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4
Erin
The outline is good. I read through it several times before bed, trying to fill in the details in my head. Malik already has several chapters written, but I can’t see them until I go to his apartment. He’s that paranoid about it.
I guess I don’t blame him.
But walking up to the building is daunting. It’s glaringly clear that I don’t belong, and I feel the judgment in the eyes of the doorman, even when I show him my ID and he matches it to whatever message that Malik left for him.
A severe woman meets me at the elevator when I get to the penthouse and shows me into a small office with a beautiful view of the park and a gorgeous computer.
“All the files you need are on the desktop,” she says. “Don’t go poking into anything else.”
I make a face after she leaves.
After a couple of hours, there’s still no sign of her or Malik. I’ve been writing and doing my best to match my style to the chapters that have already been written.
The outline though…it’s hard to believe that this was the outline that he already had. Because it’s darker, just like we’d talked about. The sex is hotter, and I want to believe that he listened to me yesterday in the conference room and was inspired.
Or maybe I’m still too smitten to be thinking clearly.
Either way, this book is going to be hot.
The outlined sex is kinky, steamy, and fast-paced. This book would set the world on fire. Metaphorically.
I wonder if there’s a way to track the sales of vibrators in conjunction with Malik’s release, because I’d put money that they go up.
Clearing my throat just to have some sound in the empty space, I focus on the words in front of me. I’m already to the first sex scene. Nothing like diving in headfirst, I guess.
The hero has the heroine spread out on the bed. She’s blindfolded, and has no idea that he’s the handsome stranger that she quite literally ran into at the coffee house. Right now, he’s just a faceless man in the club, ready to give her an equally anonymous good time.
I can’t help but imagine myself in that scenario, and of course, the man is Malik. Because I’m fucking hopeless.
Though the outline briefly describes the kind of sex that they’re going to have, there’s plenty of room for creativity. Closing my eyes, I imagine how the scene will spin forward.
He knows who she is, saw her picture in the file that was given to him. That file contained a list of all her deepest wants and fantasies, and now he has a key to her pleasure and can’t wait to use it.
I write a few paragraphs, focusing on the details of the hero tying her to the bed. She’s shivering with anticipation, every sense heightened because she can’t see him, and only feel. He speaks to her in soft commands, and the way his voice brushes across her skin…
Holy shit. I blink, pulling back from the computer, needing a breath. This might as well be writing my own fantasies.
But maybe that’s what I need to do. Maybe that’s the key to making my own writing better. Lean into the personal part of it so the books are an extension of me.
Okay, if this is my fantasy, I need to go deeper. And that means taking a risk that I really shouldn’t be considering.
It’s been three hours, and this house is so silent. I don’t even think Malik is home. And the housekeeper? No idea where she is, but she already made it clear she wants nothing to do with me, probably thought I was some fresh intern instead of a wannabe writer in my own right. So I’m pretty sure that I won’t see her again. Until tomorrow.
I creep to the open door and look both ways down the hallway. No sign of anyone. Listening, I hear nothing. For as gloriously fancy as this apartment is, it’s not exactly homey.
Making sure the door is shut behind me, I go back to my chair and spin to face the window. I may be brazen, but I’m not going to face the door while I do this.
The scene is playing out in my mind, and I put myself in the heroine’s place, heat filling me. That invisible need uncoiling in my gut. It’s good that I wore leggings today, no panties, and it’s that much easier to slip my fingers under my waistband.
The hero slides his hands down the heroine’s body, teasing every part of her that he can reach, and when he arrives between her legs, he strokes a delicate finger over her clit and laughs softly about how wet she is, and how desperate for him.
I slip a finger inside myself and bite my lip to stop myself from moaning into the silence. My vibrator would be fucking perfect right now. Is that what I’m going to have to do on this job? Pack my vibrator in my handbag?
