The lovely Em Petrova is with me today...talking about Sensuality vs. Sexuality...

...and she brings this amazing cover as well...

Sensuality vs. Sexuality

By Em Petrova

What do you think about when you read those words in the title of this blog post? If you’re a visual person, you might see flashes of images in your mind’s eye—lewd positions or poses of passion. If you’re a reader, you might recall scenes you’ve read that display either sensuality or sexuality.

What is the difference between them? Is there a difference?

According to Dictionary.com, sensuality is pertaining to, inclined to, or preoccupied with the gratification of the senses or appetites; carnal; fleshly.

So it means “of the senses.” That’s right—sensuality is a smorgasbord of the senses. When writing erotic romance, this is a crucial piece of the puzzle. If it’s missing or overlooked, the readers won’t feel a connection between characters. In essence, their encounter will feel like a one-night stand or feel forced.

Bring in the tender strokes, the flavors of a man or woman, the scents of flower petals strewn on the sheets beneath them and you have a real love scene. Without it, it’s a cold, hard mattress at Motel 6 with a stranger.

Think about some of your favorite love scenes from movies or books. What about them raised the level of excitement for you? I’d love to hear your take on sensuality vs. sexuality!

Thanks for stopping by, and a huge thank you to Raven for hosting me! I’ll leave you with a twirl around the dance floor with my hunky cowboy Jens from my latest ménage a trois, HARD RIDIN’ (http://store.samhainpublishing.com/hard-ridin-p-7194.html)

Excerpt:

Jens Anderson hooked Laurel around the waist and tugged her close as the twangy two-step faded away. The low drawl of a slow song drifted from the speakers flanking the dance floor.

As Laurel came up against the wall of muscle that made up Jens’s body, a sigh escaped her.

He splayed a hand over her lower back and crushed her hips to his. The action sent a dark thrill through her belly, and lower, between her thighs.

Jens skimmed the crest of her buttocks with his fingers. “I love you in this skirt, Laurel. When are you gonna let me peel it off you?”

His baritone rumbled against her ear and raised every hair on her body. Was this the night she let the rough-and-tumble country boy make it past second base? Being stretched out beneath him, gaining and delivering pleasure, seemed the best way to spend a weekend.

Better than being alone, scouring seed catalogs for the best deals.

She fiddled with a strand of hair clinging to the perspiration on her temple. For two months, she’d been asking herself if he was the one—if she could let him past the barricade she’d erected around her heart.

When she didn’t answer him, Jens continued to twirl her around the dance floor, easily navigating between other swaying bodies. He was one hell of a dancer, and he was also used to her ignoring his advances. Countless times he’d asked her to spend the night with him, but even after two months of dating, she wasn’t ready.

It wasn’t because the man was lacking in any way. Oh no. At six foot tall, with shoulders made bulky from wrangling livestock and farm equipment, he was wanted by every girl in the small town of Reedy.

But that was just his body. His eyes were the true allure. Sapphire and twinkling with life, he’d hooked Laurel from the moment he’d pierced her with that gaze.

He nudged her away from him, twirled her and reeled her back in. Their hips bumped and his erection pressed against her aching flesh.

“Jens…”

He gave a huff of laughter. “You caught me. I can’t help it. I’m wild about you, darlin’.”

For a moment, she lost herself in his bright gaze. His cowboy hat was tugged low over his brow, but the depths of his baby blues glittered with desire. Laurel’s nipples hardened, and the knot in her core tightened. Why was she dragging her heels with Jens? He was everything a woman could want—sexy, a hard worker, a great dancer, and he even grilled a mean steak.

The music pitched lower and the singer crooned love words. Jens looked deep into Laurel’s eyes. Cupping her face in one big palm, he leaned in slowly. His scent dizzied her—mint and a hint of the beer he’d drank, as well as cologne. Washed cotton shirt and leather boots.

One hundred percent man.

Laurel and Jens rocked back and forth, with him singing in a low voice that sent white-hot electricity through her heated limbs.

In that minute, the warm cocoon of his arms was the only place she wanted to be.

He dropped his full lips to hers and she couldn’t suppress a shudder of want. Jens squeezed her to him, drawing her onto tiptoe and somehow still undulating to the beat. He pressed on her lips with his tongue, and she opened to him.

Sensation was a punch to her system as he slipped his tongue over hers. The bodies around

them disappeared, the clank of beer bottles and the hum of voices vanished.

“What the—? Laurel?”

She jerked at the sound of that familiar voice—the only other voice to ever send her spinning out of control. Jens released her, and they turned as one to face the reason she continued to hold Jens at arm’s length—the reason she wasn’t ready to take their relationship to the next level.

Holden McAlister.

Em Petrova

~where words mean so much more~

www.empetrova.com