That title perked me up and I haven't even had coffee yet. And I can think of a few places in my home that I've had sex, other than the bedroom. So the title could be applied to my own, or your love life as well, but seriously how many places have your characters had sex?
There's the tried and true shower scene. It fits either masturbating alone, male and female, personally a man wanking off in the shower is just dang hot. Oh, sorry, got sidetracked there. Then the couple having sex. Let me just say, If I had sex in my shower, like our characters do, I'd need a one-hundred gallon hot water heater, and the fire alarm would go off when the bathroom door was opened for us to leave. Steamy!
There are furniture that fit having sex on. They're in the den, living room, library, etc. depending upon the luxury of the character's home. We put them on the stairs, which, trust me, is darn hard to have sex on. The surface, those treads cutting into your back, ouch.
And of course, if we add BDSM into the mix, that dungeon has the neatest furniture, not to mention another bed.
I've even read a book with a tantra chair. I did research on that item. The demo video was hot and quite enlightening. I'm still trying to figure out how to get my husband to make one instead of paying that high price.
We take our characters outside the home and our vehicles, porches, and outdoor furniture become props, more fodder to fuel our imaginations.
However, I've read few sex scenes in the kitchen. The fondling begins there, but they take it out before the deed is done. Is it a sanitary thing? Possibly. Mostly I believe it's one of the least places we find our characters in. (They never eat, we see them planning to eat, talking about eating, but they rarely do they ever make it to that room, always getting sidetracked with hot, sweaty, sex).
So, as I began chapter seven, they'd just finished dinner, Jacy is washing supper dishes and tells Trace she'd just be a few minutes relax in the living room. Trace sidles up behind her and presses against her backside. Whew, it's warming up in here.
Originally they were going to have a little foreplay and then head to the bedroom. They decided otherwise, well Trace did. He couldn't wait.
Here's my WIP excerpt:
“Dishes,” Jacy managed to finally say. Heat spiked, triggering need shooting it through every inch of her body. A long hiss escaped her mouth. An overloaded electrical outlet couldn’t shoot off any more sparks than her body was now.
“Right. Let’s get these done.” He nipped her shoulder. “I’ve plans for you.” Jacy whimpered a feeling of being alone and adrift rushed over her when he removed his hands from her body.
Dragging her mind back to the task at hand, she picked up the rag and hastily cleaned the utensils and glasses, passing them under running water she set them on a dishtowel to dry; all the while, Trace kept his body wrapped around her, making it hard to finish the job. She reached for plates, but stopped, her hand hovering just above the water. “What’re you…”
“Shh, baby. Do the dishes.” Why did that sound like he’d be doing her while she finished cleaning?
She jumped when his calloused fingers skimmed her thighs. Where was her dress? Glancing down, the hem was bunched in two large fists. Cool air blowing from the vent brushed over the heated apex of her legs as he lifted the dress higher.
The dual sensations had her mind racing. Her body was sending signals to her brain short-circuiting any coherent thought. A tickling along her hip and his command, “arms up,” snapped her out of her lust hazed fog.
“But…” was all she got out before he took the plates, placing them in the sink and her dress was pulled over her head. Mortified, she stood in front of the window, blinds open where everyone could see. Well, they could if her backyard wasn’t densely lined with large, thick anacua and oak trees.
Her arms instinctively rose; stupid traitorous body.
“There?” Jacy turned to ask him what he was talking about, but Trace’s, “no, keep your hands where they are,” as he placed them on the sink curling her fingers and thumb around the edge. She watched fascinated as he pushed them as far apart as her dress would allow.
“Wait…” It looked as if he’d twisted the dress, winding it until the straps became cuffs around her wrists. How had he done that? She tested her bonds, they held tight. “Trace? I’m not sure…” She felt exposed, vulnerable.