The Romance Writer (Part 6): The Climax

Cherie just wanted to skip to the end. To the part where she was not being kidnapped and held on a boat by thugs until her father signed over a property deed. To the part where she was together with Mike, both without any secrets, lying on soft pillows in her bed, touching each other for hours, or even days. Or maybe they’d be somewhere tropical, an exotic locale where the characters in the book she wished she was home writing would be.

She tried the door to her cabin – locked of course. She stood on her toes to look from the port hole and saw nothing but open sea. A wave of panic rushed over her. To calm herself, she wrote in her head. She played out a scene that she wished was happening right now with her and with Mike, but she gave it to her characters, Jake and Suzanne.

“Jake,” Suzanne said. “You came for me.”

He was reaching out to her, she could feel his hands almost touching hers, touching her back, her hips, her breasts. He undressed her, slowly, deliciously, the warm summer breeze making the curtains in their room sway back and forth as if they too were part of a seductive dance.

“Of course, I came for you,” he spoke softly, soothingly.

He unbuttoned her silk blouse and tossed it aside. He stood back for a moment, drinking her in, and just his look made her feel as if she were melting inside.

He slid her skirt from her hips, and let it drop to the floor.

Now he was unhooking her bra, slipping it from her shoulders, one, then the other, kissing each arm, caressing each bare breast, lightly sucking each nipple.

He bent low, and slowly, slowly lowered her black lacy panties, his fingers playing for a moment in the soft curls of her pubic hair, running down her thighs, her calves, her ankles, lifting one foot and then the other, until he could toss those panties aside with her blouse.

She naked now except for her high-heeled gold sandals. He knelt down at her feet and unstrapped them, slipped first one shoe off and then the other, kissing her ankles.

He ran his tongue in an expanding line from ankle to knee, first one leg, then the other. First one thigh, and then the other, until he reached her pussy, and began to probe her with the tip of his tongue, stopping only to kiss her belly, then return to making small circles, deeper circles, until she came with a cry, still standing there with the warm breeze flicking over her skin.

He raised his face and began to kiss her hips, to lick them, to fondle, lick, and kiss the soft mounds of her buttocks. He stood again, and carefully, precisely, just oh so right, slipped one finger inside her dripping wet pussy, slipping it back and forth, back and forth until she came again.

Now he had his other hand cupped around her buttocks, he inched it between the folds of her legs, and rubbed her from behind, pussy to anus, as his other hand moved in and out, two fingers, three fingers now, inside her. He kissed her back and shoulders, and as she came again, he pressed one thumb into her anus. She felt as if he held every inch of her in his hands, possessed every part of her.

He slid his fingers from her pussy, still wet from her come, and rubbed them across her breasts, tweaking each nipple. He made little love bites along her neck, tracing each spot that he sucked with his tongue. At last he reached her lips, and he kissed her, long and deep.

“I want every bit of you, in my arms, always,” he said.

“And I want you.” She laughed now and took his hand, leading him to the bed. “I want you to fuck me now,” she commanded him. “Make me come until I forget everything that happened.”

“But don’t forget this. I’m in love with you,” he said.

There was the sound of a key in a lock and the door to the cabin burst open, jarring Cherie back to everything she wished she could forget. The two big men, one of them the neighbor she was clearly right never to have liked.

There was no lover touching her here.

“Time to go,” Nathan said, with something resembling a sneer. The other man took her arm, holding it in a vise-like grip.

“Where? Why am I on this boat?”

They didn’t answer her, just half-dragged, half-shoved her through the cabin door, onto the deck, and into another cabin, larger than the one she’d been locked inside. There was a table was set with a white linen cloth and a bottle of wine. One chair was empty, and they pushed her into it. In the other was a man even taller and larger Nathan and his friend.  He just stared at her, while Nathan who spoke.

“Sit there. Stop asking questions. We’re simply trading you for something more valuable.”

He poured her a glass of wine, which she didn’t touch.

The biggest man nodded. “My name’s Tanner. You’re just my guest here for a while. Have a drink. I insist.”


Mike felt slightly ridiculous wearing Cherie’s father’s hat and captain’s blazer, motoring his boat out to meet the yacht. Once the ransom demand was set in place, and instructions given to sail northeast and wait for closer coordinates on the ship’s radio, the plan he’d devised on the fly was to look enough like her father from a distance to approach the boat, get to Cherie, and then let the troops swoop in and surround it. Her father had readily agreed that signaling the presence of law enforcement might spook her captors enough to hurt Cherie, and handed over his keys.

So here Mike was with a satellite phone to communicate his location so the Coast Guard as well as the FBI for back up.

It was growing dark now, and he welcomed it. He had a feeling the yacht wasn’t far away.

He pressed the transmit button on the radio mic “Ready for the instructions.”

Following the coordinates he was given, a few minutes later, he saw the lights of the yacht slowly edging over the horizon. He called Adam.


Something was happening on deck. A voice that must’ve been the captain’s announced an approaching vessel, and first Nathan, then the other thug left, and Cherie alone with Tanner leering at her.

Who was on that boat? Ger father, sailing into a trap? Mike? The FBI? She didn’t know, but what she did now was she was alone with one man, one very threatening big man, who also happened to have a giant marble sculpture of an anchor on a stand about an inch from his head.

What would Suzanne do? She’d grab it and swing. And then afterwards, meet Jake for some hot sex in the engine room. Sometimes life resembled fiction, she thought; maybe hers would, too. So, when Tanner reached for the wine she did exactly what she’d intended. She grabbed the thing and swung hard.


Now. Mike couldn’t wait for his own backup. He saw Nathan on deck, and he didn’t see Cherie, and for all he knew her life was hanging by a thread. He gunned it for the yacht at high speed.

He dove off the side of the boat before it hit the yacht, slamming into the water so hard he didn’t think he would breathe again, but he ricocheted to the surface and breathe he did, paddling frantically around the front of the yacht to the side where a dinghy had been lowered. A short ladder extended up from it. He propelled himself out of the waves, clutching the side of the boat, and struggled up

the ladder and onto the deck. The men were busy looking on the smashed boat, and shouting for Tanner. He had to find Cherie.


The crash came just as Cherie grabbed the marble sculpture. It rocked her back on her heels, but it also made Tanner slide half off his chair, buying her seconds she didn’t have before.

She hit him full on with the anchor as the yacht bucked and rocked with the sound of splintering wood.

Tanner collapsed on the floor with a groan, and she shot out the cabin door to the deck. She didn’t know what was happening, but there had to be a dinghy somewhere on this boat, and she was going to take it.

But a pair of cold, wet hands pulled her, shoulders first, back against the door frame. She struggled to free herself, as one hand clapped over her mouth.

“Cherie, don’t. It’s me.”

She raised her eyes to meet Mike’s blue gaze, took in his wet hair, his soaked clothes. In the midst of all this, she wanted only one thing and that was to kiss him.

But instead: “What took you so long?”

His arms were strong and sure around her. She felt an enormous rush of relief. Maybe together they could get out of this alive.

She saw Mike was wearing her father’s captain jacket, which she’d given her dad as a joke gift on his last birthday.

“My father – ”

“Safe at home. With my partner.”

She knew she should still be angry at him, and she knew she should be scared. But at that moment, the only thing she felt was happiness.

“But how are you, darling, are you okay?” he asked her.

For a split-second all she heard was the ‘darling.’

“Yes,” Cherie replied, surprised at how shaky her voice sounded. “But that man over there isn’t. I decked him with an ugly but perfectly heavy sculpture. We could use it on the other guys, too,” she suggested.

But that wasn’t necessary at all. There was the whir of helicopters overhead.

A voice shouted through a megaphone, telling them to freeze, and as Coast Guard and FBI teams rappelled down from their helicopters, and swarmed over the yacht, she actually felt the tiniest bit of regret.

They could’ve taken on the rest of them, she thought. Together.

That was quite a word, together.

He’d lied to her, after all. Was she just going to forgive him, just like that, and fall into his arms?

Unfortunately, that question couldn’t be answered now.

She was already being led to a seat on the deck, guarded by a Coast Guard officer; Mike was talking to some other guy in plain clothes – his partner, she guessed. Whatever they were discussing, it looked intense.


“Hey. You got the bad guys, you saved the girl, not to mention you stopped a major drug operation. I think you can handle an apology,” Adam told him.

But looking across the deck at Cherie, Mike wasn’t so sure. So many lies. So much danger he’d exposed her to by not telling her the truth when he had the chance. Would she believe the truth now? About his feelings for her?

He had to try. He drew a deep breath, and strode across the deck. He was mumbling his apologies, explaining the case, and she was listening, nodding, not really saying much, but so close he could feel the heat off her skin, and he could’ve taken her in his arms and convinced her how he really felt with his lips, with his cock, with his hands – except he couldn’t, not with a boat full of FBI agents milling around them.

“No matter how it looks, no matter how this all started – what I feel for you is real. You – you were – unexpected. My feelings, I mean. Were entirely unexpected.

It wasn’t part of any plan that I spend the night with you. It just – happened. I was so crazy attracted –”

“And you know I was too,” Cherie said softly. “It was my idea that you stay, remember?”

“I never wanted to hurt you. And I thought the best way to protect you was by putting these guys away.”

“In the end, you came through.”

“But that’s just it. This isn’t the end. It can’t be. Not of us.”


Cherie knew she should be overjoyed, reassured, but — could she trust him?

“You hid who you were, I get that, it was your job. I get that you didn’t intend to spend that first night with me.”

He nodded, knowing that there was more.

“But you stole lines from my books … why would you do that?”

“I just – remembered them. And I was distracted with this case and trying to keep you safe, and knowing that I was lying and – the words came out.”

“But now, how can I tell if this is real or this is fiction? I’m probably never going to see you again after tonight.”

Even as she said it, the idea stung deep.

Even as she said it, she just wanted him to kiss her.

“You will. I have to handle things here. But give me a few hours and I’ll prove to you I’m not going anywhere. Will you let me?”

“I don’t know if I should,” she said.

“Oh, come on. Wouldn’t Suzanne let Jake? Wouldn’t Jewel Stevens write it that way?”

Slowly, she nodded.


As the last light faded from the Moroccan sky, Suzanne and Jake could not stop exploring each other. The more they touched, the more they wanted, she thought.

He took her from behind this time, flipping her easily in the rumpled sheets, pressing his hot, throbbing cock against her ass cheeks, and then plunging fast and hard inside her.

He touched her dangling breasts as he thrust into her, he left a line of little love bites along her neck, and they both cried out when they came, as if they were sated, but she knew they were not. She fell forward into a mound of pillows, and he collapsed against her, both panting in a wonderfully sweaty heap.

The breeze blew in through the fluttering curtains, cooling their skin, but not their want.

She slipped out from under him and pushed him onto his back. Her mouth found his cock and worked it hard again – it didn’t take much time at all. She tasted herself on him, and his come. He was ready to burst all over again but she took her wet mouth from him and scrambled on top of him, and crouching right over his cock moved against him, dry humping his hugely engorged dick until he moaned, and grabbed for her, pressing her on top of him.

She worked him deep into her pussy, and for a moment they were both still. She bent forward, reaching for his lips with hers. And as they met, as they kissed, their bodies barely moving, they both came again. For her it was so intense that she almost could not breathe, she was drinking in his kiss, his breath just to survive.

“Let’s do it again,” she said, when she could speak.

Cherie was writing to pass the time. She’d reassured her father, answered questions on the record for Mike’s partner, and now she was home, showered and dressed – carefully in a thin green sweater with long sleeves and a low-cut V-neck.

She was just starting to wonder if Mike would ever arrive when he did, with a bouquet of yellow roses, and a smile on his face that made her heart race.

“Yes, I stole the idea of the roses from one of your books, too. But I’m hoping you really like them,” he said as she placed them in water.

“I do,” she said.

Discreetly touching her back, he guided her out the door, down to his car, and ushered her inside.

He drove quickly; his hand occasionally brushed her knee as he shifted, and just like fictional Suzanne she wanted more, more, more of his touch. The pines and brief glimpses of moon-washed ocean sailed by, and15 minutes later, Mike pulled into the gravel parking lot of the lighthouse.

“A memorable spot,” he said, with that same winning smile. “So memorable I wanted to visit it again.”

“Isn’t it locked up for the night?”

“We worked with the Coast Guard today, remember? I asked for a favor.” He sprang from the car, and helped her out after him.


He loved the feel of her warm hand in his own. He led her to the light house, the beam blinking bright, on and off, off and on.

Inside, the entrance was dark and gloomy, without the moonlight to guide them. Mike took out a flashlight and led them up the stairs.

A little out of breath, they reached the top.

“Wow,” Cherie said.

Even he had to admit, the room was exactly as he wanted it to look, maybe even better.

The votive candles he’d placed on every window reflected on the glass against the dark sky.

The picnic he’d laid out – champagne, soft blankets, cheeses and fruits – looked appropriately romantic, he thought.

“I don’t have the imagination you have,” he said, “to create the perfect scene on paper. But I wanted to create one for real.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

He took her in his arms and began to dance with her, around and around the circular room, “I promise you, I’ll never lie to you again. I’ll never pretend to be anything other than myself with you. This is me. Right now, asking you, please forgive me. Please be with me.”

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.


All she could do was nod, because he’d drawn her tightly against him, and was kissing her, kissing her.

His hand slipped inside her sweater and unhooked her bra. His hand was caressing her breasts, the fabric of her sweater rubbed against the nipples, she was so excited she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, but she knew what she was doing was enough of a reply.

Her own hands swiftly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and grasped his cock, stroking it over and over until he was practically vibrating.

He pulled her down on the soft heap of blankets, the candles flickering softly over them.

She took his dick in her mouth and sucked him while he lifted her skirt, and slipped his hand against her panties, rubbing her until she came, and came again, and again, and her underwear felt damp against her thighs.

She gave him one last lick, and then rolled over on her back, so he could peel her panties down, and off, and he took off her shoes, and just like Jake in her new book – which he couldn’t possibly have read – his lips moved from her ankle to her thighs, which he spread, and he thrust his tongue inside her.

When he made her climax one, two, three times, only then did he climb on top of her, and press his cock between her legs.

She raised her legs around his neck, and he took her fiercely, with such abandon that they slipped right off the blankets and onto the cool, hard floor.

They both shouted with the pleasure of it, yes, and yes again, and when they’d finished – at least for the moment, he rolled onto his back, took her hand, and raised it to his lips in a kiss.

And just like the heroines in the stories she wrote, she suddenly was sure, sure of what she wanted, sure of how she felt, sure of him.


Jake and Suzanne made love until the sun rose. As the first light set the room on fire, he opened a small jar filled with scented oil. He rubbed her body, head to toe, with it. He dripped it down her back, her chest, her legs; he rubbed her until she gleamed with it, until she moaned from his touch; and slippery as a fish, she slid beneath him, and once again, he thrust his cock inside her. And once again, even as they came, she knew she could never get enough of him.

With his legs wrapped around her, she began to drift into a dreamy sleep. “I think this is where the story ends for now,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek, his kisses still devouring her lips, her throat, her breasts. “I think this is our happy-ever-after.”