KIRK
Today was a long day.
But more than a long day, it was a good day. Sure, kicking drunk assholes out of my bar isn’t how I like to spend my time, but this time it was well worth it. I wouldn’t mind dealing with assholes like that if it meant I’d have Emily right after every time.
Ah, Emily… I have no idea how, but fucking her inside my office was even better than our first time together. If I was smitten by her before, I don’t even know how to describe the state I’m in right now.
Still, despite all that, I didn’t find the guts to ask her to come home with me. She could be here right now, couldn’t she? But no, I had to let her leave, and now here I am, alone in my apartment and feeling like a complete idiot. Yeah, just how I wanted to end my day, depressed about stupid shit like this.
Kicking off my shoes and throwing my jacket over the couch, I drag my feet all the way to the bathroom and turn the shower head on. I get undressed and then step under the running water, gritting my teeth as its coldness slaps my naked skin.
I thought that a cold shower would help me take my mind off Emily, but what do you know? I can’t take her off my mind no matter what I do. I remain under the cold water for God knows how long, reliving the moment I just shared with her inside my office… My God, her lips, her curves, the wetness between her thighs… She isn’t a woman; she’s Lust itself.
Sighing heavily, I feel my cock twitch, and it doesn’t take long for me to be as hard as a rock. How could it be otherwise? Curling my fingers around my shaft, I close my eyes and start moving my hand back and forth, allowing
the image of Emily’s naked body to take over my mind.
I keep stroking myself, surrendering to the wickedest thoughts my mind can conceive, and it doesn’t take long for my whole body to tense up like a nocked arrow. “Fuck,” I groan, breathing hard as one hard spasm makes my cock twitch against my fingers. Even though I’ve came just a few hours ago, here I am, gushing rope after rope of my seed.
“Fuck, I must be going crazy,” I whisper, throwing my head back and allowing pleasure to wash all over me. I stand there for a few minutes longer, waiting to see if stroking myself helped, but I quickly give up. I get out of the shower, dry myself up, and then wrap a towel around my waist.
I’ll be insane in a few days if I keep going like this. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s on my mind 24/7. I can’t even sleep through the night without dreaming of her. Open up a dictionary and look up the word ‘madness’; I’ll bet that Emily is right in the definition.
Deep down, though, I know that I’m the one to blame. I’ve been on my own for so long that I don’t even know if I’m ready for a relationship of any kind.
I’m about to start getting dressed when I hear my phone ringing from the living room. Still with my feet wet, I tip-toe my way there. I grab my cellphone from the coffee table, and my heart skips a beat as I see the name on the screen.
Yeah, speak of the Devil.
“Emily?” I say out loud, taking her call and pressing the phone against my ear. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to… Well, I just wanted to thank you, Kirk,” she tells me, and I remain silent for a couple of seconds.
“Thank me? For what?”
“For everything, really…” she whispers. “You saved me from that guy and -”
“I didn’t save you from anything. I bet you would’ve kicked his ass anyway,” I laugh, although I can’t help but feel a little smug about the whole thing. I mean, all guys like to pretend they’ve been put on Earth to defend women’s honor, and I’m no different.
“Maybe,” she agrees with me, laughing as well. “But then there was the sex… I guess I ought to thank you for that too.”
“That’s a new one… I don’t think I ever had someone thanking me for sex,” I tell her, and it’s the complete truth. Even though some women really looked thankful about it, they never went ahead and said it out loud.
“Maybe I’m polite… Or maybe you were a virgin before you met me,” she says, teasing me with a carefully placed jab.
“Did I look like a virgin to you?” I ask her, a big stupid smile on my face as I talk with her. I must look like a schoolgirl right now, giggling on her phone as she talks to her boyfriend. How the mighty fall.
“No, you didn’t…” she admits. “In fact, you seemed like everything but a virgin…” She continues, lowering her voice. “I can’t wait to do it again…”
“Why don’t you come over? We can do it right now,” I tell her, the words coming out of my lips before I can put a stop to it. Oh, well, it’s done, besides, I should’ve already told her to come over a long time ago.
I keep waiting for her to reply, but on the other side of the line there’s only silence.
“Emily?”
“Yeah… I’m here. I’d to love to but…” Oh, fuck, is she shooting me down? It took me this long to muster enough courage to ask her to come over, and now this. Perfect.
“But?”
“Well, I have lots of work to do…” she says, and I can tell that she’s struggling with her words. Is that because she’s giving me an excuse, or does she really have work to do?
“Work, I see. It’s alright.”
“No, I’m serious…! It’s not an excuse! I should start on a new project tonight, or else Lana is going to have my scalp.”
“A new project? What do you do? A wine bar reviewer?” I tease her, glad to hear the honest tone in her voice. She’s not giving me an excuse.
“No… I’m not a wine bar reviewer,” she laughs, “but… Uh, it’s complicated.”
Complicated? Now I’m curious.
EMILY
“Really, I’m curious now. What do you for a living?” I fall into a deep silence again, but he isn’t about to give up “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re a KGB agent or something?” He laughs, and I can’t help but relax a little.
“No … it’s nothing like that,” I tell him, but I still haven’t been able to find the necessary courage to tell him about what I do for a living. Being a writer is supposed to be a glamorous profession, but I don’t think most people find it all that glamorous when they find out you write – ahem – romance for a living. I mean, let’s be honest; I write the kind of romance that leaves Kindles on fire (and panties, for that matter). I mean, I’ve told other guys before and they looked at me like I did porn or something. I guess I’m just a bit worried because I really like WineBar, ya know?
“So?”
“Well, I’m a writer,” I finally confess, saying it so fast that I’m actually surprised he understood me.
“A writer? Like, a journalist?”
Fuck it. I’m a Top 100 Romance writer on Rainforest. com. If he has a problem with that, then it was never going to work out anyways.
“No, I’m a novelist. I write romance,” I chuckle, playing with one stray lock of hair. God, I’m already adopting Lana’s nervous ticks. Leaning back, I throw my feet up on the couch and run my tongue between my lips, thinking of the best way to answer all of his questions.
“Romance? That’s sweet. Why were you so ashamed of telling me that?” “Well … uh, because sweet wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe what I write,” I continue, now going from playing with my hair to biting my fingernails. Yeah, it’s a nasty habit, but anxiety isn’t exactly a nice thing.
“Now you’re confusing me,” he admits, that playfulness in his voice making my heart tighten up. “Why don’t you show me one of your books?” he asks me, and my heart tightens up so much I wouldn’t be surprised if it simply burst.
“I don’t know about that,” I stammer, but I know that there’s no way around it.
“Oh, come on. You’re a writer, and I’m a potential reader… I’m a sale waiting to happen, Emily,” he insists, and I take a deep breath.
“Okay… are you ready?” “More than ready.”
“So… have you ever heard of Anna Angel?” I ask him, and I think that my heart has just skipped a few beats.
“Mm, maybe? Isn’t she a -”
“A writer, yes. She’s my pen name.” I close my eyes as I say it, nervously waiting to hear his reply. Instead of saying anything, though, he simply waits for me to keep on speaking. “Check out 12 Inches, that was one my latest hits.”
“I’m on it,” he breathes out, and then I hear a keyboard rattling like a machine gun from the other side of the line. “I’m seeing it,” he tells me flatly, and then his tone changes in a fraction of a second. “Whoa, this is amazing, Emily. I had no idea you were this fucking talented.”
“I’m not talented… I just write about what I like,” I say, his excited reaction calming my nerves. He doesn’t seem to think that I’m a sex-addict or something like that, so I’ll take it as a victory.
“So… you like big cocks, huh?” he laughs, and I feel warm blood rushing to my cheeks again. God, what is it with all the blushing lately? I feel just like a virgin again.
“Is it that obvious?” Despite how nervous I’m feeling right now, I can’t help but play along. Besides, his question is a valid one; after all, I just showed him a book called 12 Inches. Which is kinda ironic, since his own cock must be that big. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’m tempted to call it destiny.
“I’d say it’s pretty obvious… After all, you seemed to be enjoying yourself with my own twelve inches,” Kirk says, echoing my own thoughts.
“Don’t get too cocky,” I tell him, although my own choices of words was kind of a tongue slip. Cocky? C’mon, I can do better than this!
“Cocky is my middle name, Emily… You should know that by now. So, anyway, are you going to start a new book tonight, is that it?”
“Well…” I whisper, pursing my lips as I wonder about my options. I was supposed to be on the phone with Lana right now, so that we could outline our next book, but I ended up calling WineBar instead… And I’ve been on the phone with him for some time now, which means that Lana’s probably pissed right now. “I was supposed to be outlining a new book right now,” I confess to him, sighing.
“But you aren’t.” “No, I’m not.”
“You’re on the phone with me.”
“I am…” God, is this conversation going where I think it’s going? Because this time I won’t be able to say ‘no’. Why? Well, let me give you a hint; if I leave the house now, I’ll have to change my panties.
“Alright, I’m gonna say it again… Come on over, Emily. I want you in here, with me.” I swallow hard, my mind going at a thousand miles per hour. He has invited me to his place for the second time in a row… There’s no way I’ll be able to turn him down.
“Is this a, uh, booty call? Nothing more serious than that, right?” I ask him, the urge to know his intentions overpowering my rational side. What a dumb question to make – what the hell am I expecting his reply to be? Besides, I don’t even know what I want his answer to be.
I expected his reply to come fast, but he’s taking his time. “Are you there?” I ask him, and I hear him take a deep breath on the other side.
“I’m here… Yeah, just a booty call. So… you’ll come?”
“Of course,” I smile, though I’m not sure how his answer made me feel. But I try to be funny. “More than once if you’re good at what you do,” I say to him.
Booty calls are awesome, aren’t they? Then why the hell am I not feeling that awesomeness right now?
Whatevs, screw it, booty call or not, my body demands his. “I’ll be right over,” I tell him, and then I jump up to my feet.
I have no idea where this road will lead, but one thing’s for sure: I’ll have my fun, one way or the other.