I reach over and press her face down as I fuck her mercilessly, pressing down on her neck. She lets me put her in whatever position I want, and right now I want her ass up and face down. I put both hands on her hips again and lean a little bit backwards as I pound her, making that slapping sound again, and thrusting my hips into her as fast as I can. Eventually I pull out, and she falls onto the bed on her stomach. I slide my body over hers and enter her again from behind, only now she’s completely flat. I slide right in like it’s nothing, and then straddle her whole body. The feeling of her legs together makes her pussy feel even tighter, and I take full advantage. She can’t move, and the only sensation she has right now is the soft sheets on her front, and my cock plunging into her from behind. She feels so tight that I know I’m going to come any minute, and when I do I yell.
I collapse to the side, exhausted, sweaty, and happy as can be. She rolls over and we kiss for a little while. “You know, I’m a little disappointed.” She says.
“Why?”
“Well, I was kinda excited about making pasta with you. I guess this is a good substitute.”
We both smile. “One day, I promise.” What a great night this turned out to be, and it tells me everything I need to know. I’m falling for Rowan, and I want to be with her.
Chapter 16
Grayson
I wake up before Rowan. I feel amazing, the same as I did when I woke up in Arizona after we were together, only now I’m in my own comfortable bed. Being with her is like an antidote to everything that’s wrong with me, I swear. Even though I got quite the workout last night I feel totally refreshed and ready to take on the day. It’s a weird feeling for me. For as far back as I can remember the mornings were the hardest part of my day. Whenever I was going through my depression I’d struggle the most when I woke up. I always envied those people who’d get up early and get a bunch of things done. I wanted to be one of them, but instead I usually did all my work at night.
Right now I feel like one of those people who I always wanted to be. I’m up, wide awake, and I ideas are running through my head. For writers, ideas are currency. Without them, nothing is possible. Writing is slow and hard sometimes, but it’s just mechanics. The same is true of editing, cover creation, and formatting. But none of those other things can come to fruition without the ideas, and those are like gold. Some writers have a cache of them in their heads at all times. They know what their next seven books are going to be about, and they can’t seem to write them fast enough. For me, the ideas are always slow to get to me. Maybe it’s a mental thing. Maybe what we call writer’s block is just mental constipation. But right now the next part of my story is flowing through me, and I need to get it out. I take out my computer and start typing.
The Man
He didn't know why he'd spoken to her at all, let alone in that way. He didn't know her name, either. All he knew was that he recognized her from the building, and he knew that things were wrong. The man lived in her building even though Ava didn't realize it. She didn't know most of the neighbors. The apartment was Robert's, and mostly Ava stayed inside. She hadn't noticed him, but he'd certainly noticed her, and on more than one occasion.
She was the most beautiful woman the Man had ever seen—small, long hair, a pretty face, and a gentleness to her that he could sense even from a casual glimpse in the hallway. He was attracted to kindness, to vulnerability, and had she been unattached he would most certainly have approached her. But, then again, had she been unattached he never would have even seen her. She lived in the apartment with him—that guy the man saw her with who he knew was bad news. He was angry, he yelled, he was short with her, and despite all his attempts to put on the face of a decent person in public, the Man could sense the bad in him.
It was a tragedy, he’d think to himself, that someone so beautiful and nice would find the worst man she could and suffer his cruelties. That’s why he’d said something to her in the parking lot of the grocery store—the store he was now actively walking up and down, thinking of nothing but the redness in her eyes that could only have been caused by crying. What did he do to you this time, he wondered, and why won’t you leave him? They were good questions, but they weren’t the Man’s to ask—he knew that only she could muster the strength to leave him once she asked herself those things. He just hoped, desperately, that she would.
Ava. . .
Just kept driving, past the house, to an unknown destination. At first she just circled, passing her and Robert’s apartment several times, looping around the crowded city streets as fast as the car would take her. She’d stopped crying but her head was killing her. That post-crying throb was pulsating in her temples, but she barely noticed. What was foremost on her mind were the words he’d said to her. . . “You should never let anyone do this to you ever again.”
Whoever he was, he’d impacted her with only a handful of words, but sometimes that was all it took to change things. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but he’d done enough to keep Ava’s foot on the gas long after she passed the apartment she was supposed to be in at that exact moment, shaving Parmesan cheese onto Robert’s plate of pasta. She wondered what was happening in their dining room. She imagined Robert raging, throwing things, getting more and more angry with each passing minute that she wasn’t there. To her absolute surprise though, she didn’t care what he felt or what he was doing.
She thought about the Man. He was beautiful. He was tall. He was comforting in ways that no other man had been for her, and he was only a stranger in a parking lot. How did he know what to say, she wondered. That particular question kept coming back to her, again and again, as she circled. After her fourth circumnavigation of their neighborhood she decided that it was time to find out. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she went from driving aimlessly to driving very strategically. There was a destination, and she pressed her foot even harder on the gas to get there faster.
The Man
He walked out with his three bags of groceries. He was a creature of habit—his love of cooking and his tendency towards rituals made his Friday evening routine a predictable series of events. Most men his age would be out, partying, hitting up clubs with a group of friends trying to pick up women. He’d lived those years harder than most, but unlike his friends he’d burned out on that world. Genetics were a strange thing, and he’d discovered in college that he loved the booze and the drugs a little too much for them to be a sustainable part of his life. He was one of those people who had two choices when it came to substances—he could either allow himself to descend into addiction, or he could abstain from using anything mind-altering altogether. He’d decided the latter was the path to a successful life which, while a healthy decision, had left him isolated from most people his age. He was okay with it.
The recipe changed every Friday, but the ritual was always the same. He’d find a dish that he wanted to make on Thursdays, download the shopping list, and go to the grocery store the following night. He always chose something difficult—he didn’t really do easy. Easy was common. Easy was for the masses. Easy was not what led him to create his first million dollar company. Unlike most people, he thrived in difficult situations, whether it was navigating the shark tank of venture capitalists in Silicon Valley, or finding a fine dining recipe online. He had no formal training as a chef, but then again he had not formal computer training, either, and that path had brought him the kind of material success that people only dream of. He was always good with numbers, and he’d taught himself to code at a young age, when all of the kids around him were worried about sports and getting girls. The opportunity cost had been well worth it.
That world of VC’s, startup investments, boards of directions, and software development was long behind him even though he was only thirty years old, but the material comforts had remained, allowing him to be a man of leisure. He didn’t tell anyone about his money or his former life in California, he just lived his life the best way he knew how, dreaming of t
he day when he could share it with someone. Someone like her.
As he exited the store, bags in hand, the last thing he expected to see was. . .
Ava
She didn’t believe her eyes.
She’d driven here on an emotional whim, never expecting to actually see him again. In truth, she expected to park in the lot, cry a little bit more, and work out some kind of plan as to what to do next. By the time she pulled into that parking lot for the second time in a half hour Robert had escalated in his anger. Ava had about thirty texts and three missed calls, each with a separate voicemail she had no intention of ever listening to. She swiped left and hit the ‘clear’ button on her iPhone. There was no time for her phone now, or for Robert’s insanity. She saw the Man walking out of the store, and she knew that her opportunity was limited.
She jumped out of her car, feeling crazy for doing this at all. Instead of being parked across from him, this time she was parked next to him. Her next move was a little weird, but for some reason she started obsessing over he appearance, tucking the random pieces of aberrant hair behind her ear and worrying that she looked alright. The Man got closer and closer, each step making Ava’s heart race a little bit more, until he was close enough to look up and see her. He smiled at her, and when he did all of her nerves went away. For some strange reason Ava thought that he wouldn’t remember her, but of course he did. He not only recognized her, but she could tell he was happy to see her.
“Long time, no see.” He joked.
“I know,” she answered. “It’s been forever.”
As the Man stood in front of Ava she was taken by his size. It was one thing when he was walking past, but his height was much more noticeable when Ava had to angle her head upwards to look him in the eyes. He really was beautiful, and she felt a little intimidated standing in front of such a good looking man. Robert wasn’t good looking. He wasn’t interesting. He was the ‘good enough’ guy—the one who’d shown interest in her, but who she never should have ended up with. This man, the one standing before the grocery store parking lot, was a person she chose to talk to, but she found herself lost for words. “Whatcha got there?” She motioned towards his bags.
“Groceries,” he answered sarcastically. “Specific ones.”
“Aren’t they always?”
“What’s that?”
“Specific. Aren’t all bags of groceries specific?”
“Not always. Haven’t you ever gone shopping without a list?”
He thought about the question for a second, but only a second. “No,” he answered. “Never.”
“Never?” she asked again, not believing him. “Not even once? Come on, you must have. Everybody has.”
“Not me. I don’t do much without careful preparation. For shopping I always have a list, and usually some dishes in mind. Just like tonight.”
“Well you’re way more organized than me.”
“I might be. What did you come here before? And why are you back?” She was just getting into the gentle banter that she was thrown off by the bluntness of his question. It was an obvious question, but she hadn’t expected it just yet. She didn’t want to answer—didn’t want to think of the thing that brought her to that store. She decided to be evasive for the time being. “I. . .I forgot something. Dinner stuff.”
“Oh, I won’t keep you then,” he said, trying to be polite. “You can go back and get. . .”
“No,” she interrupted. “It’s okay, I’ll go back in a minute. I’m enjoying talking to you.”
“I’m enjoying talking to you also. What’s your name?”
“Ava. And yours?”
“Oh, that’s a secret,” he said. “Only very special people in my life know my real name.”
“What?” She hadn’t expected him to say something so weird, but she was intrigued at the same time. “Okay, fine. So what do people call you then? The non-special people I mean.”
“I’m not going to tell you that, either.” He says.
“Okay, this is getting weird. Why not? Are you a spy for the CIA or something? A criminal wanted by the police? What’s your deal?”
The unnamed man starts belly laughing at my questions, so hard that he starts to cry, and so loud that passers by in the parking lot look over to see what’s so funny. Apparently I am. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing, Ava, it’s just funny to think of myself as some covert spy working for the government. It just makes me laugh.”
“I see that,” I tell him. “So at least tell me what you do, then”
“That one’s easy,” he answers. “I’m retired.”
“Retired?” I ask, a little shocked by his response. “You can’t be much over thirty.”
“That’s right.”
“Then how are you retired? Were you a cop?” Even though he doesn’t look like the ex-cop type to me, it’s the only job I can think of where people retire young.
“I would’ve made a terrible cop,” he answers. “No. Not a cop, or a spy, and definitely not a criminal. I was in software and app development. I created an app and sold it a few years ago. Now I’m retired.”
“So you’re telling me that you’re rich? Only a rich person could retire so young.”
“Yes,” he says confidently. “I’m rich. But I don’t advertise it. And the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever said those words to anyone before.”
“Then why tell me?” I ask him, genuinely interested.
“Because you were honest with me.”
“About what? My name?”
“Not your name. You were honest in letting me see you before. Letting me see the pain that you were in, and allowing me to say those words to you.”
“What pain?” I ask, completely ruined by the fact he saw me so raw before and recognized it.
“The same pain you’re trying to hide right now. The pain that brought you back to a store you’d already shopped at. The pain that made those tears run down your face. You don’t have to feel that pain, anymore, you know that, right?”
“I. . . I, umm. . .” I don’t know what to say. I’m literally at a complete loss for words. He seems like he can see into me, with his penetrating blue eyes and intense gaze. It’s frightening to be seen so clearly. It’s like non of my defenses—my facade that I put on for the world—seem to be useless right now, and I only met this man a few minutes ago.
I don’t know where this story is going, but I’m looking forward to finding out.
Chapter 17
Grayson
It’s time for a Wordsmith meeting.
Ever since Me and Colton approached Mike about starting this thing called the Wordsmiths, we’ve had pretty regular meetings. It’s not a scheduled thing, exactly, we all have busy lives, but we do it regularly. A lot of times groups like ours can start off strong but fizzle out. It’s easy to get caught up in our own work, or our personal drama, and neglect the readers that brought us whatever success we’ve had. None of us want to let that happen, me especially. I need this group as much as the group needs me. The membership in our Wordsmith Facebook group has been growing every single day, and with more new readers comes the responsibility of being present, doing giveaways, interacting, and putting out great content.
This time we’re doing the meeting at my place. I made Rowan breakfast earlier—it was time to return to the favor, even though mine didn’t look, smell, or taste as good as the one she made me at my uncle’s place. She loved the surprise though. I had to clean up all the stuff from the pasta we didn’t make last night before I cooked breakfast, but I didn’t mind. What we did last last night was ten times the experience of making dinner, so I’m more than happy to do a little clean up. After breakfast Rowan headed out, and we made plans for later in the week. I’m so happy how everything went. I was so insecure about us, and I wasn’t even sure what I wanted from the situation, but now I have no doubts whatsoever.
Before she left we talked about my new story.
“So what’s it about, ex
actly? Can you talk about that?”
“I can with you,” I told her. “And it’s about a woman who’s in a bad situation, but she meets a mysterious man who lives in the same building who’s always had his eyes on her. That’s all I know right now, I’m still working on it.”
“That sounds like it’ll be interesting. Where did you get the idea for it?”
I shrugged. “Just came to me. I’m not sure. Just popped into my head from the idea multiverse I guess.” I laughed because I never know how to answer that one. “But I don’t question it any more. Now it’s becoming a real story, and I think it’ll be sexy and inspirational at the same time when I’m done.”
“That’s great,” she told me. “It sounds like it’ll be amazing, but more than that I’m just happy that you’re happy and writing. If that’s happening then the rest will fall into place.”
She was right about that. Like I said, the ideas are currency, and once I have one the rest works itself out. The rest is just the process. “Yeah, I’m happy with how it’s going, but I have no idea how it’ll turn out.”
“That’s weird.” She said.
“What?”
“I thought writers knew the whole story before they wrote.”
“Some do, for sure. Some start with the end. Some even map out the entire story first and then just write it, but that’s never been my style. I find out what’s happening as my characters go through it.” I sound like one of those authors right now —the ones that go on and on about their characters as though they’re real people, but sometimes they seem like that. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t write.
Grayson: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 3 Page 12
