What I do know is that there is something very powerful about a kiss. Think about it. In movies as well as books, the anticipation of the first kiss is…WOW.
You know what I’m talking about. Heck, you probably vividly remember your first kiss. (I know I do)
The heightened sense of awareness.
Sorry, that was my first kiss. Yuck! I still cringe when I recall it.
Wikipedia states “Anticipation is the central ingredient in sexual desire.” That sounds about right. Which is why we authors do all we can to make that first touch, that first kiss as great as it can be. To get everything just right.
I love writing the first kiss. When I hit that moment in the story, I think I’m just as nervous as my characters. Okay, the characters aren’t necessarily nervous, but I usually am.
It’s a very important moment in the story. Sometimes it’s slow and passionate. Sometimes a bit edgy and heated. It can even be possessive and a bit rough—like staking a claim. Whatever else it is, a kiss is always emotional.
Sure, the emotion doesn’t have to be sexual or even pleasant. Take for instance the kiss of death from Godfather II. But as a romance author, these pleasant, sexual emotions are the ones I aim for.
Not just in the hero and heroine’s first kiss, but in every kiss between them. And not always with a kiss on the lips. After all, a kiss doesn’t have to be on the lips to provoke an emotional response, does it?
Noah Clark, the hero in AFTER MIDNIGHT, understands the importance of a kiss, a touch, the brush of fingertips across a lover’s skin even if Isabeau doesn’t…
“It’s not supposed to be just about the finale. It’s about the journey. It’s all about touch, Isabeau. Soft caresses. Slow, deep, wet kisses. Why would you settle for anything else?” Her tongue darted out and wet her lips, and Noah wondered what she’d do if he leaned in right now and showed her what he meant.
“Maybe you haven’t taken a good look at me?”
“I’m looking at you now.” He cupped her face with one hand, traced his thumb along the curve of her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft as silk beneath his.
“Noah.” His name crossed her lips, a husky rasp barely audible over the street noise. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his.
She had a mouth that begged to be kissed. A mouth meant for pleasure. How was it she didn’t realize her own appeal? He traced his thumb over the palm of her hand. Satisfaction welled inside him when she trembled. “You don’t have to settle, Isabeau.”
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