Let me tell you about the last time I rage-quit a book.
It was queer. It had great reviews. The premise was exactly my shit — morally grey characters, found family, the kind of world-building that makes you want to live there.
And by chapter three, they were fucking.
I closed the book and stared at my ceiling, feeling that familiar frustration. Not because I’m a prude. Not because I don’t like explicit content. But because I didn’t give a shit about these characters yet, and the author was already asking me to care that they were getting it on.
That’s when it hit me: most romance is written like speed-dating when what I need is a slow simmer.
The instalust problem.
Here’s the formula I keep seeing:
Two characters meet. Immediate sexual tension (usually described as “electric” or “magnetic”) ensues, typically based on looks alone. Maybe they have some (flimsy) reasons they can’t be together. They faff a bit about wanting each other. They fuck. Then they catch feelings.
And look, I get it. That works for a lot of people. Primary attraction is real, and if you experience it, you want to read about it.
But for those of us who are demisexual? For those of us who need emotional connection before sexual attraction even registers? That formula is like reading a book in a language you don’t quite speak. You can follow the plot, but nothing lands the way it’s supposed to.
What changes when attraction is tied to emotional connection.
When I write slow burn romance, I’m not just stretching out the timeline. I’m changing the entire structure of how desire works.
In typical romance:
- They meet → instant awareness of attraction → sexual tension → emotional connection
In demisexual romance:
- They meet → gradual familiarity → emotional intimacy → delayed recognition of attraction → intense longing
The “oh” moment doesn’t happen in chapter one. It happens after you’ve invested in who these people are together. After you’ve watched them build something real.
And that changes everything.
Because when the sexual tension finally arrives, it’s not coming from nowhere. It’s built on a foundation of trust, understanding, and genuine connection. The desire isn’t just physical — it’s personal.
That’s the slow simmer. That’s the kind of heat that doesn’t burn out after one night.
“Just kiss already” – no, actually, fuck off!
I see this comment on slow burn books all the time.
- “The tension is killing me!”
- “Just kiss already!”
- “I’m on page 200 and they haven’t even held hands!”
And every time, I want to scream: THE LONGING IS THE POINT.
You think I’m making you wait for fun? You think I don’t know how to structure a faster burn? I’m making you wait because the wait is what makes it matter.
When two characters finally kiss after 200 pages of building emotional intimacy (or 3 books in some cases), learning each other’s tells, sharing vulnerabilities, making each other laugh — that kiss isn’t just a kiss. It’s a fucking revelation.
It’s “I know you” and “I trust you” and “this means something” all wrapped into one moment that you’ve been building toward since page one. If they kiss in chapter 3, it’s just lips touching. If they kiss in chapter 126 after everything they’ve been through together? That’s a religious experience.
The people who say “just kiss already” are the same people who skip to dessert and wonder why they’re not satisfied. They’re missing the part where you earn the sweetness.
You’re not too picky, your mechanism of attraction just works differently.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard demisexual readers say some version of this:
- “I’m too picky about books.”
- “I DNF everything.”
- “I don’t know what’s wrong with me — I just can’t get into romance anymore.”
And every single time, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them: NOTHING IS WRONG WITH YOU (don’t ever do that tho, not cool).
You’re not too picky. You just need characters you’d actually want to fuck. And here’s the thing about demisexual attraction: you can’t want to fuck someone you don’t know. Your brain literally doesn’t work that way.
So when a book throws two characters together and expects you to be invested in their sexual tension by page fifty with minimal build-up? When you don’t know these people yet, don’t understand what makes them tick, haven’t seen them earn each other’s trust?
Your brain goes: “Cool story, but I feel nothing.”
It’s not that you’re broken. It’s that the book is asking you to experience attraction immediately, based on physical presence and chemistry.
But that’s not your timeline. Your timeline is: know them → trust them → care about them → oh fuck, now I want them. And you know what? That timeline deserves books too.
The difference between instalust and earned desire.
Let me paint you two pictures.
Picture one: instalust.
Character A sees Character B across the room. Time slows down. They notice the way the light hits their face, the curve of their mouth, the way they move. Instant attraction. The whole book becomes about overcoming obstacles to act on that attraction.
Picture Two: earned desire.
Character A has known Character B for months. They’re friends, maybe. Colleagues. They argue about stupid shit and share inside jokes. Character B does something — laughs at the right moment, defends Character A when they don’t have to, shows up when it matters — and suddenly Character A can’t stop thinking about their hands. Their mouth. The way they say their name.
The attraction didn’t start the story. The attraction IS the story.
That second picture? That’s what makes my brain light up. That’s what makes me stay up until 3 am reading because I need to see how this plays out. Because the desire isn’t just hormones. It’s earned. It’s personal. It’s “I see who you are and that makes me want you in ways I didn’t expect”.
When the book haunts you (in the best way).
You know that feeling when you finish a book and can’t start another one for days? When you keep thinking about the characters, wondering what they’re doing now, replaying scenes in your head, feeling genuine grief that you can’t spend more time with them? Some people call that a book hangover. Some people joke about being “obsessed”.
But here’s what it actually is: good storytelling.
When a book makes you feel that way, it’s not because you’re too invested or need to touch grass. It’s because the author made you care about these people so deeply that losing access to them feels like losing something real.
And that only happens when you’ve spent real time with them. When you’ve watched them grow and change and build something together. When the emotional investment is so complete that the characters feel like people you actually know.
Slow burn does that. Slow burn gives you the time and space to fall in love with characters as people first — and then the attraction becomes the cherry on top of something already substantial. You don’t get a book hangover from instalust. You can get it from a relationship you’ve invested in for 400 pages.
What I write (and why).
I write queer sci-fi and fantasy romance for demisexual readers who are tired of speed-dating their way through books that don’t understand how they experience attraction.
I write slow burn because the longing is the point. I write explicit content because demisexual doesn’t mean no sex — it means the sex actually matters.
I write gritty, emotionally devastating stories where characters earn each other over hundreds of pages, because that’s what makes the payoff worth it.
And I write for the readers who thought they were too picky, too slow, too particular about needing to give a shit about characters before caring if they fuck.
You’re not too picky. You just know what you want. And you deserve books that give it to you.
The slow simmer philosophy.
Here’s what I believe: not all attraction is instant, and not all romance should be either.
Some of us need time. We need to see characters become important to each other as people before we can invest in them becoming important to each other as lovers.
We need the friendship, the trust-building, the gradual realisation that desire is creeping in uninvited. We need that “oh fuck” moment when they realise what they’re feeling — and we need it to come after we’ve already fallen in love with who they are together.
We need books that understand the difference between speed-dating and slow simmering. Because speed-dating is fast and exciting and over just as quickly.
But a slow simmer? That’s the kind of heat that stays with you long after you’ve finished the book. That’s the kind of desire that matters. And that’s exactly why I write for people like me. Want a taste? Grab my free short story Snake Bite right now and let me show you an epic slow burn 👇
“When Sasha Barrett gets bitten by a snake on a mission, her squad captain’s quick actions not only save her life, but also make her realise something she may have known all along…“
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