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“Well, I am off to Tiffany’s house.”
“Oh, we just saw them earlier with the kids. Kiss Rae for me,” Michael says as I am walking away.
Finally getting to her house, I knock. The last time I came over, I made the mistake of ringing the bell and woke up baby M.J. He was not a happy camper for my entire visit. No more doorbells for me. “Cheryl! Come in. I was hoping I would get to see you,” she says, waving me inside. I note how quiet it is.
“Are the kids napping already?” I ask her, hanging up my coat.
“Yes! Mama needed a break. Mark had to go back to the clinic and M.J. has to be teething early or something because he is a terror that can’t walk. In sleep, he is an angel. Awake, he is a punishment for something I don't know I did.” She sounds so frustrated. I wish I could do something to help.
“Well, I’m here. How can I help?” She smiles even though I can see how tired she is.
“Right now just sit and talk to me. What’s been going on? How’s your new book coming?” Blushing, I turn my head a little before answering.
“It’s coming. Right now I am so focused on the cover, I have barely written more than six chapters.” I have been working on it for two months. Usually, by now, I am writing the end. I have no clue what is holding me up.
“What’s this one called again?”
“Stupid Cupid. It’s about a girl who wants to fall in love so bad. Every time she meets a guy, they go out and then he never calls her again. She believes she is cursed or something and whenever she gets mad, she yells out, Stupid Cupid. Turns out the guy who lives upstairs from her, has been in love with her, but too shy to tell her. He has been scaring away all of her dates. They live happily ever after. The end.”
“That sounds adorable. The girl sounds like someone I know.” She winks at me. I know what she is insinuating.
“I mean yeah. She is based off of me a little bit. I want what you and Mark have,” I tell her wistfully, putting my hands on my heart.
“Well, do you have any prospects?” My mind immediately conjures Nolan, and everything gets a little dizzy. Shaking my head, not sure if it is to clear him from it or deny her question, but she beats me to it. “What about Nolan?” She asks.
“What about him? We are just business friends.”
“Really? Are you sure? I have seen the way that boy looks at you when you are not watching. Like Cupid himself shot him through the heart.” Really? Have I been missing it? No, right? I mean, if he likes me, he has had plenty of time to ask me out. No. She is mistaken.
“Nolan and I are just friends. The end.”
But this has to be the year something changes.
Or, I just give up.
CHAPTER4
NOLAN
TWO DAYS LATER
I’ve been havingthis recurring dream about Cheryl for a while now. It’s always the same. She’s wearing a long beaded silvery dress while singing on a stage. Then she strips for me. I’m the only other person in the room. The dance she does for me is so fucking good. Every time I have the dream, I wake up with my cock in my hand, needing relief desperately. All I can do is imagine her pussy squeezing me until I fill her while I jerk off. I already know that it won’t ever be enough. I need her. I need the real thing. I have some things to pick up in Portland, so I invited Cheryl to join me for lunch which she accepted. Now she’s seated across from me at a nice Italian restaurant. We are sharing a pizza, and I’m hanging on to every word she says like a lovesick puppy. I love how she talks with her hands. She’s so animated, especially when she loves what she’s talking about. Like now, she’s telling me about her new book,Stupid Cupid. She doesn’t seem to know what she wants for the cover, which is why she’s pretty much reading me her book right now so that I might offer some suggestions. I could listen to her talk for hours, and in fact, I have. Our phone conversations have quickly turned into daily conversations lasting hours at a time. Sometimes we don’t even say anything.
We both work in silence, listening to each other breathe. It’s my favorite part of the day. Just being with her, even though it’s not physical. Yet. I can’t help thinking about what it will be like when I finally get the chance to worship her. I haven’t been with another woman in several years, and certainly not since I heard her voice. She’s all I can think about these days. I’m not even taking on other client's projects right now, so I am a thousand percent sure that I am available for her. Once she’s mine, I’ll be able to relax and get back to business as usual, but until then, it’s all Cheryl, all the time.
I listen intently to her talking, just like I always do. After we initially met, I spent two full days reading herAdventures of Beauseries as a way to get to know her and her writing style. While I usually read James Patterson and Stephen King, I loved it. She sucked me in from the first sentence, and that’s pretty hard to do. From what she’s said,Stupid Cupidis going to be downright wild compared to the tame love of her young adult novels. Still not erotica, but not chaste either. I’m getting turned on just thinking about her writing naughty words. How fucked up is it that I want to teach her those naughty words before she writes them? Because I know she doesn’t know that. I want to teach her everything. She just looks like innocence incarnate. She’s sugar sweet and everything nice. She’s everything that I ever wanted in a woman. She everything I ever wanted in my wife.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, wringing her hands together in front of her.
“It sounds great, Cheryl. It’ll be a bestseller. I know it.
“Thanks, but the cover is still alluding me. Do you have any ideas?” she asks, and immediately an idea forms in my mind. I can see the cover, plain as day in my head. That’s how it works for me. I get intense visions of the work I create before I create them. It’s like a superpower, but it only pertains to graphic design, unfortunately.
“I do. Just one.”
“Oh, goodie,” she says, bouncing in her seat and clapping her hands together lightly. Fuck, her perfect tits bounce under the pink sweater she’s wearing today, and my cock bounces against my thigh right along with her. “Tell me, please.”
How can I refuse such a sweet plea? How can I refuse anything she asks of me?
