11. Blake

CHAPTER 11

Blake

I t's been another busy day at the store even though there's been quite a few returns. I've never understood people who return books after they've obviously read them. "Oh no, that dog-eared page was there when I bought it." Like hell it was. How about I punch you in the bloody face and tell you that bruise was there before and then we'll call it even.

I've got a meeting with Amanda tonight and every time I think about it, I have to stop myself from calling it a date. It's not a date, but I have to admit, sometimes I wish it were. Obviously writing Falling for the Secret Male Stripper (or FFTSMS or Stripper or Cock Book) has ended up being a lot of fun, but it's almost too much fun. We've gotten together every night this week, and by the time she leaves I have blue balls the size of Donald Trump's head.

Honestly, I don't know what's happening. I've had to cancel a date I had with the Mr. Mercedes girl (Sansa?) because I'd rather be with Amanda instead, even though it's taking every ounce of my goodwill to not make a move on her. I mean, I don't want to think of her in that way since she's my writing partner and I've made it this far without fucking up our strange little relationship.

But when we're dealing day in and out with hard cocks and slick holes and every romance cliché imaginable, it's nearly impossible not to be turned on. It doesn't help that Amanda is attractive. Her eyes are this vivid blue-green that light up every time she writes the word dick, and she has this smile, so beautifully cheeky, that sometimes takes my breath away. Okay, so that's a bit of a cliché, but I do feel breathless when the majority of my blood flow is heading straight to my pants. It's amazing she hasn't noticed my constant erection, though maybe she's just being polite about it. She's so humble she probably wouldn't assume it's for her.

Then there are her lips, which I've been a fan of since day one. If anything, they seem to get wetter, the way her mouth hangs open slightly and her pink tongue peeks out when she's thinking, and I really have to remind myself that she probably wouldn't appreciate me kissing her wildly while she's trying to write.

Probably.

That's what makes everything worse because I know , I know , she's getting turned on as she writes. Her eyes get this glossy glazed look and her cheeks flush and she squirms in her seat. She likes to laugh at the overuse of the word clenching, but damn I know she's squeezing her tight little pussy together in my presence, and so help me god, I want in on that.

I'm not made of stone.

And I know it's just a matter of time.

"Blake," my father calls to me, snapping me back to reality. It's almost closing time, and though the store is a mess, I have places to go and porn to write.

I look up to see him and Kevin coming toward me. I guess Angelica must have just dropped him off. And, shit, Kevin's eyes are all puffy and red under his glasses, while my dad's face looks etched in concrete.

"What's up?" I ask them cautiously. I look to Kevin. "Did you reread that scene again where Dumbledore dies?"

"Hey, spoiler alert!" someone among the stacks of books yells.

" No ," Kevin replies in annoyance, wiping his nose. "We have something to tell you."

My dad comes over to the register and clears his throat. "This may be a shock to hear," he says, lowering his voice. "But Angelica and I are getting a divorce. We've signed the papers. We wanted to wait to tell Kevin so it wouldn't affect his school, but there's a small chance they might be moving over the summer."

I knew about the divorce part. I did not know about the moving part.

"Noooo," I say softly, looking at Kevin. "You can't go."

"I don't want to go!" he says, stamping his foot.

"Kevin!" my dad turns around to admonish him before leaning in close to me. "Don't make this worse, Blake. He's going to have a hard enough time as it is."

I glance at Kevin, standing there in his cape—silver this time—his knee high suede boots, his wooden staff, his glasses, and I know when he moves to another school the kids are going to be brutal. He's almost ten, and if I remember correctly, middle school is when all the world goes to hell.

"It would be nice if you came and had dinner with us tonight," he says.

My heart sinks. I look between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I can't tonight."

"Blake," my dad warns.

"I'm sorry, but I made plans and I'm not breaking them."

"Is it a girl?" Kevin asks in disgust .

"Yes, it is a girl," I tell him. "We're having a cootie convention."

"Seriously son, tell the girl you'll…woo her some other day."

"She's not like that. I mean…I'm not wooing her. I'm trying to woo her. But not in the way you think. I…"

The lines in my father's forehead deepen as he stares at me. "Are you saying you have a girlfriend? Is it serious?"

Well, I certainly can't tell them about the project because I'd be disowned in a second. Knowing my dad, he'd probably boot me out of his will, let the bank repossess the store, and send me back to England. I represent everything he thinks made him fail.

"It's not serious and she's not a girlfriend. She's a friend and maybe I want something more."

At least that's partially honest.

His eyes rake over me, not really believing it.

So I look at Kevin. "Honest. It's true. You know I wouldn't say no for just anybody."

Kevin, such a trooper, nods, even though it's obvious I've decimated his heart. "It's okay. I understand."

Shit. Now I feel like a right wanker.

"Look," I say to him, pasting a smile on my face. "A little birdie told me all about LARPing. What if I take you to one of the all-day events they have at Beacon Hill?"

My dad groans. I ignore him.

"Are you serious?" Kevin asks, his face lighting up like the fourth of July. "Will you dress up?"

"Of course."

"Will you bring your girlfriend?"

I tilt my head. "Um, probably not."

"I want to see you with your girlfriend."

I study him closely. Is it possible he actually doesn't believe me and wants proof? Am I that untrustworthy ?

Well, Amanda is a giant nerd. She'd probably be thrilled. Maybe not about the fake girlfriend part, but the whole costumes and casting spells and pretending you're an elf necromancer named Whren the White, with ivory tits the size of hippos, who might wear nothing else under her corset. Hmmm. I may have looked up some LARPing porn while I was researching.

With a reassuring smile I say, "Sure. I'll bring my girlfriend. You just look into when it is and we'll make a plan. Okay? I promise."

Even though Kevin leaves happy, I leave the shop feeling seriously deflated. I hop in Mr. Mean and drive straight to Amanda's house, texting her when I'm outside.

She texts back: You're early! Hey, Ana is out for the night on a date if you want to come in.

Amanda is seriously inviting me in? I know she's talking about it from a work perspective, but even so, my cock twitches in my pants.

"Oh behave," I hiss at it as I get out of the car and stroll down the driveway to her basement suite.

She opens the door looking absolutely fresh-faced, her hair damp and pulled back into a low braid like she's just stepped out of the shower.

"Hi," she says, smiling broadly as if she's truly happy to see me.

Her smile creates a reflex in me, like yawning, and I'm grinning back at her. In fact, I think a few heady seconds swing past with us just standing in the doorway, staring at each other and smiling like dorks.

She breaks away first and clears her throat. "Come on in." She opens the door wider and gestures widely with her arms. "Your first proper tour of mi casa."

"You know, sometimes I miss having a roommate," I muse as I step inside. The basement suite is pretty bright considering and the walls are done up in yellow and lavender, a total chick pad. I'd been here briefly before, but now I have a chance to take everything in. The living room and kitchen are pretty typical, though the place looks a lot neater than I would have imagined.

"She's entertaining, that's for sure," Amanda says, heading for the fridge and looking inside. "I feel like I should offer you something, but all we have is orange juice and Estonian vodka."

"Maybe later," I say. "Show me your room."

A bashful smile curves on her lips. "This feels so high school."

"Don't worry, I won't try and fingerbang you while we listen to Maroon Five."

"Such a romantic," she mutters dryly, heading for her door.

"That's your job," I remind her, following right behind.

Amanda's room is exactly how I imagined it. And yes, I've imagined it. I've imagined it with the both of us in it in a hundred different positions. My favorite happens to be when she dresses up as Rey before I plunge Kylo Ren's lightsaber inside her.

There's art of Reylo on one wall, and though I don't see any sign of a lightsaber, she does have a plaque about the force hanging above her bed. On her bedside table there's a TARDIS alarm clock and a giant Loki figurine made up in Tom Hiddleston's likeness. There's also a giant framed map of Middle Earth that must have cost a fortune, as well as what appears to be signed photos of the cast of Firefly , Sherlock (with my nemesis Benedict Cumberbatch), and one of George R. R. Martin.

"Ummm," I say, pointing at the photos before getting a closer look. "How did you manage to get these signed? "

She shrugs. "Ebay." Her eyes glance down and she smiles shyly. "So now you know how big of a dork I am."

"Peach, I already knew that the moment you first walked into the classroom. You were wearing a hoodie that said Straight Outta Hogwarts . Why do you think I took such a shine to you?"

"You were an asshole. That was you taking a shine to me?" She throws up her hands. "That's it. I really don't understand guys."

I take a few steps toward her until I'm just a foot away. Up close I can see her pulse in her throat, the way her eyes take me in until they're nearly brimming with something so vivid and wild that it's hard to look away.

"We're pretty simple creatures," I tell her, my voice husky in our proximity, holding her gaze, urging her to not be afraid. Because I know she is. I know she's afraid of so many things, most of all letting go. "We just want the pretty girl to like us."

She swallows hard, and I'm staring at the freckles on her throat, her collarbone, the creamy white of her skin. I wonder how she tastes, how she feels. I wonder if she knows just how alike we really are, how this is something we both need .

But she averts her eyes, as she always does when I get too close, when I stare too long, and brushes past me, leaving me cold. "We should get to work," she says briskly, heading out to the kitchen.

"Yup," I say slowly, taking a moment to breathe and compose myself before I follow her.

She putters about the kitchen table, clearing away the mounds of makeup and setting up her computer, Kindle, and notebook. She's become Robot Amanda again, her eyes gone hard, her lip stiff. I scared her, enough that she's regressed to the girl I knew in class, but I don't regret what I said. I'm tired of pretending that I don't want to do to her all the things we're writing about .

I'm still standing there watching her, so she pauses and looks up at me over her glasses. "What?"

I shake my head and exhale through my nose. "Don't worry about it."

She holds my gaze for a moment and something passes over her. Regret, maybe. Then she nods. "Sit down. Let's work."

And so we do. And for the first time in a long time, it's strained. I'm about to suggest maybe we need the Estonian vodka anyway when she lets out an exasperated sigh over something she's reading.

It happens to be something I wrote.

"What?" I ask, wondering what I did wrong.

She gives me an are you kidding me? look. "Okay, I was ignoring it earlier but I think you need to get a grip on some of this shit. This simply does not happen."

"Explain, please."

"I just think it's unrealistic for there to be so much talking, let alone the fact that the first time they do it it's in a public place."

"Too much talking?"

"Yeah." She scans over the document. "You know, give me your cock, oh you feel so good, harder, harder, you're so big, fuck me harder, big boy."

"Have you even had good sex?" I ask incredulously.

She flinches. "Of course I have. And it's none of your business."

"We're writing about sex. It's completely my business. I'm not letting you interject your edits based on your personal experiences about sex, because believe me, if the sex is good, you're moaning my name."

She raises her chin. "Maybe all those girls were faking it."

Oh, brilliant.

"Excuse me?" I say, hands pressed to the table, nearly getting out of my chair. "You have no idea. I pride myself in giving a girl as many bloody orgasms as she can handle."

"Bloody orgasms don't sound like fun," she jokes softly.

"They can be if you're into knife play," I tell her, even though that's not exactly what I mean. Still, she scrunches up her nose. "Don't knock it until you try it, but that's neither here nor there. When you were with Alan, he must have made you come at least a few times."

If he didn't, I feel like finding the guy and showing him a thing or two for wasting four years of her life.

"Yeah," she says flatly.

"And in the middle of that orgasm, didn't you want to yell a few things?"

"Sometimes."

"And why didn't you?"

She looks at her nails as if they're suddenly fascinating. "It didn't seem right. It was…too intimate. I would have felt dumb. He didn't like any of that stuff."

The plot thickens. "Any of what stuff?"

"Sex that didn't involve the missionary position or the bed."

My mouth drops open. My brain and penis can't compute this. "I feel so sorry for you."

We must remedy this.

She glares at me. "It's not like I didn't want to do it. I did. And he did try it. Most of it. But it always went back to the same old."

I knew it. She's a nerd on the streets and a freak in the sheets.

"I don't mean to brag," I tell her in all seriousness. "But you do realize that I could give you an orgasm in thirty seconds."

Her eyes widen. I can't tell if she's horrified or intrigued. "I don't believe you and I don't want you to try."

She's not getting it. I frown, trying to explain. "If you're having good sex and it's with someone you're comfortable with, you won't worry about holding back. You'll cry out all the nonsense you want, you'll make noises like a pig, and scream like you're on fire because you truly can't have a good orgasm unless you're letting go on all accounts." I lean back in my chair and study her, running my fingers along my jaw. "I would venture a guess that every time you came with your ex, you were only experiencing half of what you should have been. How is it with your vibrators?"

I expect her to tell me to fuck off, that I'm getting too personal, but to my surprise she gives me a small smile. "It's better. But I do have a roommate with exceptionally good hearing." She clears her throat. "Anyway, so I guess I'm wrong. The heroine can make all the noise she wants."

"And have first time sex in public."

"I don't know…"

"Believe me, when you finally get a chance to fuck, you don't care where it is. That's why I always have a condom in my pocket. And the more public the sex, the sneakier you have to be, the hotter it is."

"But in the book you would never get caught."

"You don't always get caught in real life either."

I can see she wants to ask me where I've done it, but she loses her nerve. "Okay." She looks back to the document. "I accept defeat."

But I don't want her to. I want to prove to her I'm right and not just have her take me at my word.

Is there a non-creepy way to show her just how good good sex can feel? I'm thinking not.

Or…maybe there is.

Might still be creepy though.

I chew on my lip for a few moments, thinking it over. Before she catches my eye, I furrow my brow in false confusion and sigh loudly, staring at my computer screen.

"What?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say carefully. "I'm kind of stuck."

"With what?"

"Well, I mean Ford and Shasta have been having sex for pretty much all of the book so far and I don't want to repeat myself."

She laughs dryly. "Blake, I don't think the average reader is going to notice how many times you use the word cock."

"Yeah, but you know. They might."

"You're being a perfectionist again."

"You should talk, you made me rewrite the classroom scene again and again."

"Because I don't think you can come standing up!"

I give her a withering look. She has so much to learn. "Anyway, so they go back to her place while her parents are out of town for the weekend and they're obviously going to fuck in her bed for the first time."

"According to the rules, it can't be missionary."

"Right. They screw in all directions. I'm just stuck by how to describe the motions in a new way. It's like, I need to see it for myself." I stare at her until she cocks her head at me.

"What are you staring at?" she asks, voice tight with caution.

I get up and walk over to her chair, pulling it out. "Get up."

"Huh? Why?" She looks around in confusion as I grab her arm and try to pull her toward me. Once she's on her feet, I take a firm grasp of her hand and lead her around the table to her room.

"I need your help," I tell her, closing the door behind us and flicking on the lights .

She's standing in the middle of the room, limbs stiff, a deer in the headlights. "With what?"

"My writer's block. Get on the bed."

"Excuse me?" Her voice goes so high I'm pretty sure only dogs can hear it.

I can only grin as I stride over to her, putting one arm around the small of her waist and throwing her back onto the bed where she bounces on her arse.

"Blake," she says, holding out her hand to me, palm out.

"Just give me a minute to show you," I tell her. "It's good for the both of us."

I know she has no idea what I'm about to do which makes it even more fun.

"Spread your legs," I tell her, and when she doesn't because she's looking at me in shock, I reach down and put my hands between her knees, prying her legs apart. "But Jesus, try to relax."

She clamps her knees shut, crushing my hands. "Tell me what the hell you're doing first!"

"Fine," I tell her, retrieving my hands and straightening up. I lower my voice and do my best Morgan Freeman impression. "Ford stares down at Shasta as she lies back on the bed in nervous anticipation. He has a hard time reading her but his confusion doesn't abate the throbbing need in his swollen cock."

Her mouth drops open, eyes nearly popping out of her head.

I continue my commentary. "Shasta's cherry red mouth drops open, anticipating his precum on her lips."

At that, Amanda snaps her mouth shut, though her eyes are still wide and wary. I put my legs on either side of hers, boxing her in. "Ford straddles her, wanting her so badly he can taste it, the honey flavor of her cunt from this morning still on his lips. But he has to take his time. He must." I lean over her until she's lying flat against the bed, her eyes glued to mine as I speak. "Shasta deserves more than having it over in a flash. He wants to make her come again and again and to make it painfully slow."

"Please stop talking like Morgan Freeman," she says softly. "It's making this weirder." But at least she's not telling me to stop in general.

I reach down and slowly slide my hand down her side, the thinness of her tank top betraying the heat of her skin underneath. Suddenly I have to swallow, my narration slipping away as the reality sinks in. I take a shaky breath in through my nose, trying to remember what I was going to say.

"His fingers trail down her stomach to the sensitive skin of her waist," Amanda whispers, filling in for me, as she closes her eyes, putting her head back into the mattress.

Bloody hell. This is the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

My fingers do as she says, sliding to the bare skin between her top and the waistband of her jeans. I supress a shudder; she's so fucking soft and warm. I'm barely touching her, and she's undoing me. "He wants so badly to let loose, to ravage her with his lips and eager tongue."

"But he needs to take his time," she says, almost a murmur.

Testing my luck, I slowly take my hand to the button on her jeans. "He swiftly undoes her pants."

She stiffens. "But then thinks better of it."

I pause. "He wants to feel how drenched she is."

"But he knows she needs a little more foreplay," she quickly adds.

I can't help but grin. "So he brings his large, bear-wrestling hands up to her breasts."

"But before he does, he brushes his fingers over her shoulders."

And so I do. My hands look so rough and tanned against the delicate silk of her skin. Goosebumps erupt over her limbs while I slowly bring my palms down over shoulders, stroking carefully over her arms.

She arches her back slightly, her eyes still pinched shut but she's breathing harder.

Enjoying this.

I press myself against her leg and she lets out a small gasp.

I lower my mouth to her ear. "He presses his rock-hard cock against her hip so she knows exactly what she's doing to him." I pause then whisper, "How hard it is to hold it together. How badly he wants to come inside her, to feel her from the inside out."

I press my erection into her harder, sucking in my breath. Shit, it really is hard to hold it together. I close my eyes and let out a soft grunt that only makes her press herself into me in response.

I go on, my voice thick with desire. "His lips trail from her ear to her neck where he knows she'll be putty in his hands."

She inhales sharply. "But he knows she wants to be teased as long as possible."

"And yet," I whisper, my mouth hovering just below her earlobe, "she has been teased as long as possible. They both have. This was bound to happen sooner or later."

Gently, I press my lips to her neck. So soft at first. Barely making contact.

Her whole body goes rigid beneath me and the kiss hardens, my lips taking in more of her skin. My tongue snags a taste; she's so fresh, tart like lemons, and just like a lemon I want nothing more than to suck and suck.

She lets out a moan so close to my ear that it nearly sets me off. I drag my teeth along the length of her neck and I kiss her again, harder now, sucking in her skin while my dick gets harder between us, and slowly I'm rocking into her, trying to dissolve this maddening tension .

Her arms go around my neck, holding me in place, and I can hear her trying to catch her breath.

"She's not sure if they should be doing this," she says meekly, her voice cut off by a breathless gasp while I swirl my tongue down to her collarbone.

"Even though she's loving it," I murmur against her.

"Even though."

I lift my mouth away, shifting so I'm above her face, and plant my elbows on both sides of her head. She looks so goddamn beautiful like this, the first time I've really seen her vulnerable. Wild. I've seen it in her writing, but I've never seen it for me. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, her neck arched and begging for more, her cinnamon hair spilling out from her braid.

I slowly take her glasses off her face and place them beside us. But she still doesn't open her eyes.

"He wants her to look at him."

When she doesn't, I run the tip of my finger over her lips. "He wants her to see him."

I watch her throat move as she swallows. "He wants to kiss her," I add.

I lower my mouth so it's just over hers and try to keep my voice steady. "He wants her to want it." I pause, very gently brushing my lips over hers. Electric. "Does she?"

Her eyes flash open, inches from mine. They're fearful and lustful and wanting, and she gives me a barely imperceptible nod.

Yes.

I close my eyes and kiss her, her soft, cushiony lips parting beneath mine. She tastes gorgeous, like mint and orange, and I could drink forever. Her tongue is wet and small and soft as it tentatively brushes against mine. It's good.

So good.

Too good .

I could kiss her into eternity if she'd let me.

A tight noise of want emits from her throat and everything inside me builds, my cock getting stiffer, needing desperate release. The kiss deepens and I want nothing more than to devour her, to let loose this wild, passionate hurricane I'm trying to hold back because if it gets loose, I'll ravage her until she can't walk, until she won't know her own name. I'll show her everything she's been missing and everything she'll be begging for after.

My hands slip down her shirt again, this time sliding under her tank top.

He feels her hot skin; she's nearly feverish with her lust.

My fingers trail up toward her breasts, skimming the edge of her bra.

Expensive lace, he absently notes, wondering if she was planning this.

Her hands come around my neck, holding me in place as she bucks up toward me.

She's desperate now, her pussy swollen and dying for sweet release.

I grasp the edge of her bra, pulling it down until her nipple is exposed. I run the pad of my thumb over it, feeling it harden into a pebble.

Fuck me. If I come in my pants, that's not going in the book.

"‘Do you like that?' he whispers to her," I murmur this against her mouth.

"Yes," she says breathlessly, and as I rub my thumb over her nipple again, she stiffens all over, drawn to me, groaning loudly.

"Now that's what I was talking about," I smile, pulling back slightly.

She blinks at me, probably unaware of how loud she was. Luckily she can see well up close, so I know I'm not a blur, even if I might feel like one.

I want to hear more.

"Amanda!?" Ana's booming voice suddenly bursts into our living erotica. "Sweet one?"

We look at each other in fright. "Shit!" Amanda squeaks, pushing me off of her. "The Cock Book!"

Damn it!

We both scamper off the bed, adjusting our clothes before we go running for the door. Amanda flings it open as we burst into the living room.

Ana is frowning at the table, but luckily she's not within reading distance of our work.

"What did you do with my makeup station?" she asks, sounding annoyed, but then as she looks over and spots me standing in the doorway of Amanda's bedroom, her face lights up, going from happy to see me to jumping to all the wrong, yet almost right, conclusions.

"I'm so sorry!" she says in her thick accent, even though she puts her hand on her lips, thrusting out her breasts. Her finger zig-zags between the both of us. "I had no idea you were…here. Together. Like this. This is great!"

I swallow, glancing over at Amanda. She's going around the table, clearing it and closing laptops, and the more I stare at her, the more I realize she's avoiding my eyes.

"Why are you home early?" she says to Ana, trying to play it off. "I thought you had a date."

"I did. The food was excellent," she says with a smile. Then, as if remembering, she holds up a BC liquor store bag."I bought some wine! Blake, please have some with us."

I scratch the back of my neck, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. "Thanks, that's lovely," I tell her. My eyes dart to Amanda. "But I should be going."

She looks at me, squinting, and maybe she can't see me very well without her glasses. She nods, expressionless. "Okay," she says, her voice clipped. "I'll, uh, see you sometime."

Holy fuck, she's just done a 360 again. The robot is back.

"Right-O," I tell her with a shrug, going to collect my things.

"Oh, don't leave because of me!" Ana protests, waving the bottle around.

"It's getting late," I say with an apologetic smile. "You two ladies enjoy yourself." I nod at Amanda. "Have a good night."

I go out the door just in time to hear Ana ask, "Were you fucking or fighting?"

Once inside my car I feel like I can finally breathe. I wait a few moments, thinking Amanda might run out after me and make plans for tomorrow but that doesn't happen.

Fuck. It was going so well. I came on strong but she was liking it and then…then we were interrupted and her stupid brain had to get involved and freak the fuck out.

Still, she was probably acting that way because Ana was there, and that lady is easily excitable on top of being completely barmy. I should be impressed she gained her composure so quickly.

I'll call her tomorrow. We'll make plans to write.

We'll see what happens in the next chapter.