Primal Impulse (Xtreme Edition)

by Johnson, James

  Jena took another drink of wine. “Steven, I have to be honest. As you know I’m pretty much of an open book. I told Vicki some intimate details about us…you know, about our sex. Sometimes I get lost in the moment and talk too much. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  Steven laughed. “Well, that all depends. Did you tell her I was a selfish, boring minuteman lover? Or did you tell her I was a superman between the sheets?”

  Jena rolled her eyes. “Take a guess. You know good and well what I told her. I told her you were the greatest lover in the world. I also told her she couldn’t have you. So don’t go getting any ideas in your head either.”

  Jena gave him a playful elbow to the ribs—maybe a little more than playful. It had just enough force to issue a hint of seriousness.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” said Steven. “I’ve got my hands full as it is. Keeping you cooled down is no easy task. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah!” exclaimed Jena. “And that’s the way it’s gonna stay. I’m a fire that always needs tending. You’d better stay rested and healthy if you’re gonna take care of me.”

  Both of them laughed. Steven leaned in and kissed her below the ear. She felt his warm breath wisp around her neck.

  Steven grinned. “There’s no doubt about that. Between you, my job and my writing that’s a full plate. I don’t know where I’ll find the time, but I will.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” said Jena. “Did you move one of my books this morning? I don’t care. I just saw it in the kitchen and wondered if I was going crazy. I don’t remember putting it there.”

  Steven was quiet for a brief moment. He seemed to be caught off guard by the question. For a split second he was uncharacteristically lost. Then he quickly regained his charismatic cool.

  “Oh, yeah, I moved it. I just happened to see it and liked the cover. I’m always analyzing interesting covers for ideas about my own books. I glanced through it before I left this morning. It was a romance book, right?”

  “Yes,” answered Jena. “It’s my favorite book of all time. It’s written by Joan Dixon who’s the absolute best. She’s the goddess of love and lust. I’m sure you’ve never heard of her. It’s a girly thing.”

  “I know one thing,” said Steven. “Romance is the hottest genre in the entire publishing industry. It sells, that’s for sure.”

  “I sure like them,” said Jena. “Romance novels are my happily-ever-after escape, my substitute for the real romance that I never seem to find.”

  Jena took a deep breath. She took his hand and held it tight. “That is, until you walked into my life.”

  Before Steven had a chance to respond Jena perked up her head. “Oh, look! Vicki is here. She’s dying to meet you.”

  Vicki was scanning the bar looking for them. Jena stood and raised an arm.

  “Vicki, we’re over here,” she called. Vicki immediately saw them.

  They stood as she walked towards them. Jena greeted her with a hug.

  “Hi, Vicki. I’m glad you made it. This is the guy I’ve told you so much about, probably too much.”

  Everyone laughed as Jena continued.

  “Steven, this is Vicki, my best friend at work. Vicki, this is Steven, my old friend from years ago.”

  Steven leaned in and gave Vicki a hug. “Vicki, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Jena’s is a friend of mine.”

  “It’s really nice to meet you also,” said Vicki. “I just had to meet you. I wanted to see the man that’s made Jena so happy the last couple of days.”

  “Hey, she’s making me happy also,” Steven quickly answered. “We’ve been friends a long time.”

  “Let’s all have a seat,” said Jena.

  “Okay,” replied Vicki.

  “You girls go ahead and sit down,” said Steven. “I’m going to save Melissa a trip and order another beer at the bar. She’s really busy this afternoon. What can I get you to drink, Vicki?”

  “I’ll have a beer also. Whatever you’re having is okay. Thank you,”

  “Okay, a cold Lagunitas coming right up. I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter 20

  Steven made his way to the bar. He would give the girls a little space, a couple of minutes alone. That’s the female way of doing things. He could just hear them now. If he were a fly on the wall he would hear Vicki sharing her initial impression of him. It would be a comment about how handsome or cute or hot he was. It didn’t matter if he were dump truck ugly she would still say something positive. Girls always complimented their friend’s guy.

  There was another reason Steven made a little space. It bought him some time to think. All day long he had pondered the discovery of Jena’s romance novel. And now he knew just how much romance books meant to her. Now he knew how fanatical she was about her favorite author.

  The novel he had scanned this morning was very special to her. Naked Emotion was not just another book. And Joan Dixon was not just a name stamped under the title. No, no, no—this author had tapped into Jena’s head. Joan Dixon had penetrated the hideaway of Jena’s most private thoughts. She dove deep into the nucleus of Jena’s psyche. It was the place where raw emotion met raging lust. It was where the good girl met the bad girl. It was the core of the complicated female.

  Joan Dixon’s pages brought it all to life. She magically made sense of it all. She entered the private quarters where the naked emotions reside. She found the space where the deep and the dark collide with emotional hunger, where repressed desire lie side-by-side with the intense need to be loved.

  Joan Dixon was truly one of them. She felt their happiness when they were riding the glorious wave of love. She felt their sadness and heartbreak when the love shattered and everything fell apart. She bonded with their hearts and their need for emotional attachment.

  Joan Dixon also felt the fiery lust that dwelled within them all. She understood the nature of physical desire, the aching flesh that drove them so. She dangled the lure of pleasure before them. Her pages sizzled with a blistering sensuality. She was one who could relate to the primal animal that begged for the touch.

  Joan Dixon grasped the nature of their gender. Her novels unlocked the cryptic secrets. Her words of womanly wisdom and awareness seeped into the soul of her readers. Every page brought them a little closer towards understanding the paradox of femininity. Each chapter unmasked the mysterious enigma of what it was to be a woman.

  Joan Dixon’s novels captured the bittersweet essence of a woman. They took the reader on a journey of love and lust that culminated in a joyous climax—in every respect. There were always happy endings. The leading character was always crowned Queen. She never failed to capture her man’s heart. She never failed to be sated with his heat.

  Joan Dixon’s readers were allowed to eat the forbidden fruit and survive to tell about it. A woman could have it all. She could have the unequivocal devotion of a loving man. She could free her lusty desires to run wild. She could enjoy hot sex and heartfelt emotion. Fantasies could become reality. Dreams could come true. Joan Dixon made them come true.

  Steven laughed out loud. All day long he had planned on telling Jena his little secret. He was going to tell her right here, right now. Yes, as they sipped drinks in James Café he would share his little piece of information. He would tell her that Joan Dixon didn’t really exist. He would tell her that he was Joan Dixon.

  Yes, Steven Walker was Joan Dixon. He was the creator of the Joan Dixon romantic novels. He was the one responsible for lighting the fire in her heart. He was the one who heated the flesh between her legs.

  Yes, he was the genius behind the words of passion and emotion. It was his literary eroticism that got her pussy soaking wet with desire. It was Steven Walker who was behind the curtain of carnal pleasures that was Joan Dixon. The love and lust that spurted from the pages of Joan Dixon’s novels were his.

  Joan Dixon was nothing more than a pen name. It was a pseudonym he used to publish his romance novels. He had c
hosen a woman’s name because he thought it would increase sales. At the time he thought women would connect with a fellow female more so than a male. They wanted to read their romance from a feminine perspective. They wanted a woman to create the novels they read. Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.

  It didn’t really matter at this point. It was too late to change. He had too much invested in Joan Dixon. The name had already been branded. Sales were steadily increasing. Joan Dixon had attracted a cult-like following that literally begged for the next book. Word of mouth appeared to be the driving force.

  The exponential growth in sales had brought on some complications. There had been a couple of requests to appear at book events. Everyone wanted to meet the mysterious creator of the novels they devoured. Just how long he could keep his secret he didn’t know.

  Questions were popping up on some of the romance novel websites. There was curiosity as to who was this maestro of romance. Who was capable of weaving together such lechery and emotion? Who was it that connected the dots between lust and love? Who could stream together sentences that captured the heart and heated the groin? Who was this author of the raw and raunchy, yet heartfelt romp into romantic dreamland?

  It was that small but growing base of fans who were growing increasingly curious. Jena was the perfect example of the typical Joan Dixon fan. They wanted to see her face, shake her hand, and tell her how much they adore her. They wanted to thank her for Heart of the Animal, Dirty Love, and Naked Emotion. They wanted to ask when the next spicy treasure chest would be released. They wanted to meet their “goddess” as Jena had so aptly put it.

  It was readers like Jena who were paying his bills as of late. It was loyal fans like her that might one day allow him to quit his day job and write full time. They were faithful to their heroine Joan Dixon. They didn’t mind plunking down a few dollars to warm their hearts and fire up their libido.

  Steven paid for the drinks and picked them up. Maybe he would wait to tell Jena about his famed alias. There wasn’t a real sense of urgency about it. Maybe he would have a little fun with it first. Perhaps he would play with her mind a little bit, bait her up in the bedroom with some of Joan Dixon’s spicier narratives. Maybe he would give her more Joan Dixon than she could handle.

  Steven smiled as he walked back to the table. Yep, that’s what he would do. His disclosure would wait. Jena would thank him for it later anyway. She was the type of girl who liked excitement. She would appreciate a little head-game trick, a bit of mental stimulation to liven up the bedroom.

  Yeah, for sure that’s what he would do. Ideas were already popping into his head. Joan Dixon’s imagination was going to magically manifest during their lovemaking. Her sensuality would expose itself in all of its lusty glory. Every bit of her lascivious, pussy-wetting lechery would be ravished upon Jena. She alone would be the lucky recipient of Joan Dixon’s blazing sensuality.

  Jena’s entire body would reap the pleasures of her creativity. Her whole being would become a lightning rod of sensual delights. Her whole body would be a nerve center of sensation, one big hungry clitoris soaking up raw pleasure, reveling in the sensual essence of it all.

  It certainly wouldn’t require much effort on his part. Jena didn’t know it, but Joan Dixon’s popularity was all due to her. She had been the model of sensuality for Joan Dixon from the very first book. She had been the inspiration behind the whole idea of writing sensual love stories.

  It had been Jena’s image of salaciousness that danced in his mind when he was creating those heated scenes of unrestrained passion and liberated lust. It was Jena losing herself in libidinous ecstasy as he typed away on his computer. It was Jena who, for the last two years, had his cock hard as a rock fantasizing about her as he wrote.

  For twenty long years he had lusted after her, wondering what it would be like to make love to her. For two decades he had wondered what she tasted like, what she felt like wrapped around him. The lure of her flesh swept him into the realm of fantasy and fiction. Without Jena there never would have been a Joan Dixon.

  For three books he had fantasized about the dream that got away. For a hundred chapters he captured his lust for this amazing model of sensuality in literary prose. For a thousand pages he was consumed with fiery passion for his Jena girl. Every single word represented a primal desire, a need to consummate burning memories from the past.

  Yes, Jena was the titillating inspiration behind Joan Dixon’s success. She was the one responsible for her growing legion of fans. Jena was the spark that made it all happen. She was the soul of Joan Dixon.

  Steven looked at the girls. They were engrossed in conversation, of which he undoubtedly was the main topic. Jena looked so happy expressing herself. She looked like a girl in love. She seemed to be bursting at the seams with joy.

  As pretty as this picture was, it was no more beautiful than the feelings that were ripping through him. Jena was not one bit happier than he—for he too was lost in a sea of joy. He also had slipped under the waterline that defined body and spirit. He had stuck a toe into the salty, sensual liquid of lust and got sucked under by the power of emotion. He was submerged in the soothing waters of contentment, where everything seemed as it should be. He was drifting joyously in a sea of passionate bliss. He too was in love.

  Chapter 21

  Steven stood by their table with drinks in hand. The girls still hadn’t noticed him. They were like teenagers discussing their favorite topic, affairs of the heart. He was reluctant to interrupt them for it was a basic female trait. Without it they would wither away and die. It was the instinctual female support system that had worked for centuries. It was a sort of survival mechanism that was ingrained into them. The exchange of energy and information was food for their soul. It was a timeless ritual that went back through the ages.

  Sharing the highs and lows of romance was the nature of their gender. It was the crown they wore when they were riding high in the euphoric clouds of love. It was their medicine for the biting pain of bitter heartbreak. It was their way of coping with the mystery of the sexes. It was women helping women survive in the brutal world of love.

  Steven let the essence of raw femininity soak into his subconscious. He didn’t have to listen to learn anything. Their words didn’t matter. All that mattered was being encased by the magical ambience that surrounded him. It was something every female possessed. Each of them harbored a mystical aura that gleamed for all to see. All you had to do was open the doors to your soul and let the light enter. It was the light of truth and awareness. It was the key that unlocked the heart. It was the secret hidden in plain view.

  Steven breathed them in. He ushered in the iridescence of these complicated but beautiful women. The energy that emanated from them flowed into his pores. This was the Joan Dixon in him absorbing it all. This is what made his novels so popular. He knew how a woman thought. He knew what they wanted. He knew what set them on fire.

  Women were beautiful. And it had absolutely nothing to do with their physical presence. It was what resided deep inside them. It was that female energy that lit up the room when they entered. It was their mystical way of wearing their emotions for all to see. It was the smile of their soul when they were lost in love. Every single one of them was a gift from the heavens.

  Women were poetry painted upon the sky, each one an exhilarating rainbow of colors that never failed to rhyme. They spoke the same language, shared the same bond, and danced to the same rhythm. They were all different and they were all the same. They were the awe-inspiring art that seared the soul with their brilliance. They were the beautiful prose that leaped from the pages, burrowing into the heart. They were treasures of femininity, seraphic angels of destiny.

  Nobody appreciated a woman like Steven did. If only other men would pay attention they too could gain insight. Women were the energy that fueled the world. It was their special touch that added beauty to the planet. They were the precious jewels of the creator.

&nb
sp; If men could look past their egos long enough they would realize all this. Their pot of gold is right before them and most don’t have a clue. The big mystery is not really a mystery at all. Follow the rainbow of femininity until you find your treasure. Then treat your treasure with respect. Care for it and appreciate it. Show your gratitude. Your reward will follow ten times over.

  Women guard the treasures that sparkle and shine. They’re the gatekeepers of humanity. They can see and feel the vibrations of the universe. Their special cosmic energy allows them access to the vaults of wisdom. They’re mystical sages who possess the secrets of the human soul. They harbor the true spirit within their hearts. Men are mere soldiers at their command.

  Yeah, that’s the way it is. Women are special and need to be treated with respect. Show them you care and their doors swing open. Make them feel good and they reciprocate with unleashed passion. Love them and pamper them and they’ll shower you in pleasure. Remove their wrapper with care and respect and their world becomes yours. They spread their wings and let you come inside.

  As the wrapper falls away the candy is exposed. Your rich reward is there to take. It’s sweet and sticky and a treasure to behold. It’s luscious and sensual and stings the mouth with pleasure. It wants to be licked and sucked and made love to by your tongue. It wants to be rolled between the lips and melt away in the mouth. It wants you to extract every last drop of pleasure.

  You lick and suck your candy until it can take no more. She’s hot on the tongue and ready to explode. She’s tight against your lips and smothered in heat. One last swirl of the tongue and she lets it all go. Out it comes. The nectar of pleasure flows as she dissolves into the realm of elated bliss. She cries out in ecstasy as she explodes in your mouth.

  You roll her under your heated tongue one final time. You give her another caress from your soft lips. Then you swallow her down as she streams down your throat. It’s her finale of ecstasy, the giving of her essence.