28. June 16th-17th
JUNE 16TH-17TH
Sylvan
"H.R. Puffenstuff!"she muttered, then rested her elbows on the desk's edge, her chin in her hands.
Nope. Don't create new. Recreate the truth.
She wasn't sure this was ethical. This wasn't the same as what she did with The Nature of the Beast. That was a recreation of elements of her research.
However, earlier, she'd realized that she did have a story to write. Hers and TB's story. No one needed to know. He certainly wouldn't read it to know, but it still felt wrong.
There should be enough ways to change it, especially since it's a historical, paranormal storyline. Not like our ending will match the book's ending, anyway.
She'd made great progress today, flying through fifteen thousand words and coming up to the first real sex scene. Then, she got stuck because she tried to reinvent the wheel with the characters.
She groaned, then slid her face into her hands. "Sister Mary Francis, what do I do now?"
Sylvan wasn't sure how long she sat there blankly. It felt like minutes, but it was probably more like seconds. Gathering all the energy she could, she uncovered her face to look at her screen. She began dejectedly pressing the backspace key, murmuring, "Delete, delete, delete," with each stroke of the key.
"I doubt it's all unsalvageable."
She squawked, and her hand flew to her chest. Instantly, she realized who it was. "Jiminy Cricket, TB, don't do that! That's three times now." All she could hear was her panting breath as her pulse rocketed beneath her palm.
He leaned against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, just a silhouette in the dark by the spiral staircase. "I wasn't trying to be quiet. You were lost in thought. You really need to be more aware of your surroundings," he chided.
"Trust me," she grumbled. "I know when you're around most of the time. It's hard to miss you."
She turned her attention back to her screen, one of the hardest things she swore she'd ever done. She never wanted to miss one look, one movement, one word from him. But those wants were far too dangerous, so she tore her gaze away.
With every book I write going forward, he'll be all I'll see. I won't be able to bear it.
The shadow in her doorway was silent so long that Sylvan's heart, which had just returned to normal beats, suddenly ramped back up in panic.
"What is it, TB? Is something wrong?"
He said nothing.
"TB? You're scaring me." Her voice was still quiet, but it rose slightly in octave.
Slowly, he stood up straight, his hands coming out of his pockets. He moved forward with his predatory stealth. Once he stood across from her over the desk, he simply looked deeply into her eyes.
"Was there something you needed?" she asked in a shaky whisper.
All of a sudden, he was between her and the fireplace. Reaching to the back of her head, he pulled out the clip holding her hair up from her shoulders. The red tresses fell loosely down her back and around her face, one strand falling forward over her ear and down over her breast. His gaze lowered to the curl at its bottom edge that fell just before her waistline. He raised her out of the desk chair, reached out, and pinched the curl, loosely winding it around his fingertip. He seemed fascinated by the softness of her hair as his thumb massaged the lock.
"I just finished one of your books."
He did WHAT?! Oh, flippety flip-flip!
All the saliva in her mouth seemed to dry up in that instant. The best she could manage to do was swallow convulsively.
"I thought you were a hearts and flowers kind of girl. Horseback rides on sunset beaches. Champagne picnics along the river. White weddings." His finger began to wind the curl again, only this time, it didn't stop until it came up to her ear. Then he let go, and the curl unwound itself to fall back to its original place over her breast. Sliding his hand along her neck and ear, he cradled her head in his large palm. Of its own volition, Sylvan's face leaned into his palm, her eyes lowering to half-mast, almost drunk with his nearness.
Suddenly, she gasped as she felt a pleasurable sting. His fingers had tunneled to the roots of her hair and pulled tightly so that her head tilted back and her eyes flew open to stare into his emerald ones.
Oh, yes!
The forefinger on his other hand traced the shell of her ear. "I was so, so wrong. Imagine my surprise that my curious hearts and flowers girl likes her sex very dirty, very rough, and very creative." He brought his face close to hers and dragged the very tip of his nose from chin to brow. "I especially liked pages one hundred thirty-four through one hundred forty-seven. You learned your lessons on BDSM well."
Oh, Frankenstein! He read Nature of the Beast. Of all the ones to read!
"Steel warned me I would learn a lot about you if I read one of your books." Suddenly, his lips were touching her skin, not kissing her but dragging down the cord of her neck. "I told him that reading a romance novel was something I'd never be caught dead doing. Besides that, what could some sappy, unrealistic book possibly tell me about you that I didn't already know? But I decided I'd give his crazy idea a try." His mouth lingered on the spot just beside her ear. "Now I know why the guys were buzzing around you like bees among the sweetest roses this morning. Although… I'm thinking I liked it better when we were on the computer and at the club when I was the only one who could see those dirty desires of yours." And his warm breath was replaced by his tongue tracing the shell of her ear.
Her inner self was whimpering. Or at least she thought it was. It took a moment to register that she actually made the soft moan that escaped her mouth. Embarrassed but unwilling to tell him to stop, her eyes fluttered back to half-mast with a primitive need to experience the sensation without focusing on what she could see in front of her. "Again, please," she begged.
"Do what again, princess?"
"Pull."
"Pull, what?"
"My hair."
He tightened his grip on her hair roots and pulled again gently. The slight stinging sensation traveled to her eyelids, pulling them shut. Its path zigged and zagged down through her bloodstream, causing her blood to burn, her heart pumping double time, her lungs expanding to take in more air, her stomach tightening, her womb clenching, and finally sparking her clit, flaming it to life.
"Yes. That's what you wanted." His warm breath exhaled into her ear, and then she felt something pull open the collar of her blouse. Something soft, warm, and wet brushed at the juncture of her neck and shoulder—his tongue—and then she felt cool air blowing across her skin. Sylvan's knees failed, and she gripped his biceps. TB must have felt her body give way because his arm snaked around her waist and clutched her to him. "I've got you, little Flame. Now, let's see how else I can make you burn."
His mouth moved from her ear, and she whimpered as if in distress. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't drag me away now. Put your arms around my neck, little Flame." Tentatively, she let go of his arms and slid them up to his shoulders. She was so tiny compared to him that when TB picked her up so that her arms could reach around him, she clasped him like he was saving her from drowning.
"Look at me, princess."
A sting registered as he nipped her lower lip. Reflexively, she tried to pull back in shock. "Open for me," he ordered.
Trusting him, she opened her mouth, and immediately, his tongue slid inside to stroke hers. If she thought he sucked the oxygen out of a room before, now that his lips were on hers for the first time, she felt like he was a black hole. Everything felt like it was spinning, like she was gasping for air, and like she was endlessly falling.
Then she realized she wasn't falling—she was sliding down the front of his body. "No, no," she clutched at him.
"Shh, lovely. Too many clothes in the way. I want to see you." He turned her so that they exchanged places with her closest to the fireplace, and then he backed her up until she was directly in front of the flames. Once she was firmly on her feet, he pulled the desk chair to the edge of the area rug, turning it perpendicular to her desk and just on the front line of the firelight, and sat in the chair. "Start with your shirt. Let it slide down your shoulders and pool on the floor."
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm going to faint.
Straightening her spine, she worked to hold back the shudder of anticipation. Sylvan's fingers trembled as, without question, she did as she was told. She raised her fingertips to the silk lapels of the silk overshirt, then drew them slowly up and over her shoulders, letting it slide down her back to around her feet on the floor, revealing the designer loungewear. Her arms drifted back down to her sides.
He leaned back in the chair, his elbow on the arm, his head propped up by his thumb and forefinger. His face was expressionless. She noticed that he had picked up her hair clip with his other hand and was playing with it while he watched her. "Remove your corset."
Reaching behind herself at the waist, Sylvan slipped loose the double knot and gently pulled at each juncture of the ribbons. Then she unhooked each hook on the front, top to bottom, slowly, until it was completely undone. The boned garment dropped to the floor with a barely-there thud. Her body felt abnormal, being so unrestricted. Her nipples beaded at the lace abrasion of the blouse she had worn under the corset. Despite the areas of opaque embroidery, she knew it would be obvious to him, even in the low light.
"Very good. Now…" He shifted in the chair to sit up straight. "Your trousers."
Sylvan reached to her hip and slid the side zipper on the pants down. With a tilt of each hip, she pushed the waist over her hips and let them slither down her legs to pool at her feet with the rest of her clothing. She was left in a long-sleeved lace blouse, her heeled slippers, and completely at his mercy.