down until he was fully enveloped. His eyes drifted closed as his hands went to her thighs. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Elizabeth preened a little at that. She knew he thought she was pretty, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what he meant. She ground down against him a little, allowing the stretching of his cock inside her to go from slightly uncomfortable to very enjoyable. It always took her a moment to get used to it when she had sex, something not all of her lovers had understood. But Chris understood, and he allowed her time to accustom herself before she started to move her hips.

“Fuck.” It was a moan this time. His hands came up, cupped her breasts, his thumbs on her nipples, which were hard and tight. She covered them with her own as she rose and fell on his cock, filling herself over and over, slowly at first, but soon enough she was truly riding him, fucking him, the bed squeaking, his hands back on her hips, holding on tightly. “Elizabeth…” He sounded needy, full of desire. “Elizabeth, please…”

Oh, now that was hot as hell — the first time they’d fucked, and the second, he’d lasted long enough for her to come a second time. But apparently in this position he had less stamina. His eyes were clenched shut, his fingers digging into her. “Elizabeth…”

“It’s okay,” she said, soothing him with her voice. “I want you to.”

That was all it took. He growled and his hips thrust upward, and she felt his cock throb as he came, his breaths stuttering and stumbling over each other, his moans so gratifying — she did this, she did this to him, she made him happy, she gave him pleasure, so much that he couldn’t hold on, couldn’t concentrate on what she wanted or needed.

She needed him. In this position, in this bed, she needed him, needed his orgasm, needed his satisfaction.

And she had it.