“If you dance with dragons, you must expect to burn.”
― George R.R. Martin,
The Dance of Dragons is a tempest of the wind, water, fire, and sky. Boundless desire blows across the pleasured skin, freezes the mind, chokes the air of suffering breath, and the heart bleeds. Oh, how it bleeds in a felicity of touch to body, heart, and soul. What he did to her. “Oh, god,” she exclaimed. Repeatedly. She felt a wildness in her spirit drive her to do what she did, what she let him do. She wanted it, loved it, and loved him for doing it. Do it. Do it, oh goddamn you, do it. He did. He taught her the pleasures of forbidden love and the pain of hidden desire held in abeyance too long.
The tempest of love fades to a fugue of sated appetite and the Dragons lay spent on the floor. When the dream of pleasure lifted, Domi eased away and filled the basin with water and cleansed herself. She went to her Dracul and wiped their sweat from his body in a slow caress. The cloth trailed across his wet skin and bronze sinew marked with a pattern of red chevrons where her fingernails sought to grasp his driving hips and back and hold him to her.
She took him in her hand and towel. He placed his palm on the back of her head. She eased down to the subtle guide of his fingers entwined in her hair. Her power to command his body gave rise to the embers of their love and ignited them again. The night wasn’t over yet.
This is an excerpt from Return of Dragon’s – Dominika Aristov’s Story. One of my greatest struggles is to write intimate scenes. I have the desire to try and convey the scene to the reader in a somewhat lyrical tone but not in hyperbole or gratuitous prose. In this case, reading other examples and struggling for each word to connect to the next in a way that resonates with a reader is my challenge. Practice is always helpful.
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