The Romance Writer (Part 2): The Ultimate Fan
Cherie was curled contentedly in Mike’s arms when he murmured those two words: “I know.”
He knew she wrote? He knew what she wrote? He read erotic romance? How was that even possible?
Already he was asleep, his body warm against hers, his breathing deep and even.
Was “I know” meaningless, just two words uttered as he drifted off to sleep?
Was he – both a thrilling, and at the same time unnerving, thought – somehow the ultimate fan? Someone who’d sought her out, who’d – stalked her?
She could not let the idea go.
He was sleeping in her bed, she’d just had his cock in her mouth – and her pussy, and her anus, and – even in his sleep, he was growing hard against her, his dick pulsing against her thigh. He wanted her. She wanted him. She wanted to take him in her mouth again, wake him, fuck him, do everything all over again. She felt herself getting wet just thinking about it. But he knew?
She slipped out of his arms and sat up in bed. She turned on the light and shook his shoulder gently. He sighed and reached for her. She shook his shoulder again.
His eyes opened sleepily. He smiled, but then he must’ve seen something on her face. He propped himself on one elbow and frowned. “What is it? What’s – wrong?”
“How did you know I write?”
“Write?” he sounded confused. “You said…you’ve written…something?”
She felt foolish. There was nothing to what he said at all, was there.
“Yes. I write stories. Very, um, romantic stories.”
“Cool?” He seemed even more confused now. “I’m not sure I get why you’re telling me this, now?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Forget I said anything. This is just a dream you were having. I keep my writing really uh private. And you said, right before you fell asleep that you knew, and I couldn’t sleep trying to figure out just how you could possibly know, and well, here we are.”
“Here we are,” he said. “I can’t believe I said something like that. ‘I know.’ I don’t know why I said that. I honestly don’t.”
“I believe you.”
She leaned away from him to turn out the light. Streaks of pale sunlight were edging through the blinds.
“Since we’re both awake…” he said, and reached for her, pulling her close and slipping one of her nipples between his lips. He sucked at it, and then rubbed her gently with his fingers until the nipple stood out in the half light, hard and tight.
He moved over her, and licked the other nipple hard, alternating back and forth, rubbing one or the other with his fingers, then licking and sucking.
“I’m glad you woke me,” he said, and slipped his now enormous cock between her legs, teasing the edge of her pussy with it.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “Me, too.”
He pressed himself against her, and gently spread her legs with his hands. He dropped down between them, and now his lips were kissing the mound of her pussy, his tongue lapped at her clit, his finger swirled inside her. She was coming, coming, coming – she cried out. And now his cock was inside her, moving hard and fast and fine.
A golden warmth fell across his skin as he rocked against her – the sun was up now, only barely contained behind the blinds. They’d done it all night, she thought with a wild surge of pleasure. She wanted to do it all day, too.
Mike looked at the clock by her bed. Almost noon. It was crazy to lose so much of the day, but taking her again at sunrise was not only pleasure it was necessity. He had to distract her from the stupid thing that slipped out, that “I know.”
Maybe he wasn’t that great at going under cover. Although, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, things were really great beneath these covers.
He watched Cherie sleeping, her hair tangled across the pillow, the sheet barely covering her fine firm breasts, the jut of her nipples against the white fabric; the soft rose of her lips, lips that had eagerly held his dick.
He slipped carefully out of bed, so as not to disturb her. She turned slightly toward him, a small smile crossing her face. He wondered if she was dreaming about him.
He walked softly to keep the floor boards from creaking, first heading into the living room where he snatched the surveillance gear from his jacket, then he slipped into Jenna’s bathroom and closed the door.
Turning on the water faucet to mask the soft buzz of his pin-prick drill, he bore a hole directly in the corner below the medicine cabinet. Then he inserted the tiny listening device. Thanks to this little high tech number, he would be able to catch everything Nathan Green had to say.
Cherie felt a jolt of surprise, and she opened her eyes. The sun was spilling full and hot through the edges of the shades now. She turned on her side expecting to find Mike, but he wasn’t there. For a moment, she thought she dreamt him up. But there were the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes. There was the scent of his sex on her skin and on her sheets.
He stepped out of the bathroom, his hair combed wet off his forehead. He looked at her and he smiled. And she smiled back; she could feel herself smiling from ear to ear.
“Miss me already?”
He leaned in close to kiss her, and she threw her arms around his neck. She pulled him down on top of her.
“The lady wants more.”
“She does indeed.”
He rolled her on top of him and licked at her dangling breasts. She felt for his cock, and grabbed it, rubbing him between her thumb and her index finger. She loved how hard he got so fast.
She arched herself higher and then lowered herself down against his cock, thrusting him inside her.
He felt amazing. She moved up and down, took him deep, deep inside her, and then his cock was plunging and thrusting against her, and they were both gasping for air, grasping at each other. He turned her again, and now he was on top, pounding against her. They came at the same sweaty, fantastic time.
He collapsed against her, but to her surprise, just for a moment. Then he was getting out of bed, and reaching for his jeans.
“You get enough of my scrambled eggs last night?
“I haven’t gotten enough of anything of yours,” he replied. “But, duty calls. I have to take a brief vacation from my vacation to deal with my biggest tech client. I had an urgent text this morning.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Okay, I understand.” She tried to hide her disappointment
“But can I have a rain check on those eggs? Maybe tomorrow morning?”
“And in the meantime, how about dinner tonight?”
The bug in Cherie’s wall yielded plenty of information on Nathan’s comings and goings, but did not shed any light on why the con-man developer was working with a major drug trafficker in Los Angeles, or why Nathan had moved to a small coastal town in Oregon.
Mike had been after Nathan for years, and this was his case, and his chance, and his call how he played it.
But once his evening surveillance team took over for him listening in on Nathan, he just wanted to get back to playing with Cherie.
There was even a reason he could justify seeing her – he was in close proximity to Nathan, and if anything was going to go down, it would certainly be easy to go from one apartment to the next.
Still there he had some nagging doubts about what he was doing. The way he’d almost blown his cover last night. The way Cherie might feel if and when he could finally tell her the truth. How he would feel if he never had the chance to tell her anything and just walked away.
But all of that washed away when she answered his knock at her door, and he saw how she looked, wearing only an oversize T-shirt and nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Dressed for dinner?”
“I did think we’d – stay in,” she said, her voice husky and low.
He pressed her up against the door he’d just shut and inch by inch began to raise the hem of that shirt, grazing his fingers against her soft thighs, rifling the edge of her pubic hair, then, when her breathing quickened and he felt as if he couldn’t stand it any longer, moving one finger, and then another inside her, stroking her until she was slippery and wet.
He loved feeling her shudder and gush against him as she came. He loved the small gasp of disappointment she made when he pulled his fingers free, and the delicious wet little pop her pussy made when he slipped them from her. They made a sticky trail up her hips as he raised the shirt further, until he’d exposed her breasts, which he took in his mouth, circling them with his tongue, nibbling on the nipples.
He stepped back for a moment, letting the shirt drop again, her wet nipples jutting against the fabric.
Now it was her turn to reach for him, unzip him, stroke his dick. She led him over to the sofa, and pushed him back against the pillows. He laughed, loving every minute of this. She’d written a scene in one of her books just like this, he thought. And yes, she was acting it out. She curled up between his knees and sucked him gently, teasingly, the head of his cock barely in her mouth. She licked each side of his shaft like it was a lollipop. And then she thrust him deep, as she could swallow him up. He tried to hold back, to make it last as long as possible, until at last he could not, and let loose between her lips.
And then it was his turn again – and he couldn’t stop himself, he remembered exactly what happened in one of her Jewel Steven’s books, and he played it out for her.
He lifted her firm buttocks in both hands, raising her slightly off the cushions. And thoroughly, tenderly, he spread the soft pink lips of her pussy, found her clit, and began to nibble at it, teasing her gently with his tongue, until she was dripping wet. He kissed and licked her thighs, and all the way down her legs – knees, calves, the top of her feet, and back again, until he thrust his tongue inside her. When she cried out, he used his hand to feel all the delicious wetness, enjoying the taste of her in his throat, rubbing the slippery mix of his saliva and her come along the inside of her legs and down, down, a kind of sex-scented massage to the tips of her toes. He felt her whole body quiver and shudder; his cock hardened again, and he climbed on top of her, stripping off the T-shirt at last and rocking her hard, so that the springs of the sofa squealed beneath them.
Real life was infinitely better than fiction, he thought.
Mike had more work to do, so Cherie tried hard to focus on some of her own.
It was difficult – her mind wandered. There was something so right, so familiar, so amazingly in sync with Mike, that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About herself with him. Focusing on Jake and Suzanne and their made-up love making paled in comparison.
But she tried.
Jake slowly led Suzanne up the spiral staircase, kissing her arms, her hands, the back of her neck at every landing. When they reached the top, he couldn’t wait any longer. He undressed her right where they stood on the landing, and then stood back to admire her, naked, as the seacoast spread out blue and white below them.
Cherie shook her head as if to clear it. She just – could – not – focus.
Last night when he lifted her body off the sofa and held her, as if suspended for a moment, his hands firm and warm around her buttocks – it was so much better than anything she could’ve written and yet surprisingly like something she had fantasized once.
Now she wanted to try something new: instead of making up stories about hot sex, she wanted to actually live those stories, and then write them down.
The next day was Sunday, and she suggested a visit to the very same lighthouse she was writing about, had in fact written about in countless other stories. Did her life always have to be about words?
They climbed out of the car and Mike reached for her hand. It was a nice feeling, his hands around her fingers. It was more than just nice. It was something like a spark that happened when they touched. If she was writing how she felt, she’d say an electric current passed through them.
They walked slowly to the graceful white spire of the lighthouse, not talking. The tours were over for the day and they had the place to themselves. The beacon glinted faintly like a diamond through the trees.
She loved being here with Mike on such a beautiful afternoon. The soft shadows, the golden light—she’d been to this lighthouse many times before, but it never looked this—well, romantic. Magical even. From the pounding surf, to the dark pine forest, the empty beach, the calling seabirds, it was all so perfect.
She wished she’d seen it through these eyes when she wrote her last book. Well, she was seeing it now.
She knew so little about him, yet she couldn’t remember a time when her body felt more alive, and in tandem with it, her mind, her thoughts, all her senses. There was an indefinable chemistry between them—primal, emotional and kinetic. Something about him made her feel as if they were destined to meet.
Was that possible?
“Let’s go up to the top. I bet the view’s amazing, although it’s pretty nice down here,” he smiled.
Cherie smiled. She honestly wouldn’t mind if things would unfold the same way they had in her last book when they reached the top. Whatever happened, it could certainly inspire her to finish the book she was writing now.
Still holding her hand, he led her up to the lighthouse door. Soon they were rocketing breathlessly up the narrow spiral staircase, neither of them could wait to get to the top.
Anticipation tingled through her body. She genuinely loved this place. And she loved being here with him, not just here on paper or living inside her own head. Those days, she thought, were over.
Mike was glad to see no one was around when they reached the top.
He wasn’t sure how much more time he had with her, and now that he was in this with her – whatever this was – he intended to make every minute count. Nothing new was turning up on Nathan; soon the plug would be pulled on this case, and he’d go back to LA and never see Cherie again.
For a moment or two he wasn’t entirely sure he could handle that.
But he also couldn’t handle compromising his case, or another case down the line. Getting Nathan Green locked up was his job, just as Cherie’s job was writing about love and sex.
But for now, neither of them had anything more to do than be with each other.
Cherie described the landmarks they could see from the lighthouse windows, and he murmured appreciative responses about the view. He could feel the warmth emanating from her body as she stood next to him. He wanted so badly to put his hands on her skin again.
“You can see the Florence sand dunes from here,” she told him, pointing. “Instead of sledding on snow, we grew up tobogganing down the dunes.”
“I wish I’d known you then,” he said. “But it’s perfect meeting you now.”
He wanted to take back those words as soon as he’d said them. She’d spoken about the dunes in the book she’d set here, too, and as he recalled, her hero had made a similar, maybe even identical response.
It was one thing to play out some of the sex scenes she’d written – and riff on them, making them undeniably about Cherie and himself, not the characters who inspired them. It was another to be in the same setting as one of her stories and repeat the lines in the script that she’d written.
What was wrong with him? Did he want to be discovered? Secretly, not so secretly, he wanted to tell her the truth. That he was on an assignment, and shouldn’t be but definitely was falling for someone. And that someone was her.
He wasn’t the type of person to put his work aside. But then he’d never felt this kind of pull before. He wasn’t sure he could resist it.
One thing was certain: he couldn’t resist her.
She looked at him with such raw longing, that he drew her up against him, and pressed his lips to hers. Her sun-warmed body threatened to scorch his skin through her clothes, and he absolutely had to feel her skin on his skin.
She seemed to have the same idea. She was already reaching for him, slipping her hands beneath his shirt.
He lifted her sweater and unhooked her bra while her fingers eagerly unbuckled his belt.
“Feel how wet I am already,” she whispered, as he tugged her skirt from her hips, and she stepped out of it.
He pushed her panties aside and slipped a finger inside her. Oh yeah, she was slippery wet, and he could feel a little shiver pass through her, as he slowly, teasingly, moved just that one finger back and forth, back and forth over her clit. He stripped off her sweater, and she unzipped his jeans, freeing him. His cock was rock hard, and man, how he wanted to just hold her down and fuck her.
But he held back, teasing himself as well as her, as she stood there in just the dangling bra and twisted panties.
He pulled his finger from inside her and instead of helping her strip them away, he stroked her through her panties, feeling the wetness inside her begin to dampen the fabric.
“Take them off,” she said, but he shook his head.
“No. Not until they’re soaking wet.”
Her eyes widened for an instant, and then she smiled and closed her eyes, leaning back against the rough white wall of the lighthouse. “That shouldn’t take too long,” she laughed.
He ran a finger lightly around the edge of her panties, tracing a line from the edge of her pubic hair to the waistband along her hips, and then lightly rubbing her again and again, moving from the top of her pussy around her to the bottom of her fine, firm ass.
He pulled on the fabric, he put his face against it and took in her scent like the wild thing she made him become. He pressed his dick against her and rubbed it against one thing and then the other and then against her underwear, and yes, he could feel how they clung to her, damp all over.
He slipped one, two, three fingers inside her, flicked her clit hard and fast, and felt her tremble and come before she cried out, and once again after.
She grabbed his hips and pulled him against her, so that he had her pinned against the wall in a square of warm sunlight that seemed to melt even as she was melting inside – another cry, and a small hot sticky explosion against his hand.
“Take me,” she said fiercely.
But he loved the waiting almost as much as he loved making her come. Over and over. It made him feel as if he had all the time in the world. As if they had all the time in the world.
He lifted her hands to his lips, turned the palms up and kissed them.
“I’ll take you anywhere you’d like,” he said. “Dinner? A movie?”
He slid her underwear over her hips, down her thighs, and off one foot, and then the other. They were not quite soaked, but they were wet, and when he’d slipped them off altogether, and he saw the soft blond curls of her pubic hair matted and damp, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He turned her away from him and took her from behind, while seemingly endless shimmering sea sent little waves of light passing over their skin, and the walls echoed their cries.