Mr. Write

by Monica James

  “I’m here because ever since I caught my wife shagging someone other than me, I haven’t been able to write a single word…that is, until I met you.”

  Carrie’s silence reveals I’ve caught her off guard. I don’t see the point in sugarcoating anything as she’d just call bullshit anyway.

  “Your father can ruin me,” I continue, still peering out the window. “I came here with the grand plan of having him see what a great guy I am. But it’s backfired, and I’m pretty sure he wants me dead.” Carrie giggles, and the sound is too perfect for words. “The only good thing about being knocked out cold is that I lost our bet. I now have to stay away from Daisy, which suits me just fine as I’m seconds away from maiming myself if I hear her call me pookie bear one more time.

  “The bad thing is I now have to convince your dad not to drop me from his publishing house because if I won, he was going to sign my next three books, which really took the pressure off. But now, I’m screwed.”

  “Let me get this right.” She finally speaks after digesting everything I’ve just said. “You came here because you’re seconds away from dumping my sister, who you aren’t really dating, but you know if you do that, she’ll run to our father, and in turn, he’ll most likely ruin your career. You wanted to try to sweet-talk him into liking you, but that’s completely turned to shit. You’re now stuck with writer’s block, a boss who hates you, and a woman who has already named your unborn children.” She blows out a breath once she’s done.

  I turn to face her with a smile. “Yes, that pretty much sums up my life.”

  She pulls in her lips and shakes her head. “You’re right. You’re screwed.”

  All I can do in this situation is laugh. It’s either that or I change my name and move to another country. “I was crazy to think this would work. I should just dump Daisy and get used to frozen burritos. I have no idea why I thought I could talk my way out of this. I can’t even construct a coherent sentence, and that’s my job.”

  I hate to sound desperate, but it’s the god’s honest truth. There is no way I can carry on with this charade with Daisy a moment longer. But if I leave now, I have no doubt Axle will sever all ties with Nick and me. I suppose I could always pitch to another publishing house, but seeing as I have no new material to show them, I don’t see that working. There are whispers among the houses that I’ve had my five seconds of fame. I wish my name alone would sell my books, but the market’s changed—it’s now a competitive, saturated jungle out there.

  “Your silence is making me nervous,” I tease, waiting for her to speak.

  Her lips tug at the corners as she stands. I’ve forgotten how lithe she is. “I’ve got a plan.”

  I don’t hide my surprise. “A plan? Does it involve fireworks, clowns, or decaffeinated coffee?”

  She scrunches up her nose, confused. “No?” She replies as a question, unsure if that’s the correct answer.

  “Okay, I’m in.” Her laughter brings me hope, and I pray this plan of hers works. No one knows family better than their own family. “So what’s this grand scheme of yours?”

  She shakes her head. “All in good time. I need to make a few calls.”

  That sounded so out of left field, and I love it. “Well, you know where to find me. If you can’t find me, however, odds are I’m tied to your sister’s bed with broken kneecaps.”

  She bursts out laughing. “It serves you right for hooking up with my sister.” She shudders in disgust.

  “In my defense”—I hold up my finger while stepping toward her—“I didn’t know she was completely bonkers until after she turned up on my doorstep sporting nothing but a bull’s-eye painted on her…”

  “Ugh! Enough!” Carrie shrieks, covering her ears and singing loudly. She’s just too adorable.

  Putting her out of her misery, I walk toward her and uncover her ears. The moment we make contact, the burn has me growling low, and an adrenaline punch shoots straight through my body, ending in my pants.

  I swallow deeply, caught off guard, but I release her, not making a big deal over something that can never happen. She’s sworn off men, especially men like me. Not to mention the fact I’m plotting with her to break things off with her sister, who I’m not even really dating. If that isn’t an episode for Jerry Springer, then I don’t know what it is.

  Her cheeks glimmer in that delicate pink, leaving me wetting my lips. “I’m going to hit the shower. Thanks for saving my arse.”

  She nods quickly, averting her eyes.

  Her confidence has diminished, leaving a vulnerability in its wake that suits her as much as her confidence. There are many sides to Carrie Bell, and so far, I’ve liked each one far more than I should. And it’s because I do that I leave her standing in my room, untouched and alone.

  After a cold shower and jacking off twice, I feel somewhat better. There is no question who the inspiration for my in-shower action was.

  From the get-go, Carrie fascinated me. But I’m surprised I find myself attracted to more than just her looks; it’s her personality too. I find myself admiring things like the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, or the graceful pink she turns when she lets down her guard. No man should be noticing these things about someone they’ve just met, and most men would never even acknowledge such trivial things, but I’m a writer. I’ve come to appreciate true beauty, and Carrie is the epitome of the word.

  If I was a believer in fate and all that philosophical shite, I could say that our meeting was pre-destined in the stars. But since she busted me post-coitus and caught me in a lie involving her sister, I have no idea what exactly we’re predestined for.

  The whole idea has me thinking about destiny and just how it did on the plane, I’m hit with the urge to write. Not questioning it, I make a mad dash for my laptop on the edge of the bed. I turned it on earlier to check the football scores, but now my fingers can barely keep up as I type frantically.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had given up, or so I thought.

  I stare at the single sentence, the flashing cursor taunting me to type more. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, so for the next hour, I type. There is no method to my madness, but when I pull away to rub my tired eyes, I don’t have that sense of desperation nipping at my heels.

  With the words I wrote earlier and now this new addition, I have over two thousand useable words. I still have no idea of the middle and ending, but I have a beginning, and that’s better than having nothing at all.

  As I’m reading over my work, I’m left vulnerable and exposed and don’t hear the door close until it’s too late. A warm body settles behind me, scaring the living shite out of me. Before I have a chance to move, a pair of arms wind around my chest.

  At first, I believe it’s Daisy because I know how much she loves to break the rules, but as I take a closer look, I almost rocket off the bed when I see red fingernails clawing down my bare chest.

  “What the bloody hell!” I exclaim, turning over my shoulder to see a smirking Nora on her knees. Her hair is down and wild, and her eyes are hungry. I know this look far too well.

  “Hello,” she purrs while raking her nails farther down my body.

  I suddenly feel violated. “Nora.” I latch onto her wrists to stop her from venturing any farther. “What are you doing?”

  The unmistakable sweetness to her breath reveals she’s had one too many glasses of wine and is clearly not thinking straight. “What does it look like?” she replies, leaning forward and nibbling my earlobe.

  “Whoa! Time-out!” I carefully pry her hands off me and launch off the bed as though it’s on fire. “Your husband’s room is down the hall. How about I show you to it?” I suggest, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  She pouts and shakes her head. “I know where his room is, but it’s not where I want to be. I want to be right here with you.” My eyes drop to her chest as she begins to unfasten the buttons on her silk dress. “I saw the way you were looking at me.”

  I
curse my cock. The infernal thing needs to have a restraining order placed against it where all women are concerned. Backing up, I raise my hands in surrender. “Please stop, Nora. This is so, so wrong.” However, my words fall on deaf ears when she unfastens three buttons and peels the dress over her slender shoulders.

  The dark, fragile lace complements the milky suppleness of her skin. Her breasts are full, her pink nipples ripe and hungry. “Like what you see?” She palms herself, showing me she is more than a handful.

  “Yes, you’re lovely. But that’s not the point,” I quickly correct. I need to look away, but when she reaches around and unhooks her bra, I’m glued to the buoyancy of her soft breasts, and the manner in which they fall from their lace confines.

  My dick is telling me to stop being such a pussy and give in. But a voice I thought long buried between D cups and XXX waxes screams at me that this lady, this hot woman currently tweaking her nipples and moaning my name in delight, is Carrie’s mom. The same Carrie who has been nothing but kind to me and inspired me with her honesty and spirit.

  I grit my teeth when she glides the hem of her dress up her thighs, exposing her bare, honeyed center. “Nora, I just, please stop. That.” I point at her bottom half, finally lifting my eyes from the erotic but equally dangerous sight and look at nothing but her eyes.

  “Why? We’re two consenting adults.”

  “What about Axle? And Daisy?” I attempt to play the family card, hoping she sees reason.

  She curls her lip at the mere mention of Axle’s name. “What about him? His dick is merely for decoration purposes. He wouldn’t know what to do with it, unlike you. I’ve read your books. I know how you like it.” She unfastens the last few buttons and strips bare.

  Holy shite. Her body is fan-fucking-tastic.

  She is an undoubtedly magnificent sight, but regardless, I take control and stop things before they get out of hand. “My characters aren’t me.” A mistake many readers make. Authors may or may not write from personal experience. In most circumstances, we’re just a vessel for whatever stories are rattling around in our heads. Some may be based on reality, but in most cases, it’s fiction—that’s what makes it a story and not an autobiography. “I’m truly flattered that a smashing, hot woman like you wants to offer yourself to me in that way, but I can’t. For so many reasons, I just can’t.” At the forefront is Carrie’s magical laugh and smile.

  Nora frowns, her fire beginning to simmer down. “W-why not? You don’t find me attractive?” Her insecurity is clear when she quickly wraps an arm around her chest.

  “Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “You’re beautiful. If your husband doesn’t worship you daily, then he’s more of an idiot than I thought he was.”

  She snuffles out a laugh. “When you’ve been married for as long as we have, you tend to forget the other person exists.”

  Still semi concealed, I take a step forward as I think I’m safe from being molested. “You’re a stunning woman, Nora.” Her cheeks tint pink, reminding me so much of Carrie. “Maybe Axle needs reminding.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she gushes, brushing back her hair embarrassed.

  “Well, what you did there”—I circle my finger toward the bed—“is a good start.” She giggles; the fire has thankfully burned out.

  “I’m so sorry, Jayden. Can you ever forgive me? I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. There’s nothing to forgive.” Who am I to deny this plea when her quim is still exposed to me? “What’s a little nudity between friends?” I wave it off, but I really wish she’d put on some clothes. I’m a gentleman, but I’m not a sodding saint.

  She seems relieved, but I can sense something else is playing on her mind. “Do you think we could keep this between us?”

  “Of course. Let’s never mention it again.”

  She brushes the hair behind her ears before carefully stepping down from my bed. I back up, afraid she’s changed her mind because if she rubs those outstanding breasts against me again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.

  “Thank you, Jayden. Best I stick to water from now on.” Before I can speak, she steps forward and hugs me. I’m like a rigid lamppost, too afraid to move in the wrong direction because she’s still very nude.

  “It’s all right. No worries.” She clings to me, nestling her nose into my chest and inhaling deeply.

  I spread my arms out wide, and if this were charades, one couldn’t be blamed for guessing I was re-enacting a tree, but this is a safe zone, and I don’t care how ridiculous I look. I have no chance of rubbing, touching, or bumping into anything that I shouldn’t. I’ve already seen enough.

  “Ah, Nora?”

  “Yes,” she mumbles happily against me.

  “You’re kind of very naked.”

  “Oh, my god!” she yelps, mortified. She releases me and quickly hunts for her clothes. I do the same and slip into a shirt with many buttons just in case she gets any ideas.

  When she fastens her bra and rearranges her copious breasts, my dick has had enough of this saintly act and demands we take the high road to hell.

  Quashing down the urge to act how I’ve acted in the past, I spit out, “I’ll leave you to it.” I don’t even wait for a response and run out the door.

  As I charge out into the hallway, my mouth waters the moment I bump into a delicious smelling mass. I know without looking who it is because my body seems to be in sync with hers. “Where are you running off to in such a hurry?”

  “Hurry?” I scoff, leaning my arm against the doorjamb to prohibit her from opening the door. “I hardly call exiting my room at a steady pace a hurry.”

  Carrie scrunches up her nose. “I have no idea what you’re on, but please give me some. I welcome anything that will numb the next two hours of my life.”

  Now that I’m somewhat composed, I take in her extraordinary appearance and scold myself for not admiring her sooner. Her long wavy hair falls softly around her face, elongating her creamy smooth neck. The small scripted C hangs off her thin necklace, falling between the low, V neckline of the royal blue silk dress she’s wearing.

  Unable to stop my visual feasting, I descend, my mouth salivating when I see a dainty sparkly anklet secured around her ankle. Her feet are bare, which actually sets off her spirited pixie look beautifully.

  Her entire person is stunning, but I can’t help but give her amazing chest a second glance.

  Now it’s her turn to clear her throat. “My eyes are up here.”

  She’s completely busted me checking her out, but it’d be a shame not to give them the attention they deserve. “Oh, I know where your eyes are, dove,” I reply, meeting them a second later.

  The term of endearment just popped out, but it seems fitting because Carrie is free-spirited and delicate. I’ve also never felt freer than I do when I’m around her.

  Her glossy lips part, and a breathless whimper escapes her. A pink hue creeps up her nape as she nervously toys with her pendant.

  There is no denying the attraction we feel for one another, but underneath that pull is the fact I’m a dirty, rotten scoundrel, and Carrie wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. I’m no better than what’s-his-face. Speaking of whom.

  “Heard from the fucking twat?”

  My obscenities sever the invisible tether between us as Carrie scrunches up her nose. “Who?”

  “Donald?” I reply, knowing damn well that’s not his name.

  It takes her a second to realize who I’m referring to, but when she does, she bursts into that magical laughter. “Donny?”

  I shrug, placing my hands into my pockets nonchalantly. “Personally, I prefer fucking twat, but yes, him.”

  She raises her eyebrow as I didn’t exactly mask my touch of jealousy. “No, I haven’t, and I don’t think that’ll change anytime soon. He probably lost his phone in Natalie’s vagina anyway.”

  I splutter up a cough intersected with a laugh as I was not expecting that response. I sho
uld know by now to have my guard up when Carrie is involved.

  “Let’s get tonight over with.” She sighs, her pain palpable.

  Daisy gave me a brief rundown about what dinner with the Bells would entail. Apparently, Axle sees himself as quite the chef and doesn’t half arse any meal. As expected, no expense is spared, and it appears we’ll eat as though it’s Christmas every night. And tonight is no exception.

  Realizing Nora is still hidden inside my room, I decide to continue this conversation downstairs. I sweep my hand forward, gesturing for her to lead the way. I’m thankful when she does. “Your dad is some sort of genius in the kitchen, I hear?”

  Carrie’s scoff reveals Daisy is full of shite. “More like a Nazi. He only puts on a big show and dance to show off to all his snobbish friends. They’re in competition with everything—who has the biggest house, the most expensive car, whose wife has the biggest implants. The list is endless.”

  I follow her, smiling as she descends the staircase, not masking her contempt for her family. I can see why she believed or, rather, wished she was adopted. She’s nothing like these loony tunes. “It goes without saying we’re to get totally pissed to deal with tonight’s proceedings then?”

  She turns over her shoulder with a sultry grin. “You twisted my arm.” As she steps onto the polished terrazzo, she shakes her head as if remembering something. “You can’t drink. You’re probably concussed.”

  “All the more reason to drink then,” I counter without pause.

  “Did you want some Tylenol?” Her concern catches me off guard, but I shrug it off and don’t read into something that isn’t there.

  What is there sadly is someone who I almost forget was here. “Pookie bear!”

  Daisy rounds the corner, her happiness to see me making me feel like an even bigger arsehole because the feeling is most definitely not reciprocated. Her absurd red heels click against the floor as she charges over.

  Leaning into Carrie, I ignore her delectable scent as I whisper, “Forget the Tylenol. You wouldn’t happen to have any Valium or Oxy on hand?” She mutes her giggles behind her hand while Daisy narrows her eyes.