Writing Mr. Right

by Wright, Michaela

  There was an urgency to the way he moved, the way he kissed her. Even his breathing betrayed need, and Georgia was intoxicated by it. It felt as though he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him. Suddenly, she couldn’t pull him close enough, no matter how hard she tried.

  He pressed himself between her legs, and slid in with purpose. Georgia gasped, a mix of relief and pain. He pressed into her, slow and deep, then retreated with the same slow purpose. He pressed his hips into her, their bodies touching at every point. His expression was one of relish, and he moved slowly.

  He closed his eyes. “Holy fuck, ye feel too good.”

  She smiled, letting her head fall back. Garrett pressed his elbows and knees into the mattress and began to move with purpose. His speed began to build, his breathing growing hoarser. She glanced down at the place where their bodies joined, watching the dark patch of hair on him, the shape that appeared and disappeared with each of his thrusts. It was happening again – this thing she’d longed for since the day she met him, the seemingly impossible return of his touch and his warmth – it was happening, and it felt as good as she wanted it to. She wanted to take in every detail of him, burn to memory the way this man felt.

  Garrett suddenly grabbed her hair and gently tilted her head back far enough to meet his eyes. Before she could flinch at being seen, he thrust into her roughly, deep and slow, watching her eyes for response. She cried out, holding her breath as he retreated and drove into her again. His brow was set, eyes dark with an almost sinister pleasure at watching her take him.

  “Is that too hard?” He asked, but his tone was almost daring, as though he wanted her to say yes.

  She turned her eyes away and he took hold of her face again, a soft but stern glint in his eyes. “Look at me, Georgia.”

  “I can’t!” She gasped as he moved in her again.

  “No?”

  Suddenly, he was on his knees, snatching up her ankles, pulling her legs up the length of him and over his shoulders. He pressed on her thighs, pushing himself over her until her knees touched her breasts. Then as she gripped the edge of the mattress, desperately holding on, he took her with such purpose, she feared she’d be bucked off the edge of the bed. She braced herself against him, but as he leaned over her further, he moved just a hair too deep. She cried out, pushing her legs against him in futile protest. He responded to her cries by slowing his movements, but despite that concession, he began to push himself deep again, reaching the point of pain, then crossing just a hair past it.

  “Ah, God!”

  “Cannae take getting shagged properly, can ye?”

  Georgia faced him, shocked at this challenge. He’d been rough before, even deliberately chased her around his apartment long ago, but this was new. This fearlessness, this almost cocky challenge - she adored it. She wanted to scream “Yes!” and glare him down, but he was driving so deep, she knew he could hurt her. She didn’t fear for a moment that he would, but he could.

  She pushed her hands against his hips, imploring him with her eyes.

  “Will ye do as you’re told and look at me when I tell ye?”

  He lifted his weight off her just so, then pushed again. He reached that same point, but this time did not cross it. Georgia’s head fell back, drifting with each thrust over the edge of the mattress. He thrust again, causing a tinge of pain.

  Georgia shrieked, conceding. “I will.”

  Garrett smiled, letting her legs fall at his sides. “That’s a good lass.”

  He dropped onto her, kissing her neck, her collar, biting her shoulder as he began grinding into her again. She held onto him, the sudden return to this position causing her senses to heighten and her body to tense.

  She squeezed her legs around him. “Oh my god, Garrett. Don’t stop!”

  He grunted over her, working to keep his rhythm. “I’m tryin!”

  He pressed his nose to her cheek, his breath warm, ragged with labor. Georgia scratched her nails down his back and he growled. She let her head fall back. She was so close.

  “Look at me, Georgia.”

  She inhaled, sharply. The tone wasn’t a demand, or a threat; it was almost imploring. Despite how exposed she felt, pinned beneath him, her body yielding to his thrusts, she forced herself to meet his eyes. He grabbed her hands, holding them over her head, and watched her, his exhales sharper with each thrust. He growled, glaring down at her as her legs shook around him.

  “Tell me when,” he said in barely a whisper.

  She inhaled and held her breath as the heat surged between her legs. She gasped once - twice.

  “Now! Oh God! Now!”

  His mouth fell open, though his eyes didn’t leave hers, and he shuddered over her, thrusting harder and deeper, making it so hard to keep her head from falling back as they both came.

  He thrust again, slower each time. Still, he watched her for response, for connection. He slowed, then stopped altogether, brushing his hair out of his face. Georgia watched his expression. He kissed her, smiling wide enough for her lips to graze his teeth. Then she slumped back onto the mattress, and he onto her.

  They lay there a moment, catching their breath, both of them damp with sweat. He finally shifted over her, pulling out. She felt almost hollow in the sudden absence of him.

  He sprawled out beside her, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. She rolled onto her side to watch him, the daylight fading outside. She grazed a fingertip across his nipple, then kissed it, resting her hand on his chest.

  “So now ye can look at me?”

  She glanced up to find him smiling at her and her cheeks burned. He flipped onto his side, facing her. She met his gaze a moment, waiting for him to speak or break eye contact. He didn’t, and his smile began to grow wider. Georgia feared if she didn’t look away her face would betray her, give away all her secrets and he’d know how madly in love she was. Still, she held his gaze. A second or two too late and she finally covered her face with her hand.

  He chuckled. “You’re beautiful, ye know that?”

  He had to pull her hands away, tugging her into him. He kissed the top of her head and held her there for a long moment, their breathing slowed.

  After a few moments of that close silence, Garrett jumped up to stand beside the bed, searching for his boxers.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at her. “I’m thinking take away? Grab some kebabs, bring em back – then we feast and shag the night away, ae?”

  It was only then that Georgia realized just how hungry she was. “Oh man. That sounds amazing.”

  He chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head.

  A moment later his boxers were on and he was holding her dress up before him, as though inspecting it.

  “I was supposed to remind you to thank me for wearing that today.”

  He smiled, almost wistfully. “Aye, I should.”

  He tossed it to her and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks. “Ye were the most beautiful thing in that train station, ye ken?”

  Georgia blushed, pulling the dress over her head and gesturing for Garrett to grab her bra. “Oh, hush you.”

  “Ye were. Saw ye step off the train. Didnae know it was you, at first. Just caught a glimpse of this creature as I started looking for ye. Saw her hair, her dress, and stopped dead a moment thinkin, ‘Christ, that hen is gorgeous. Whoever she’s come for is one lucky bastard.’ Didnae realize it was you until ye smiled at me. Almost knocked the wind outta me.”

  Georgia stopped fumbling with the hooks of her bra and watched Garrett’s face. He was staring down at his socks. She wanted to devour him, enfold him, climb him like a tree – any way to express this overwhelming affection she felt. She swallowed it down. She’d been punished before for being ‘sure.’

  “You’ve seen me before, though,” she said.

  “Aye, that I have. Still gets me each time, apparently.”

  Georgia stared
at him a moment, remembering the way the sight of him nearly knocked her off her feet. She wanted to tell him how she felt; that she’d never felt anything close to this for another man before.

  Don’t you jinx it, Georgia Kilduff, she thought.

  Garrett pulled his sneakers on and gave a hearty exhale out his nose. Then he glanced at her, his expression strange.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  She watched him, waiting for him to break the bad news – he couldn’t spend as much time with her as he’d promised, he’d made other plans for part of the week, or work called him away. Instead he hopped up from the bed, stood beside her and reached for her. “Shall we?”

  He waited for her response, holding his hand out to her. His smile spread across his face as she held the gaze just a little longer than she should. Suddenly, Garrett’s cheeks grew rosy, and for a second, Georgia could see all his secrets.

  Georgia smiled and took his hand.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Georgia moved through the city as though she’d never seen it before, her arm squarely tucked in his the whole afternoon. It was late before they made it back into the city, meandering through the side streets of his neighborhood from the western part of the city. She smiled at him when they passed the tourist shops with their constant stream of bagpipe music, and acted like a schoolgirl when she saw the gentleman in full regalia standing along the Royal Mile. She even demanded Garrett take her picture with him, convincing the man to make a silly cross-eyed expression with her. Every minute he spent with her reminded him why he adored her. The afternoon couldn’t have gone any better had he planned it himself.

  “So what’s this about you and your ‘writing juju,’ as ye call it?”

  Georgia took a deep breath. She’d mentioned it along their walk, and then gone cryptic on him. His curiosity was piqued.

  “It’s nothing. Just a silly thing my family used to say.”

  “Well, if it’s just a silly thing, than you’ll no mind tellin me, ae?”

  Georgia gave him a stern look. “You’ll make fun of me if I tell you.”

  “I would never!”

  He feigned shock, pressing his hand to his chest, pointing his pinky finger in the daintiest offended gesture. She laughed, and she squeezed his arm a little tighter. Her touch felt wonderful.

  “It’s just a weird thing that happens to me – when I write something.”

  “Well, like what?”

  She inhaled through her nose, as though deciding whether to tell him. “Promise you won’t think I’m strange?”

  “Nae, I’d never promise that.”

  She laughed. “That’s not helpful.”

  “Come on, woman! Tell me, I’m curious.”

  She blew air out through pursed lips, imitating an agitated filly. “My Nan was a bit of a mystic, yeah?”

  “Is that a kind way of sayin she were a kook?”

  Georgia laughed, pinching him. “No, she was a mystic. There’s a difference.” She paused. “Alright, maybe a little. Still, if she’s a kook, then so am I.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt of that.”

  He laughed, dodging her playful smack as they rounded the corner toward St. Giles’ Cathedral. “She taught my sister and me to affirm things, if you will?”

  “Affirm things? What in bloody hell does that mean?”

  “Affirm. You know, affirmations and stuff. God, I’m making her sound so hokey, but it worked. She would tell us to declare our wishes, not as though we were asking for someone to grant them, but as though we were commanding them to be true.”

  “Who were ye commandin of?”

  Georgia shrugged. “Ourselves? Whoever. It didn’t really matter. It was more the notion that if we set out minds to something, we would achieve it. She wanted to push it home, so she’d warn us to watch what we said, because whatever we proclaimed would come true.”

  “Is that so?” Garrett asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “It sounds like a bunch of foolish nonsense you tell children, but we had a startling knack for it – my sister and I both. Pretty magical things happened to us – both of us. It apparently ran in the family, with Nan and with our mom.”

  Garrett squeezed her arm, remembering when she mentioned her mother, and of losing her when she twelve years old. Somehow, when he’d heard her speak of her mother, he felt all the more connected to her. They’d both been raised by amazing women, and they’d both lost them to cancer.

  Georgia gave a crooked grin. “We thought it was this magical thing when we were little, but as we got older -”

  She paused.

  “What then?”

  She pursed her lips. “Sometimes, the things I write happen to me afterward.”

  Garrett’s brows shot up, but he took it in. He was nothing if not a skeptical creature. He needed evidence. “Does it now? Well, give us an example.”

  She shrugged. “Well, it’s little things sometimes – like interactions with people on the train, or conversations with cab drivers.”

  “Didn’t know ye wrote about cabbies.”

  “I don’t,” she said, smiling. “But the conversations happen nonetheless. I think the biggest thing is the characters I write.”

  “What about them?”

  She took a deep breath. “I meet them afterward.”

  Garrett eyed her a moment. “Do ye now?”

  “Mhmm,” she said, glancing into a small kebab shop, pointing excitedly at the sign on the window – Deep Fried Mars Bar. He laughed and followed her in. She ordered her desert as her phone went off in her pocket. She checked it quickly before continuing, laughing softly to herself.

  “Who’s textin ye? I’ll kill im.”

  She smiled at him. “Samantha. She found a photo album from our trip to Scotland when we were little. Says she’s going to post it on my Author Page on Facebook and embarrass the shit out of me.”

  “I wannae see.”

  Georgia laughed, turning away. She fumbled with her phone a moment. “It won’t open for some reason.”

  “What rubbish! Lemme see!”

  He grabbed at her phone, but all that appeared on the screen was a text from her sister. How many blow jobs have you performed today?

  Which was responded to with, Not half as many as I intend to.

  He grinned from ear to ear as she blushed, yanking her phone away.

  “I cannae see it,” he said.

  Georgia looked at her phone, then muttered something about texting the picture to him as she hustled up to the shop counter and out of reach of Garrett’s ass grabs.

  “Well, who have ye met, like? Go on, then.”

  She shot him a side look, pondering. “Well, Cassie, for one. She’s very similar to Heidi.”

  Heidi was a blonde German girl held captive on Captain Douglas MacCready’s ship in The Seafarer. She was bubbly and forward, and the written description matched her almost perfectly, he realized.

  “So Heidi wasn’t based on Cassie?”

  Georgia shook her head. “No. I met Cassie after I finished The Seafarer.”

  “Well, seems like an interesting coincidence, ae?”

  “Maybe.”

  She shot a bright smile at the man behind the counter as he handed her the bundle of deep fried, chocolatey goodness. Georgia waited until they were outside to take her first bite. Then she moaned. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her.

  She offered him a bite, but he refused, letting her savor the precious thing. “Anyone else, then?”

  “Yes. Many.

  “Anybody I’d know?”

  She smiled, but turned away. “You.”

  He stopped, turning to her. “Ye wrote me before ye met me, ye say?”

  She took another bite of her Mars Bar, nodding as caramel curled onto her chin. “I think I might have, yes.”

  “Well, who am I, then?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  Garrett to
ok a moment, remembering her books. There were sea captains, bootleggers, toothless vagrants and kilt wearing Lairds. He could only imagine which of these characters she likened him to. “Ye can’t tell me that and not elaborate, Georgie. I won’t have it.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll make fun of me. And I don’t know. It’s kinda a big deal to me. I don’t want to admit it out loud.”

  Garrett turned to stand before her as they headed up the Royal Mile. The road was busy with foot traffic at this hour, the festivals still in full swing even in late August. He stood in her way, shooting her a stern glare. “Tell me about this character, then, ae?”

  She took the last bite of her Mars Bar, wiped her chin, and nodded, mid bite. “God, ok.”

  Garrett waited, watching her face as she scanned the shops as though a window there might hold the answers. “He’s dark haired. Tall – 6’3” exactly.”

  Garrett’s exact height. “Is he really? Interesting.”

  She licked her lips, missing a spot of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, he reached to her face and wiped it away with his thumb.

  She smiled at him. “He is Scottish, wears a kilt.”

  “Of course he does, he’s in your books.”

  She laughed. “He spanks during sex -”

  “Careful, ye’ll get me all excited in the middle of downtown.”

  He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, whispering inappropriate things. She giggled against him, her cheeks turning pink.

  “He has green eyes. His middle name is James. He was born in Inverness.”

  Garrett stopped a moment, appraising her. “Well, that is a bit uncanny, isn’t it?”

  She took a deeper breath, biting her lip between her teeth.

  “His Mum passed when he was twenty nine. He has a scar on his right hand from a fishing accident when he was eleven, and his birthday is August 13th.”

  Garrett stopped and stared at her, waiting. “How do ye know my birthday?”