There is no love quite like self love. I have no problems with masturbation in romance; some feel it takes away from the romance, but I disagree. I have always championed the notion that you must be comfortable with your own body and needs before you can be comfortable with someone else’s. Being able to bring yourself to a pleasurable pinnacle assures yourself that you know what you like and can find it with or without a partner. And pleasuring yourself in front of a partner adds a higher degree of intimacy and trust to your relationship.
The ability to achieve your own sexual satisfaction is enlightening, and when you’re able to incorporate that into your sexual relationship with a partner, it can make your play time so much more exciting. Below are some of my favorite scenes involving heroes and heroines who don’t let shame or shyness stand in their way.
Liberating Lacey by Anne Calhoun
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered when he slide his lips over the sensitive corner of her mouth, along her cheek bone.
She didn’t understand until he took her hand from his waist and placed it on her own thigh. Working their fingers in tandem they began to inch the hem of her dress.
“Look, ” he said, nudging her head to the side. A full length mirror framed them from the toes of her cream heels to the top of his dark brown hair, his face half hidden in the auburn waves of her hair as he leaned into her. The contrast between her hand, some spots still damp from her half finished drying, and his darker, bigger one, made her breath catch in her throat. At his urging, she pulled up her skirt. His breath hitched, then eased out slowly when the hem cleared the lacy tops of her stockings and crept higher, several inches of pale thigh before creamy lace came into view. She stopped when the hem was just above the elastic edges of her panties. He took her other hand and slid it over the rucked-up fabric.
“Show me how happy you are to see me,” he whispered as he guided her pink-tipped fingers under the lace.
The trimmed curls covering her mound gave way to a familiar wet heat. Lace rasped against the back of her hand as she slid her fingers into her swollen folds, letting out a little moan as her index finger brushed her clit, taut and slick. The long muscles in her thighs trembled at the contact.
But she hesitated. “ I don’t think I could...here...”
She meant masturbate. If Hunter began to stroking her clit, she’d shatter like a cold china dish dropped in hot water. But to do it herself called for an audacity she didn’t think she had. Through the scant protection of her panties, Hunter covered her hands with his, urging her to begin a slow rhythm.
“Think about what we are gonna do the next time I see you. Show me how good it makes you feel.”
A tsunami of desire swamped her. His big body pressed hard against hers, one arm braced the door over her head, the other hand dark over her mound, the thumb pressing into her abdomen, the fingers resting lightly on her own as they moved. Her hand obediently held up her skirt while the other stroked delicately in her panties. Illuminated by the soft light over the vanity her image in the mirror was a column of cream, from her face to her feet, the only break her flaming hair, her flushed cheeks and lips and the carnal vision of Hunter’s tanned hand possessively casual against her mound as she pleasured herself for him.
There wasn’t time for a slow, sensual build, so she used her index and middle fingers and press-rubbed either side of her clit, her body trembling in time to the spasms contracting her inner muscles.
“Nice, beautiful,” Hunter rasped in her ear, his hand still lightly resting on hers. “I didn’t know you liked that touch. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Lacey’s head dropped back against the door as a desperate little sob skipped from her throat. She couldn’t teat her eyes away from the red hot scene and she was getting close. Lips parted to sip at the close warm air, she did as he ordered and thought about what could happen the next time he darkened her door.
She’d kneel for him. His hand would firmly grip the nape of her neck when she took him in her mouth, his fingers tightening as she flicked her tongue on the super-sensitive spot under the head of his shaft...
One arm braced next to his head, with the other hand Hunter gripped her waist, keeping her close for the slow, rhythmic thrusts against her hip. The matching green of his sweater and his glassy eyes stood out even in the dim light. Their gazes met in the mirror, a bolt of lust straight to her clit. She slowed her touch to keep herself at simmer and flicked her gaze down to the erection straining the front of his pants.
“You, too, ” she demanded, her voice a husky whisper in the silent bathroom.
He shook his head and looked down at her hand. “Keep going, beautiful.”
“Oh,please,” she whispered. She wanted to see him do this as badly as she wanted to come herself. He stepped away to snag several tissues from the counter. Still focused on the barely visible movements of her fingers, he opened his belt and zipper to release his shaft, the tip gleaming wet. The sight of his hand firmly gripping his straining length nearly sent her sliding to the floor. A few cursory, almost caressing strokes, then he held his palm in front of her mouth.
She did, then he began to pump himself in earnest, the motion slick and easy by her saliva. He focused on the top half of his shaft, clearly intending to get off fast and rough, nothing gentle or tentative about it. His focused intensity sent another shockwave of pleasure through her abdomen.
“Oh God,” she said, the words light and barely audible in the still air. Sweat broke out at the base of her spine and along her hairline. Her skin felt too tight as her clit swelled and strained between her rapidly stroking fingers. Her gaze skittered between her hand and his, just inches apart, moving in heated synchronicity. The pleasure built, built, built, until she fisted her hand in the folds of her uplifted skirt, arched her back, and flew off into space. One soft cry escaped her lips before Hunter crushed her mouth under his. He growled low in his throat. As the final tremors ebbed she broke the kiss to look in the mirror, her gaze zipping between the last rough stokes over his swollen shaft and the tense agony etched into his face.
With a hard grunt he clapped the tissues to the head of his shaft and gritted his teeth, his hips jerking in release. Each shuddering pulse reverberated through her body, the musky sent of his semen mixing with the sweat and heat they created together. A groan eased from his throat as he subsided, nuzzling into her hair.
College Boys by Daisy Harris
Peter spied the bottle lurking behind an old candy bar wrapper and snatched it out of the drawer. Quick as his fingers could work the cap, Peter poured some on his hand and fed his palm down the sheets. When his fingers wrapped around his heated cock, he heard another moan through the wall, and before Peter could squelch the urge, he groaned in response.
He arched his back, reveling in the knowledge that Chris was next door touching himself at the same time. Even if Chris hadn’t meant to be heard, even if he was freaked out or disgusted that Peter was making noises, too, at least they were in this together.
“Fuck yeah…” Chris’s whisper carried through the wall. And Peter couldn’t help answering with an, “Oh God,” as he twisted his crown, smoothing the moisturizer through his pre-cum in a sloppy mess.
He wanted to ask Chris what he was feeling, what he liked, but Peter bit his lip. Instead, he whimpered loud enough that he knew Chris had to be hearing.
Chris was doing the same, though his sounds were more guttural—growls rather than moans. Peter’s thighs shook and his balls clenched with need, but he gripped his base to stop from coming too soon. It was too good, too quietly intimate. He’d rather be with Chris like this than with any other guy he could think of, even bare and pressed flesh to flesh.
“Gonna come…” Chris panted.
Peter wished he were brave enough to tell Chris he was coming, too. Instead, he let his whispered chorus of “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God” explain as Peter sped up his strokes. His hand vibrated over slicked flesh—smearing the sheets with hand cream and dribbling arousal.
“Fu-uck…” Chris’s voice was a heart-wrenching, ball-twisting growl that sent Peter spinning into orbit. He clenched his eyes, wanting to feel every pulse of his body, hear the sound of Chris’s pants. Peter dragged his sheets down just in time to shoot long ropes of cum across his chest, the last lash falling hot on his belly.
In the moment that followed, their rooms went silent. Peter thanked the lord his stereo was still playing so there was enough background noise for him to mop up without feeling awkward.
When he was done and had rearranged his blankets so he wasn’t sleeping in a sticky patch, Peter stared at the wall separating his room from Chris’s. Peter wanted to tell Chris good night. The words were poised on his lips. He could practically taste their sweetness. In a long, painful second, Peter realized he wasn’t going to say it, and his heart shrank in his chest.
But right when he was turning over to fall asleep, Chris said from next door, “G’night.” Peter inhaled a quick breath, as if he’d caught a butterfly in his hand. But of course Chris had said good night. It was those damned country manners. But that didn’t stop Peter from feeling like dancing.
Scandalous Desires by Elizabeth Hoyt
Jaysus, what would she do if she knew what he was doing right now? Her stormy eyes would widen with shock, he knew, if she could see him, but mightn’t they also show a bit of interest as well? He chuckled breathlessly at the thought, and imagined her sitting in the chair before his fireplace, watching as he fisted his cock. Her eyelids would droop with desire. She might let her head fall back, revealing the vulnerable heartbeat in her throat.
He groaned and slid his palm faster over his straining rod. Would she let her legs fall open? If she did he’d come closer. He might kneel at her feet, still achingly hard, and slowly lift her tattered chemise. He’d reveal white thighs, the tender crease separating leg and stomach, and that place between where soft, curly hair grows. Would her bush be full or merely a few wisps at the top of her slit?
Mickey lifted his lip in a snarl, canting his hips, stroking his other hand over his own belly and thigh, to reach his bollocks drawn up tight in lust.
He’d take his thumb and run it through that sweet cleft, watch the tender petals part, inhale the scent of her desire. And when he placed his mouth on her and suckled, she’d arch beneath his hand. He’d need to press his palm on her belly to hold her but still she’d scream...
His crisis hit him hard and fast, making him groan as he spilled his seed on the floor.
He rested against the wall, still caressing his aching flesh. If merely thinking about the act with Silence was that explosive, then how would it be to actually lick her? A small smile curved his lips.
If she’d ever let him...
Keeping Pace by Dee Carney
I became fascinated by the motion of that one hand stroking over an elegantly long cock. He used his fingers to tease the head, and then on the downward stroke made certain to pay attention to his testicles. Instead of the urgency I expected, he seemed at ease with the lazy pace. As if he knew he’d get himself to where he wanted to be eventually.
My own arousal swept over me in a rush, surrounding me in its embrace. Reminding me it had been too long since I’d known a lover’s hand or even my own.
I thought briefly of Patrick. What would he say to see me here, yearning and fascinated?
I braced myself, ready to feel the guilt. A heated blush should have crept over my face, the shame of wanting to be here burning me from the inside. Instead, I remembered his lovely smile and knew if he saw me here now, his mouth would be curved into a grin. Enjoy yourself, honey. He wouldn’t be outside if he didn’t want an audience.
Perhaps that was my own justification for staying, but at the same time, I was sure Patrick would have said those words…or at least something similar. Bolstered by my own wants, and what my husband would have approved of, I stayed. I watched. And I enjoyed it.
My neighbor’s pace increased, his hips jerking as I suspected he brought himself closer and closer to the point of no return. Mouth dry, I watched every lovely moment, waiting to see the rush of his release. Between my thighs was damp, my breasts heavy.
Up until now, he’d been silent, but when I heard his first low groan, my focus sharpened. Licking my lips, I stared at his cock and could have cried out in triumph when his hand’s action sped up, and then his hips punched into the air. I couldn’t see it clearly, much to my disappointment, but the way his body tensed, I knew the moment he climaxed. The sounds he simultaneously made, just as sexy.
His chest heaved as he drew air into his desperate lungs. I knew his need to gulp in the night based on the way my own body reacted, my empty pussy pulsing with a familiar ache.
He picked up the forgotten beer bottle and ran it over the muscles of his abdomen. Over the muscles of his chest, and even the points of his nipples. He must have been scorching and let the glass cool him down as much as it could.
With a groan, my neighbor stood, leaving behind the bottle. He stepped out from the shadows, and this time I did not catch my gasp in time from piercing the night. For the past several minutes I thought I’d watched the antics of a middle-aged man who’d somehow kept himself well preserved. I should have known better.
The person who stepped out from the shadows was not the owner of the house, but instead, his son. Jeff—Josh, maybe—was home from college. Some stint at the state college that his parents had been very proud of. My God, he’d grown up. When was the last time I’d seen him? Six, seven years ago?
This time, heat flooded my cheeks because he was easily ten years younger than I, if not younger than that. I’d crossed the line from sexually curious into improper prurience. Still, did that stop me from watching him move with liquid grace toward the pool? Nope.
It wasn’t until he dove beneath the waters that fear of being caught and guilt about my resultant arousal urged my feet into motion. He swam in my direction, and the very last thing I needed him to do was break the surface, look up and find me staring. So I made certain he was completely submerged, his body nicely silhouetted against the pool tiles, before I made my escape. I quickly backed away from the deck railing, grabbed the forgotten glass of wine and almost stumbled in my haste to go back inside.
What would my neighbors think if they knew I’d seen him in all his naked glory? What would my coworkers say? I had an obligation to my community, and lusting after one of its barely legal members wasn’t included. My heart raced, adrenaline finally catching up.
Not more than a foot from the sliding glass door, I stopped. Why, I couldn’t say, but hearing my name called across the otherwise quiet night served as well as a traffic light. I couldn’t bring myself to put my foot in front of the other. Couldn’t get myself to keep going. I’d been caught and deserved whatever chastisement would be coming my way.
“Mrs. Pace?” The voice, mellow yet deep, was nearer now.
I turned slowly, ready to face my accuser. “Yes?”
Mrs. Smith’s boy, my next-door neighbor’s son, walked toward the fence that separated my yard from theirs, his lean body glistening and dripping. I quickly took in the rugged features of his face: narrow nose, broad jaw, dark eyes. Although he was as naked as nature intended, he moved leisurely. His steps still somehow managed to cross his yard in short order. He grasped onto the fence, elevating himself just enough so that I could see him well over the six-foot privacy fence, and so he could also see me.
His eyes glittered in the night. “Same time tomorrow, Mrs. Pace?”
What about you? Does “self love” in romance turn you on or off? Which scenes are your favorite?