by Ford, Mia
The really sad part was that I felt like I had wasted months of my life having an affair with Mark. I knew he would never leave his wife. Hell, that was part of the attraction. I wasn’t looking for love and neither was he. I just wanted to fuck him and he readily complied. Then we kept on fucking and it turned into a thing: a thing I was starting to regret more by the moment.
Mark wasn’t even that good in bed. He rarely made me cum. All he cared about was getting his rocks off and being on his way. There was rarely foreplay before and never cuddling after. It was almost like I was his whore. He’d drop by unannounced, fuck me without ever taking his shoes off, and he’d be gone. The only difference was that he didn’t leave money on the dresser for covering me with his sweat and goo.
I can’t explain why, but I was suddenly overcome with a strong feeling of remorse, as if I’d lost someone truly dear to me. I wasn’t crying for Mark. I cried for myself. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them to my chest and sobbed like a brokenhearted child.
At that moment, I felt completely alone, totally unloved, and without hope. How could my professional life be so fucking fantastic while my personal life felt so fucking miserable? Someone once said that a writer’s life was the loneliest because there just the writer and the blank page and no one else. I had never agreed with that old saying until now.
* * *
After my self-pity party, I went into the bathroom to dry my tears and blow my nose. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. My phone was on the counter and it buzzed with a number I didn’t recognize. Another telemarketer, no doubt. They hung up when the call went to voicemail.
“Graham is right,” I said to the woman staring back at me through red eyes. “You do not know how great your life can be.” I hung the towel over the rack and leaned in close to the mirror. “Maybe it’s time you take control of your life rather than letting your life control you.”
I turned off the light and went into the living room. Graham had sent over two-hundred books for me to sign in advance of the Good Morning Manhattan appearance. The producers agreed to let me give away books, but didn’t have time for me to sign them onset, so I was doing it head of time. I sat down at the coffee table and opened the first box, calculating in my head how long it would take me to sign two hundred copies.
My mind wandered as I opened the first book and scribbled my name across the page. I tried to remember the first book I’d ever signed. It had been so many years now, so many books.
I had started my career ghostwriting sweet romances for a publisher who put them out under another name. Gradually I went from writing sweet romances to risqué to all out erotica. When I saw my dirtiest books regularly selling thousands of copies for the publisher, I started writing and self-publishing my own books under my name. After a few books, I started hitting the Amazon charts. That’s when Graham found me and the rest is history.
That’s when I started calling on my own sexual memories for inspiration. It wasn’t until I wrote Pleasing Him that my relationship with Chad Walters ended up in a book. Only his name wasn’t Chad. It was Brad. Brad Wallace. And the heroine’s name was Chloe Manning. I know, pretty close, but I seriously doubted Chad would ever read the book, much less make the connection.
Pleasing Him was my hottest, steamiest, filthiest book yet. And readers loved it. Little did they know that every sex act in the book was based on a real memory of sex with Chad.
There was nothing made up in this book.
Every fuck and suck and probe and tuck were real.
I had to sit on a towel when I wrote the book because my cunt would simply overflow.
Maybe that’s why the book was climbing the bestseller lists and the crowds at the book signings got bigger every week.
It was all so real , one critic wrote, like it really happened .
Sister, if only you knew.
CHAPTER SIX: Chad
I hung up the phone when I got Zoe’s voicemail.
I couldn’t believe after all these years, she hadn’t changed her phone number. Of course, I was too embarrassed to leave a message and I’m glad she didn't answer. I had no idea what I would have even said. Hell, her husband could have answered! Or one of her kids… Fuck.
I probably would have just hung up or said sorry wrong number. But since no one answered, I was completely off the hook.
“Another whiskey, sir?” the male bartender asked.
“One more,” I said with a sigh. I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand. Good thing I just had to ride the elevator up to the penthouse. The combination of the long flight and the four shots of Jack had me teetering on the stool.
I noticed movement to my left and glanced over to see a brunette with a short skirt and big tits sidle up to the bar next to me.
“Can I sit here?” she asked as she slid onto the stool and leaned in close. I looked at her in the mirror over the bar. Either I was drunk as shit or this babe was smokin’ hot! I turned sideways to give her the once over. She gave me a drunken smile. She was tall, thin, with the big jugs in a tight tank top. She was at least a 9, bordering on a 10. Her hair was blonde and curly and her lips painted a dark pink.
“Be my guest,” I said with a nod. I called the bartender over and she ordered a Long Island Iced Tea in a tall glass and I ordered another shot.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “So, where are you from?”
“California,” I said. “You?”
“I love California. I used to live in San Diego. Haven’t been out that way in ages.” She grinned as she stirred her drink with the straw and gave me the eye.
“It’s still sunny and hot,” I joked.
“Kristin,” she said as she extended her hand. “With a K.”
“Bob,” I said, giving her a fake name because I didn’t need the headache of her knowing who I really was. You met some crazy bitches in hotel bars. The kind of crazy bitches that showed up outside of your house at three in the morning claiming to be pregnant with your baby.
“Nice to meet you, Bob. What brings you to New York?”
“Business.”
“But not pleasure?” she said with a laugh. She wrapped her lips around the straw and gave me a sexy look. “You staying here?”
“I am.”
“For how long?”
“Couple of nights,” I said. I shot back the whiskey and held up my glass for another. “How about you?”
“How about me?”
I smiled. “Are you a guest or a working girl?”
She let her eyes go dreamy and touched my hand. “What if I’m a little of both?”
I glanced at her left hand. No ring. As the whiskey worked its way through me, I couldn’t help but get lost in her cleavage as she spoke. The tits were fake. Trust me, I could spot fake tits a mile way. But fake tits or not, I instantly wanted to bury my face between them. I could feel my cock getting hard just looking at them. Guess I wouldn’t be eating Chinese tonight after all.
“Well, Kristen with a K,” I said, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. “How about we take our business and pleasure up to my room”
Her eyes swept up and down me. She narrowed her eyes at me. “You look really familiar. Are you famous? What is it you do?”
I leaned in and whispered in her ear. My speech was slurred, but my cock was rock steady. “Get your big tits and your tight pussy upstairs and I’ll show you what I’m famous for.”
She frowned at me for a moment, then smiled and scraped a fingernail down my cheek. “Control freak, huh. I like that.”
She slid off the stool and took my hand and led me to the elevator. I had my fingers inside her box even before the doors opened to the penthouse.
* * *
I was usually the one in control, but tonight, for some reason, I let the woman take charge. And Kristen was definitely a take charge kind of gal.
We stripped off our clothes on the way to the bedroom. I let Kristen put her hands
on my thick chest and push me back onto the bed on my back. She was clearly not like most of the women I’d had the pleasure of enjoying. She reminded me of me. Rough. Commanding. Controlling. Domineering. Did I say rough? It was her way or the highway. It was odd—and a total turn on—to be on the other side of the game for a change.
For the first time in my life, I allowed a woman to suck my cock before I put my mouth and hands on her. Usually, I planted my mouth over their clit or shoved my tongue in their pussy before they were even undressed. This time I gave her the satisfaction of pleasing me first. It was a nice little change of pace. I was surprised how much I was enjoying being the submissive one, at least for a moment.
With her hands milking my long shaft and her mouth on the head of my cock, she brought me to the edge twice before I pushed her off me and laid her on her back. Enough fucking around… Now it was my turn to show her how the game was really played.
“What are you doing?” she cooed, licking her lips. “I wasn’t done.”
“My turn…” I grinned at her as I leaned over the top of her, shoving two fingers inside her shaved snatch. She moaned and humped my hand as I reached up and gave her nipple a pinch. She quickly brought her hands up to cover her nipples.
“Move your hands,” I said, my fingers in deep to the knuckles.
“No,” she laughed. “You fucking pinched me! That hurt!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, making a pouty face. “Would you like me to lick them and make it all better?”
She clenched her melons and smiled. Her nipples were large and dark, like raspberries. She rolled her fingers over them. “Yes. Suck them.”
My fingers kept sliding in and out. She was juicing like water through a firehose. My entire hand was oily and hot. Her breath was getting heavy. I said, “So you can play rough, but I can’t? Is that your game?”
“Depends on what you mean by rough,” she said, her eyes fluttering as she approached her first orgasm of the night.
I brought my lips gently to her nipple and swirled my tongue around. “My idea of playing rough is giving you a pleasure and pain experience that ends in the best orgasm of your life.”
“The best orgasm of my life?” she said, giggling. “I’ve had… some… pretty… good ones… in fact….” She arched her back as the orgasm started to ripple through her. I quickly pulled my hand from her cunt. She looked at me and frowned. “Hey, I was about to cum!”
“I’ll make you cum,” I said. “Like you’ve never cum before. But it has to be my way.”
She stared at me for a moment, then a smile crept across her lips. “You’re a kinky boy, aren’t you, Bob?”
“I am,” I said, sliding my fingers back inside her. “The question is, Kristen with a K...” My fingers slid into the knuckle. I curled my fingers and found her G-spot. Her body immediately went tense. “Are you a kinky girl?”
“Oh, yes…” she hissed, eyes closed, hands squeezing her own nipples so hard they turned purple. “I am a very kinky girl…”
“So, we play by my rules?”
She smiled as she gushed hot juices all over my hand.
She squeezed her tits and moaned as the orgasm shuddered through her. “Yes… let’s play… Chad…”
I vaguely heard her say my real name, but thought nothing of it. I was too busy working my way down her stomach to replace my fingers with my tongue.
The fact that she knew who I was didn’t slow me down.
To the contrary, it just made it better for me.
The Chad Walters legend lives on, baby.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Zoe
Monday morning rolled around much faster than I wanted it to. I forced myself out of bed at 6 A.M. (I could not believe people actually got up at such an ungodly hour) and barely had time to drink a cup of strong coffee before the doorman buzzed to let me know that the car service had arrived. I was a nervous wreck. I knew better than to eat anything because I could just picture it coming back up on camera. I already felt like I was going to hurl and knew better than to fuel the fire.
Breaking news…
Bestselling author Zoe Maxwell pukes on Good Morning Manhattan host…
Talk about your viral video moments…
I had picked out my outfit the night before and had it hanging in a garment bag by the front door: a black pencil skirt and jacket, along with a blue top, and sensible heels. Graham assured me the TV station would handle my hair and makeup, thank God, because I could barely get my eyes to focus as I stared at myself in the mirror while I brushed my teeth. He’d also had a service pick up the two hundred books I’d signed over the weekend (talk about writer’s cramp) and had them delivered to the station so I didn’t have to drag them along.
“You can show up naked in a trench coat,” he had teased as he ushered me out the door after dinner. “They have experts that can make even me look presentable.”
I stuck my phone and my keys in my purse, flung the garment bag over my shoulder, and went out the door. Zoe Maxwell, ready to take on the world… more or less.
* * *
It was a short car ride from my apartment to the TV studio downtown, although it took nearly an hour in the morning traffic. The car delivered me right to the front door and the driver said he’d be waiting to take me home after I was through. I had to admit, I felt a little special for a moment, a little like a celebrity, until I got out of the car and had to wait for the guard at the front desk to call someone with my name to make sure I had a legit reason to be there.
After a few moments, the elevator doors past the front desk opened and a short brunette in jeans and a WNYC t-shirt stepped out and came my way with her hand out. “Miss Maxell, thank you so much for coming. I’m Sara, one of the segment producers for Good Morning Manhattan .”
I gave her a nervous smile and shook her hand. “Hi, Sara. Please call me Zoe.”
“Great, Zoe, if you’ll follow me we’ll get up to hair and makeup.”
We boarded the elevator and she pushed the button, then leaned against the wall and smiled. “Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? Tea? Juice? A bagel?”
I blew out a sigh and put a hand over my stomach. “No, honestly, I’m so nervous I might throw up my dinner from last week.”
She smiled and touched my arm reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous. Everyone gets a case of the jitters at first, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said, forcing a smile. The elevator doors opened and I followed her down a long hallway lined with framed photos of celebrities who had appeared on the show. George Clooney, Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Jennifer Anniston... I wondered what it would be like to be so famous that TV stations hung your picture on the wall. I doubted I’d ever find out, but it was a fun thought to have.
“Okay, you can just give me the garment bag and have a seat,” Sara said as we entered a room with a sign on the door that read, MAKEUP. I handed her the garment bag and she hung it on the door. There were two tall chairs like you’d see in a hair salon and an entire wall lined with counters filled with all kinds of makeup and huge lighted mirrors above them. I slid into one of the chairs and looked around. I wondered if Jennifer Anniston had sat in that very chair getting her famous hairdo done before the show.
Sara hung the garment bag on the door and turned to me with her hands clasped in front of her. “Okay, here’s how this will work. We are doing two segments in the 8:30 to 9:00 block. The focus is on emerging entrepreneurship and we’re featuring you in the last segment and a fitness guru in the first.”
“A fitness guru?” I asked.
She bobbed her head. “Yeah, I can’t recall his name because it’s not my segment, but he has some videos out and is really big on the West Coast, so we’re hoping that having him on will help the ratings there.”
I sort of listened as I stared at the TV that was hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. The blonde hostess and the handsome host were doing a cooking segment with a chef I recogniz
ed from The Cooking Channel . They were doing something with eggs and kippers. I felt my stomach creeping into my throat.
Sara was rattling on. “So, after Emily does your hair and makeup, you can change and just wait here for me to come get you after 8:30.” She looked at me with expectant eyes. “Any questions?”
I slowly shook my head. She smiled again, told me I was gonna do great again, and trotted out of the room. An older woman came in and introduced herself as Emily and started fussing with my hair. I continued to stare at the TV and prayed that I wasn’t going to puke.
* * *
Emily quickly finished my hair and makeup, then I got dressed and sat back down to wait for Sara to come for me. I glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. It was almost 8:30. I would go on sometime between 8:45 and 8:50, depending on how the show was going. I wondered where the other guest was and Emily told me male guests didn’t sit in her chair for hair and makeup. They just get a quick dusting of powder and hair spray on set. I was getting the star treatment, she said with a smile. Star treatment or not, I was still nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers.
Only when a familiar face appeared at the door did my stomach start to calm down. Graham tapped on the door and beamed his best smile my way. “Any bestselling authors in here?”
“Graham, thank God!” I said, sliding out of the chair to give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You’re gonna do great!” he said with a wink. “We’re all set. The books are here and they will be handed out to everyone after the segment ahead of yours ends.”
Sara suddenly appeared at the door with a look of urgency on her face. “Hey, are you ready?”
“I am,” I said, taking a deep breath.
Graham leaned in and kissed me lightly on the side of the head so as not to mess my makeup. “You’ll do great. I’ll be watching from the wings.”
“This way,” Sara said, crooking a finger at me. I fell in behind her like a good little soldier marching off to war. She spoke over her shoulder as I followed her through the maze of hallways to the set. “Okay, here’s how this will work. During the commercial break before your segment, I’ll get you situated on the couch with Dan and Erin. Everyone in the audience will have a copy of your book. Since it is an emerging entrepreneurs segment, Dan and Erin will get your tips on how to start writing as a business, then throw out a couple of questions about Pleasing Him , which was sooo fucking hot, by the way.”
