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Writer's Block Ch. 01

By: firstkiss



I sat alone at my usual table, completely absorbed in the flashing flex of my fingers across the keyboard of my laptop, oblivious to the surrounding din of casual chat and coffeehouse sounds; my thoughts were focussed entirely on the flow of words from my brain as I struggled to write the pictures in my mind. 

Lena leaned in closer to Aidan, her slender fingers trailing up the length of his strongly muscled leg; his cock twitched as her touch approached, anticipating her caress...

"Hello," his voice was low-pitched and dripping with charm; I looked up from my screen, blinking furiously, trying to focus. "Hi, so sorry to interrupt but I just had to come over and talk to you. Mind if I sit down?"

I shook my head automatically, still slightly stunned at being torn cruelly from my work. Across the table the blond-haired stranger seated himself and smiled broadly at me. He was lucky he was cute, because I felt almost murderous. My smile was faked.

"I don't usually do things like this," he continued quickly, pulling my empty teacup towards himself and pouring from the fresh pot he'd brought to the table, his movements were smooth, studied, and precise. My anger was slowly being replaced by my insatiable writer's curiosity; just who the hell was he and what the hell did he want?

"It's Earl Grey," he explained, pushing my now full teacup back my direction. "The girl at the counter said that's what you drink."

I nodded, watching wordlessly as he poured himself a cup as well, fixing his tea with the same brisk efficiency with which he poured it. 

"I'm Douglas Meredith," he said, flashing me a white-toothed smile. "It's nice to meet you. I really hope you don't mind me introducing myself."

I shook my head, again automatically. For years it had been my job to be nice to people, but since I'd quit the 9-to-5 rat race three months ago to write full-time, I'm afraid my social skills had become a little rusty. 

"I'm in here every day before my shift and after," he explained, continuing smoothly on in the face of my stunned silence. "And I see you here all the time. So the last time that happened I decided that the next time I'd approach you, buy you a cup of tea, and ask you what you were writing, because you always seem so into it; I'm just dying of curiosity about you."

I sat open-mouthed as he talked on. 

"My friends keep telling me I need to stop obsessing myself with the mysterious girls I meet and just settle down with someone nice and normal, but where's the fun in that, huh?" His laughter was husky, and this time I smiled almost genuinely, caught by the infectious sound. I ignored the fact he assumed I wasn't normal. 

"But there's just something about you sitting here, working away on that damn thing," he gestured towards my laptop; the screensaver had come on and I closed the lid with a gentle click. "That piques my curiosity. So maybe some day I'll settle down with that nice, normal girl; but in the meantime I just have to know you who are."

Laugher bubbled up in my chest unbidden. I'd never had such a whirlwind conversation with anyone in my life. My head reeled as he leaned across the table and smiled broadly at me again; his eyes were a dark, cerulean blue with little crinkly lines around them. He looked tired, but happy. My own sense of curiosity was buzzing behind my annoyance.

"Well," I said slowly, watching warily as his smile never faltered, "it's nice to meet you Douglas, I'm Imogen Wallis." 

"Imogen," he rolled my name around his tongue like he was tasting something foreign; his handsome face was unsure. "I like that."

"Thanks," I laughed. I'd heard every odd response to my even odder name over the years.

"So," he asked, looking suddenly like a very earnest boy, "what are you writing."

I took a long sip of my tea; it was excellent, as always. I couldn't help the sly smile that stole across my face. "I write fiction."

"Really? That's wonderful! What kind of fiction?" Douglas' handsome eyes were brightly blue.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked softly, watching as his face lit up with pride.

"I'm a doctor," Douglas smiled. 

"Really? That's wonderful!" I echoed. "What kind of doctor?"

"Paediatrics," Douglas said; the look on his face was so happy I instantly knew he was very aware of how good at it he was. "I work down the street." He gestured in the general direction of the local children's hospital, which had a stellar reputation; I was mildly impressed and he knew it. 

"That's lovely, Douglas," I smiled politely. I was really very happy for him, but Lena and Aidan were floating about the periphery of my mind and in mid-coitus; I had to finish the chapter before I lost it. "Good luck with that. Thanks for the tea." I flipped my laptop open, scrolling down to where the half-filled page of writing mocked me.

"Can I read it?" Douglas asked brightly. "I'm sure it's very good. Are you published?"

I sighed, resisting the urge to growl with frustration. "Not yet," I said quietly. "I'm trying to make my first deadline, actually."

"Oh!" Douglas chirruped happily. "How's that going for you?"

I clenched my teeth and prayed for patience. "Not very well, I'm afraid."

"Ah well, it's not like its brain surgery!" 

I plastered a simpering smile on my face as Douglas chuckled, overly pleased with his own joke. 

"So, can I read it?"

I sighed resignedly. "Sure," I said and I spun my laptop around to face him.

Aidan watched silently as she rode him, her long blond hair lashing against his thighs as she threw her head back with abandon. The muscles of her pussy gripped him tightly, massaging his generous length with determined vigour.

"Ah, Lena," he gasped with pleasure, "you're so fucking tight." He reached forward and strummed her clit quickly, feeling each spasm of her enjoyment all the way down to his toes.

"And you're so big," she sighed in response, moving slower atop him, relishing in every stroke of cock within her, sensing her orgasm approaching. "You're going to make me come."

Douglas turned my laptop back towards me, his face pale; he stood up abruptly, unable to hide the growing bulge in his chinos or the look of revulsion on his face. "That's disgusting," he spat out, giving me a dirty look. I hitched my chin up another notch and smiled sweetly as he stormed away, brushing rudely past other patrons on his rush to the door.

"Actually," said a smooth, dark voice from over my shoulder. "I think it's great."

I spun about in my chair so fast I just about fell off of it; seated at the table behind me was a dark-haired man with a week's worth of scruffy beard and a sexy smirk. I glared at him.

"I mean, she's obviously enjoying Aidan very much, that's just the way it should be. Personally, I love it when the woman is on top."

My eyes just about popped out of my head; around me the noise in the room waxed and waned and I sat in shocked silence. 

"I- I'm sorry," I stammered, blushing. "Were you reading over my shoulder?"

"Might have been," the dark-haired man shrugged, brushing a wayward lock of shaggy hair out of his eyes; I tried to ignore the fact they were very nice eyes, just the colour of melted milk chocolate. 

"I- I... I can't believe you would do that!" I cried; my embarrassment morphed into anger. "What I'm writing is none of your business!"

"Even if I like it?" He smiled crookedly and I fought the urge to smile back. I had to remember that I was mad at his invasion of my privacy, even if he was complementing my writing. Every writer loves a complement and the look in his eyes told me he knew it.

"Y-you like it?" I asked, hating how unsure of myself I sounded.

"Yeah, it's hot. But you forgot a semi-colon about a half-dozen paragraphs back, just when Aidan is reaching for Lena's bountiful breasts for the first time. Plus I think you might have spelled fellatio wrong on page thirty-seven." 

I slammed my laptop shut, ignoring the curious looks of people at the surrounding tables as I stood, throwing my laptop and notes into my bag. My violent movements spilled my tea and sent my teaspoon clattering across the floor with a musical tinkle. 

"You're an asshole, you know that?" I muttered savagely, trying not to attract any more attention. I scooped up my jacket and bag with a flourish and turned sharply, desperate to put as much distance between me and the dark-haired stranger as possible.

"Imogen, wait!" he called as I threw open the door to the street. I apologized softly as I bumped into a lady on the sidewalk before concentrating all my energy into putting one foot in the front of the other as quickly as possible. 

"Wait!" I could hear his approaching footsteps on the pavement behind me. Tears welled up as I frantically prayed for my short legs to move faster; I all but broke out into a run. "Wait, please." He grabbed my arm, and I yelled at the contact, jerking fiercely from his grasp.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" I shouted, all too aware as passers-by starting giving us a wide berth; just what did is say about society when they all ignored as I was accosted in the street?

"Please Imogen," he pleaded, releasing my arm. He looked sad and slightly guilty. I fumed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."

"You know my name?" I spat out, shaking with anger. 

"Well, I overheard you talking to that jerk," he said weakly by way of an explanation.

"So you were reading over my shoulder and eavesdropping, that's really nice. What are you, some sort of fucking Neanderthal? Haven't you heard of common courtesy?" I cried. I wanted to slap the little smirk off his cute face. 

He grabbed my arm again more gently than the first time, although no less firmly. "Whoa, wait a minute. I'm not the one writing dirty stories in crowded cafés in the middle of the afternoon. And it's not my fault I heard that pompous ass talking to you! I'm pretty sure the entire café could here what he had to say."

"Let go," I growled, trying to wiggle out of his tenacious grasp without dropping my bag containing my precious laptop. 

"I'm not letting go until you let me apologize," the stranger said firmly. "And you're making a scene."

I stopped moving and watched self-consciously as people eyed the two of us warily. Clearly they thought we were having a domestic spat; I blushed. "Fine, apologize and let me go."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have eavesdropped and I shouldn't have read your story," he said straightforwardly. "I did really like it though." He released my arm gently and I immediately felt the absence of his warm fingers; the ghost of his touch stung my arm.

"Y-you did?"

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and managed to look sheepish. "I really didn't mean to read it, but a few choice words caught my eye." He smiled crookedly and I smiled back without thinking. "Can you blame me? I'm a guy, I don't always think with my head. What would you have done if a cute girl was sitting beside you writing things like that?"

I opened my mouth to retort but nothing came to mind. Truthfully, I wasn't really shocked he'd peeked or that he'd said something to me because of what he'd read. I'd been writing erotica online for months and had had responses from every sort of weirdo; what was one more? Mind you, he was the first weirdo I'd encountered in person and he was a terribly cute one to boot. I tried not to look as flustered as I felt; the key to these people was to remain aloof.

"Okay, fine. Thank you," I said as dismissively as possible. I turned to leave.

"Wait, Imogen." He touched my arm again; the feeling was becoming familiar and I didn't like how much I enjoyed that. "Can I at least buy you a drink, you know, as an apology."

"No thank you," I said stiffly. I started walking towards the park; he followed.

"So who's your publisher?" he asked. "They're very lucky to have scooped you up."

I tried walking faster, but he just lengthened his stride to easily keep pace.

"Honestly, I do a lot of reading, so I know good stuff when I see it. Apart from a few problems with grammar and punctuation I think it's great and I can't wait to read the whole thing."

I came to a dead stop, whirling about to face him as he drew to a halt centimetres from me. I had to tilt my head up to look him in the eye, and once more found myself cursing my petite stature. "Look buddy," I jabbed his broad chest with my finger. "I'm not some random, slutty chick to be picked up off the street. Just because I write what I write doesn't make me that sort of girl, and if you hadn't been so rude as to invade my privacy you probably wouldn't have given me a second thought. So I'd really appreciate if you'd fuck off now and leave me alone."

His handsome features were composed beneath the dark startings of a beard. "Trust me, I'd have given you a second thought, even if I hadn't read what you were writing," he said lowly; there was an edge in his voice which almost made me feel bad for being so rude to him.

I snorted. "Yeah, right." 

There was a quick flash of fire in his chocolate brown eyes before he leaned down and kissed me hard; my toes curled in my sandals and my knees quaked as his hot tongue thrashed against my own but before I could think to put up a fight he turned and strode rapidly away, leaving me panting and bewildered on the sidewalk.

"What is it? National Asshole Day?" I yelled after him, stunned by the turn of events and mad at myself for the little thrill which had gone through me when our lips met. He didn't acknowledge that he'd heard me and I realized as I watched him round the corner the next block up and disappear that I didn't even know his name.

--------

When I walked back into the café the next day I could have kicked myself for being disappointed that he wasn't there. I approached the service counter with a guilty smile; behind the gleaming marble counter was my friend Becky, who'd starting slinging coffees there a little more than a year ago, she was wearing a teasingly vexed expression.

"What was that about yesterday?" she asked with a chuckle as she made my tea. "Who were those guys?"

"Well the blond one was some doctor from down the street," I waved my hand dismissively. "But I was hoping you could tell me who the dark-haired one was."

"Cute, kinda shaggy?" Becks laughed. "No clue, he comes in here a few times a week and orders a double espresso. Actually, I think he might be a writer, he's usually armed with a few manuscripts and a notebook."

I tried not to look surprised. "Well, he might be cute, but he's an ass."

Becks giggled. "Why do you say that?"

I recounted the previous afternoon's events, from his reading my story to his eavesdropping to the startling sidewalk kiss; the look on Becky's face was precious.

"He kissed you? Right there on the street? And walked away? What the hell?" 

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, and to top it all off, I was up half the night thinking about it. I couldn't even write." I didn't tell her that all my fumbling attempts at resurrecting the love scene between my heavily muscled Aidan and busty Lena were wiped out by the mental image of the dark-haired stranger between my own legs. It had been a little disturbing to say the least.

I settled myself at my usual table, pulled out my laptop, and flicked it on. The half-empty screen of my story wavered blankly in front of me, mocking my every attempt at finishing what had begun so promisingly the day before. But nothing worked, and Aidan, Lena, and I remained unfulfilled. Finally, after two hours of staring at the screen, typing six words, erasing them, and then retyping some other crap over and over again, I gave up and went home for the day.

Day after day continued in much the same manner and my deadline loomed large. I screwed my courage to the proverbial sticking-place and called my editor who grudgingly granted me a few days reprieve when I lied and told her I'd been sick. The only sickness affecting me had been a gloomy, uncharacteristic malaise brought on by thinking too much of the dark-haired man and drinking too much tea while I waited for the writer's block to pass.

"Can you come by the office today though?" Linda asked her voice cheerful. "There's a letter here for you."

"A what?" I croaked in disbelief.

"A letter Imogen, it's what people used to send each other before emails. It's here on my desk." Linda sounded amused. "Someone slipped it through the mail slot last night." 

"Sure," I agreed. "And maybe we can talk about those revisions to the initial chapters that you suggested."

"I'll pencil you in," Linda promised brightly.

The subway ride to Linda's office was long and tedious, but it wasn't like I was getting anything accomplished sitting at home suffering from writer's block. So Linda and I had our little chat, she gave me a few pointers on my struggles with punctuation, and I left feeling better about my book and in possession of a small white envelope with my name scribbled across the front in a bold, dark hand. 

I took my new-found enthusiasm for the publishing world and my letter to the park down the street from Linda's office; sitting on a bench in the shade I ripped open the envelope hastily.

Imogen;

Use a semicolon between closely related independent clauses not joined by a coordinating conjunction. When related independent clauses appear in one sentence, they are ordinarily connected with a comma and a coordinating conjunction (and, but, or, nor, for, so, yet). The conjunction expresses the relation between the clauses. If the relation is clear without the conjunction, a writer may choose to connect the clauses with a semicolon instead. A semicolon must be used whenever a coordinating conjunction has been omitted between independent clauses. To use merely a comma creates an error known as a comma splice.

And it's fellatio – two l's.

Linda tells me the book is scheduled to be released next July; I look forward to finally reading it.

I dropped the letter like it burned me and sat in stunned silence, my brain whirling furiously. I picked it up and reread it twice. There was no signature, no return address, nothing to indicate who'd written it, but I knew and I wanted to kick him in his smug shins.

I reread it again, hating every black stroke of ink which snaked confidently across the page. And then I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it sooner; he knew Linda. 

-------

Writer's Block Ch. 02



I dropped the letter like it burned me and sat in stunned silence, my brain whirling furiously. I picked it up and reread it twice. There was no signature, no return address, nothing to indicate who'd written it, but I knew and I wanted to kick him in his smug shins.

I reread it again, hating every black stroke of ink which snaked confidently across the page. And then I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it sooner; he knew Linda. 

I crammed the note into my purse and took off up the street at a quick jog, running up four flights of stairs to Linda's office. She looked surprised to see me back so soon.

"Who have you spoken to about me lately?" I asked with a gasp.

She stared blankly at me for a moment. "A few people; it's my job to talk about you, Imogen. Is something wrong?"

I waved the note in front of her, but wouldn't let her read it. "Do you know someone with dark, shaggy hair who doesn't like to shave?"

"My eighteen year-old son?" Linda looked as confused as she sounded.

I shook my head. "No, someone older, someone in publishing maybe. Did you talk to anyone like that about me this week?"

"Well..." Linda paused, thinking. Every cell in my body strained, desperate for her to think faster. "Simeon Forster over at Logan, Richardson, and Monk has dark hair and the last time I saw him he had a goatee. I spoke to him the other day and I might have mentioned you."

"Did he ask about me first? Is he cute?" I must have sounded like a crazy woman, but I was determined to find out.

Linda hummed and hawed. "Yeah, he might have asked if I was editing you. In fact," her face lit up, "he did ask if I knew who was publishing a writer named Imogen Wallis. He sounded surprised to hear it was me."

"Is he cute?"

Linda looked askance. "What is this about, Imogen?"

"Is he cute?"

"Yeah, he's freakin' gorgeous. A little young for me maybe, but I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers if that's what you're asking." Linda was starting to look worried.

"Where's Logan, Richardson, and Monk?" I asked.

"Fourth and Finch," Linda said slowly. "You're not leaving me for the competition are you? Cause they don't do erotica." 

"No, it's not business," I reassured her. "Thanks. I'll have the final chapters for you by the end of the month. And I owe you one." I tore from her office as quickly as I'd entered. There was sure to be a confused voice mail from her on my machine when I got back to my apartment, but I'd deal with that later.

It was only a few blocks to the corner of Fourth Street and Finch Avenue and I walked them unseeingly. My mind was reeling. I was half excited and half so pissed off I couldn't see straight. I had no idea what I would say or do when I was face-to-face with Mr. Simeon Forster, but I was sure I'd think of something.

Logan, Richardson, and Monk is the largest publishing firm in the city and part of a much larger international publishing house, but I'd never bothered myself with them before; mostly because they didn't print smut, Pulitzer Prize winners are more their style. Their office building was a gleaming monolith of glass and steel, and as I stood outside on the sidewalk with my stomach a swirling mass of knots, I realized it was only a few blocks from the café where all this had started.

I took several deep breaths, patted uselessly at my messy curls, and slipped nervously into the lobby. The security guard didn't look at me twice but the receptionist smiled coldly as I greeted her.

"I'd like to see Simeon Forster, please," I asked as calmly and politely as I could.

The perfectly dressed and coiffed blonde looked me over blatantly. "Do you have an appointment?"

I smiled as sweetly as possible considering the roiling state of my insides. "No, but we're old friends. I'm surprising him and taking him out to lunch." 

She arched an eyebrow. "You're not a writer with a manuscript are you?"

"No," I lied smoothly, "we're just friends." I laced the word with as much innuendo as I could muster. 

The haughty expression cracked slightly but I couldn't tell if she was amused or disgusted. "Fine. I'll just call up and tell him you're here."

"Oh no," I interrupted quickly, watching with trepidation as her perfectly manicured fingers hovered over the phone. "I'd really like to surprise him, if that's okay."

There were chattering voices and the click of high heels behind me, a line was forming and the receptionist pasted on her bored expression once more. "Fine," she waved at me dismissively. "Fifth floor."

"Thanks," I smiled widely and my cheeks hurt with the effort, but she'd already turned to the next lady in line and I made my way to the elevators unnoticed.

I half expected to have to run another gauntlet of secretaries or receptionists when I hit the fifth floor, but apparently Blondie and the lax security guard were my only obstacles, because when the elevator slid open on the no one even looked at me twice, which is how I found myself wandering aimlessly among the cubicles, undeniably lost.

Finally, after ten minutes of going in endless circles looking for non-existent nameplates I stopped a harassed-looking young man holding a stack of manuscripts who breathlessly directed me down a short hallway. He nodded silently at the dark mahogany door which stood closed before us, but before I could open my mouth to thank him he'd scuttled back the way we'd come.

I knocked on the door before I got too nervous and entered when the deep voice within bade me to, only to realize my mistake instantly. The man behind the desk wasn't my shaggy-haired nemesis; he was much older, tall and dark with a distinguished dusting of grey hair, an expensive suit, and a suave smile.

"Oh!" I cried, trying to back out of the door as quickly as possible. "I'm sorry; I've got the wrong office."

The handsome older man behind the desk stood and shot me a cocky grin. "Nonsense, that isn't possible. I'm quite sure I put in an order for a pretty redhead. Come in."

I laughed. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, I was just looking for Simeon Forster and someone pointed me in this direction."

The dark-haired man spread his arms welcomingly, his smile mega-watt bright. "Well you found him, so please come in."

I stood frozen in the doorway. "You... you're Simeon Forster?"

He nodded, eyeing me up and down. "And I'm going to guess and say you're a writer."

"H-how'd you know?" I sputtered unthinkingly. 

Mr. Forster chuckled lowly. "I see a lot of writers in the course of a day, Miss...?"

"Wallis. Imogen Wallis," I supplied automatically.

"Miss Wallis; although I must say the lost, innocent little girl trick is a new one for me."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked feeling very lost indeed.

His smile dimmed considerably. "Why don't you just pull your manuscript out from under that little sundress of yours and tell me all about the next Great Canadian Novel you've written, and I'll pretend to listen; and then when you've gone your merry way I'll pass said manuscript on to one of my junior editors so he can pretend to read it and you'll never hear from us again. That's how this works, Miss Wallis, although I do applaud your approach."

"Excuse me?" I was confused.

"I don't know how you got up here, or how you found out my name, but we generally don't accept unsolicited manuscripts. If you really want me to consider publishing you, send us a proper cover letter and plot synopsis along with some sample chapters, and have your agent give us a call." Simeon Forster had lost the handsome, charming expression and instead just looked weary and bored.

"I- I have a publisher already," I said. "I'm not here about my book."

Mr. Forster looked uncertain. "You're not? Then what are you here about?"

"I- I'm not entirely sure," I confessed, blushing. "There was a letter, and Linda said you'd asked about me..."

"Linda? Who the hell is Linda?" He sat down again behind the desk with a scowl; it didn't take a genius to notice he'd become considerably less welcoming as time passed.

"Linda Swartz; she's my editor," I said with a growing sense of panic. Maybe Linda had been wrong.

"Swartz? Over at Prurient Press?" Understanding dawned on his handsome face. "Oh, you're one of those writers..."

"Yes, Mr. Forster," I replied hotly, "I'm one of those writers. Now I'm very sorry if I've taken up your precious time, but there's been a mistake and now I'm leaving."

"Wait please," he said smoothly, turning on his considerable charm once more. "Won't you sit down? If you want to talk about your book, I'd be more than happy to hear the details."

I saw red. "Yeah, now you want details!"

The response to my indignation was deep chuckle which I heard in stereo. Behind his desk Mr. Forster was laughing at me and from the doorway behind me...

I turned about only to find myself face-to-face with the dark-haired stranger I'd been itching to find. He's shaved since I had seen him last, but his shaggy hair still fell in his chocolate brown eyes and he still wore the confident smile I remembered. He was wearing a pair of beautifully tailored dress pants and a crisp shirt and tie; it was completely different from the grubby chinos and t-shirt of our previous encounter, yet he looked no more out-of-place for it and no less handsome.

"Careful, Old Man," he said teasingly, glancing over my shoulder in to the room beyond. "She's got quite the temper. Don't let her size fool you, she'll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what's hit you."

"Voice of experience?" Mr. Forster asked, not even trying to hide the amusement in his tone. "I should have known she was one of yours."

I whirled back, incensed. "I beg your pardon? One of his?"

My cocky stranger brushed deliberately past me and into the room. I tried to ignore the brief jolt of heat as his arm touched my own. He settled into a chair across the desk from the older man and smiled brightly. Seeing the two closely together shocked me; same jawline, same amazing brown eyes, same wavy brown hair. 

"He's your father?" I asked incredulously; I couldn't believe I didn't see the resemblance earlier.

The younger of the two chuckled. "Simeon Forster, Junior, at your service," he said mockingly, with a small, seated bow.

I could feel my temper peak, but when I opened my mouth nothing came out. I'd never been so mad in my life.

"Careful Sim," Forster Sr. said warningly but not without a gleam of amusement in his handsome eyes. "She looks like she'd like to castrate you on the spot."

Sim chuckled again, the noise an echo of his father's. 

"You... you... asshole," I spit out, too furious to find another more appropriate word. I wasn't sure the English language had one. I also wasn't sure which Simeon Forster I was addressing; at the moment, it didn't really matter 

"Is this about the letter, Imogen? Because I was just trying to help you with your punctuation... and your fellatio." Sim smiled slyly; from behind the desk Forster Sr. looked shocked and amused.

I took the letter from my purse, crumpled it up, and threw it at him. It bounced harmlessly of Sim's broad chest. "I'll tell you what you can do with your fucking fellatio!"

"Have you two...?" Forster Sr. asked with a laugh, raising both eyebrows skyward.

Sim shook his dark head. "Not yet." His smile was slow and sexy.

I ignored the rush of sensation flooding my stomach and scowled as menacingly as humanly possible. "Not yet?" I shouted, wishing I had something else to throw at him, something much heavier. "Not ever!" I spun about and stormed from the office, all too aware of my over-heated face and the curious glances I was getting as I wound my way back through the maze of cubicles towards the elevators.

"Wait, Imogen!" Simeon Jr. was not far behind me and his much longer stride caught him up before the elevator could open. "Please wait!"

"This again?" I asked acerbically as I waited for the elevator. If I knew where the stairs were I would have taken those, anything to get as far away from both Simeon Forsters as possible.

"Yeah, we always end up back here, huh? Me running after you." Sim replied flippantly; I glowered at him.

"How'd you find me?" I enquired.

Sim shrugged. "Made a few phone calls; wasn't that hard, really. There aren't many publishers in this city who handle erotica. Actually, Linda was only the second person I called."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily, running a tanned hand through his dark, tousled hair. "I don't know, I felt bad about the way I left things the last time, I suppose."

"You felt bad?" I snapped, happy to hear the elevator come to a stop; the doors slid open and I stepped inside. "Geez, that note was a funny way of apologizing."

Sim got on the elevator too and before I could protest the doors closed and we lurched into motion. 

"Okay," he admitted, actually looking sheepish. "It was a mean thing to do, but I was pissed off at you too. I couldn't get you out of my head and I wanted to make sure you didn't just forget me. I wanted to see you again."

I stood in silence, afraid to look at him, afraid of what my rapidly beating heart meant. 

"Look Imogen, I'm sorry. How many more times are you going to make me apologize?"

I shook my head, relieved when the elevators doors opened to reveal the lobby. "None, I'm done with you."

I stalked off, not needing to look over my shoulder to know he was right behind me.

"Why?" Sim's voice was unnaturally loud in the echoing expanse of the lobby; heads turned.

"Why, what?" I sighed, suddenly very tired of the little game we were playing. I badly wanted a cup of tea and some peace and quiet.

"Why'd you come here today, Imogen?"

I stopped walking and could feel Sim's heat as he came to stand closely behind me. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of turning and facing him. I didn't want him to see just how much he affected me. Why had I come? 

"Imogen?" Sim's voice was low-pitched and for a moment I could almost pretend he sounded genuinely concerned.

"I- I don't know," I admitted finally. "I haven't been able to write since that afternoon and I thought..." I trailed off uselessly; I don't know what I thought.

"You needed to see me again, too," Sim whispered with a note of satisfaction.

"No," I spat out quickly, knowing it was a lie the moment I'd said it.

"Yes," Sim whispered lowly, sending a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with the heavily air-conditioned lobby. "You did. You had to."

I stood motionless and silent for a minute, trying to catch my breath and think of something witty and cutting to say. Blondie behind the receptionist desk was staring blatantly at us and even the drowsy security guard was watching us surreptitiously. I fought my nervousness down; I couldn't let Sim see how much he'd rattled me.

"Are we done?" I asked bitingly, turning around to face him. I put my chin up another notch and resisted the urge to stand on my tiptoes to feel taller.

A flash of hurt crossed Sim's handsome face before he scowled darkly. "Yeah, I guess we are." And for the second time in less than two weeks I watched Simeon Forster walk away from me. 

Blondie at the receptionist desk whistled long and low and if she hadn't been six inches taller than me I might have gone over and smacked her one; as it was I didn't like the way she watched Sim hungrily as he stalked off. The security guard, obviously roused slightly from his stupor by the show, eyed me warily as I stomped outside in a huff of righteous indignation.

Simeon Forster freakin' Jr. could kiss my ass, I thought as I made my way automatically to the safety of my nearby café. My hands shook as I ordered my usual Earl Grey. It was Becks' day off, which made me even madder; I needed to vent. And to make matters worse I had left my laptop at home not thinking I'd need it, so I didn't even have an outlet for all my energy, but my fingers itched and digging about in purse I unearthed a pen. Within moments I was scribbling furiously on a pile of napkins.

I wasn't writing anything with a real purpose, just blowing off steam like a pissed-off teenager, but just the act of putting pen to paper (such as it was) made me feel better, so that by the time I had covered a dozen napkins, front and back, I could feel my racing heart slow.

A shadow fell across the table, and looking up I recognised the silent, harassed-looking employee from Logan, Richardson and Monk standing hesitantly over me.

M-miss Wallis?"

"Yes?" I snapped rudely. 

"T-this is for you," he handed me an envelope.

I took it from his pale fingers and eyed it warily. 

"It's from Simeon Forster," he said in a monotone.

"Which one?" I grumbled, turning the envelope over and over. Nothing was written on the outside and when I looked up the young man was gone.

I shook my head, taking a bracing sip of tea. The envelope was different from the one I'd gotten that morning; it was larger, smoother, the paper better quality. Forster Sr., I was willing to bet. I slit the envelope open with a fingernail. Inside was a creamy sheet of watermarked stationary and a business card which read:

Simeon L. Forster Sr., B.A.H, M.A. Chief Commissioning Editor Canadian Office Logan, Richardson, & Monk Publishers

I turned the card over to find a phone number scribbled across the back; intrigued, I opened the letter to discover his bold, flowing handwriting arched across the page; it was not unlike his son's.

Miss Wallis,

Meeting you this afternoon was a pleasure. If you are ever interested in publishing anything more mainstream than your current project please do not hesitate to give me a call. The phone number can also be used if you wish for me to buy you dinner, which I think we would both very much enjoy.

Although I would be more than pleased to consider you for submission in any mainstream genre, I cannot lie and say that I do not look forward to reading what you have written for Prurient Press as I suspect your talents in that area are considerable; Linda Swartz is lucky to have found you.

I hope that you did not take offence to my behaviour this afternoon. Never let it be said that I do not enjoy a beautiful woman with a temper. I apologize as well for the behaviour of my son; he lacks much of his father's worldly experience and does not necessarily recognize a good thing when she throws something at him. It will be many years before I forget the way you took him down a peg. It made my afternoon.

All the best in your writing and your life, Miss Wallis.

Sincerely,

Simeon Forster (Sr.)

I shook my head and started to laugh. I didn't think I'd ever be able to understand the Forster men, but at least Sim came by it honestly. I would be remiss if I didn't admit the father intrigued me a little, although not as much as the son. 

The resemblance was there, but Sim's features were a little sharper, the line of his mouth a little more grim, his smile much more crooked, but no less sexy. Forster Sr. was more polished, more sophisticated. I wondered with a smirk if there were any more Forster men hidden around that I should be worried about.

I went home, changed into something more comfortable, and curled up on a lounge chair on my balcony with my laptop and a glass of Shiraz. I had to finish Lena and Aidan's story, not just because I'd promised Linda the few remaining chapters by the end of the month, but because there was a new story idea bouncing around in my head which excited me a great deal but which I couldn't start until Lena and Aidan had their happy ending. 

-------

When I waltzed into the café three days later I felt like a different woman. The sun was shining warmly, my hair was actually behaving itself for once, and I'd just dropped the last of my chapters off at Linda's office; true, I still had a long editorial process ahead of me, but at least the bulk of the work was done.




Writer's Block Ch. 02



Becks smiled brightly from behind the counter and started making my tea before I could even say hello. We chatted and made plans for the weekend. Since the day was so perfectly beautiful I took my tea out to the patio to hash out my ideas for the next story. 

The rest of the world disappeared, as always happens when I write, so it took me a moment to process what was occurring when a fresh mug of tea was plunked down on the table next to mine and the seat across from me was occupied by a long pair of denim clad legs. I looked up from my laptop to see Sim smiling brightly at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Hey."

I froze like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

"So I've been thinking," Sim's voice was smooth and pitched lowly. He spoke each word with deliberate care, as if he were afraid I would bolt. "I think Logan, Richardson, & Monk needs an erotic imprint. I want you to help me start one."

"Excuse me?" I stammered; why did Simeon Forster have the power to make me forget even the simplest sentences? Like fuck off.

"Erotica is one of the fastest growing phenomena in publishing, Imogen. If Logan, Richardson, & Monk doesn't get on board now they'll miss it altogether. Think about it! There's a lot of money to be made, a lot of authors to be heard. Right now we don't handle anything like that, but we definitely have the potential to introduce the world to some very high class erotica; I'm not talking like stroke magazine smut here, but the good stuff. Dad thinks it's a great idea too, so I need your help to pitch some ideas to the big guys upstairs."

I held up a hand to stop Sim's flow of words. It was the most I'd ever heard him speak at one time and I had to admit I liked the melodic sound of his voice, even if I didn't quite comprehend what he was saying. "How do I fit into this?"

"You're an author, Imogen. The authors write the books and then I publish the books."

I smiled faintly at Sim's teasing. "I know that, but you don't even know what sort of author I am! You've read a few paragraphs over my shoulder; that's not enough for you to base an entire career-changing idea on!"

Sim smiled. "Actually, I popped 'round to see Linda Swartz yesterday, so with the exception of your last couple of chapters, I've read the whole thing."

I buried my head in my hands and fought the wave of nausea which washed over me. "You've read it?"

Sim patted my hand reassuringly. "Yeah, and it's great! With a little tweaking it could be brilliant. I talked to Linda about the imprint and she's on board with the whole thing. Says if I can manage to get it going she'll come work for me."

Sweet Mother Mary. I groaned and shook my head, wary to make eye contact with the man across from me, afraid of what he had the power to make me agree to with his sexy smile and his smooth voice.

"Look, Sim. I really appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm a nobody in this industry, a newbie. There isn't anything I can offer you that the others can't. You need to get yourself an established erotic author; surely Linda can help you with that."

"Well, I don't want an established erotic author; I want the one sitting across from me." Sim chuckled warmly and I looked up at him, drawn by the sound. "I'm not asking you to write me an award-winning novel, Imogen. I just need someone who understands this industry a little bit and who is enthusiastic about it. I need to research the field and get some facts down before I present to the board. I have to do my homework on erotica and I want you to help me."

"Why?"

My question caught Sim off guard and he sat quietly for a moment to consider me. "Honestly?" he asked after a time. I nodded. "What you write excites me." 

I snorted in a most un-ladylike way. 

"Not like that!" Sim added quickly, ignoring my look of scepticism. "Okay, well it does excite me like that, quite a lot actually, but it's also the first thing I've read in a long time that excites the editor in me. I read a lot of manuscripts and lately I've been starting to despair about the state of authors in this country. And then along comes you, with your cute little sundresses and your big, blue eyes; you look so sweet and innocent, but you write so dirty. It's exciting, compelling and I know I'm not the only one who'll respond to it."

I watched in silence, pleased to see him squirm a little when I didn't respond right away.

Sim tried his brilliant smile on me again, and once more I was struck by how similar it was to his father's. "You're young, talented, and cute as hell. The board members are going to love you. This is a touchy subject we're bringing up to them, as I'm sure you know. Logan, Richardson, & Monk is a stuffy, old company with stuffy, old ideas and you're my ace in the hole, so to speak." 

"O-kay," I said slowly, trying not to reveal the little spark of curiosity Sim had lit in me. "So what's in this for me?"
 Sim smiled crookedly. "A steady pay cheque for a while at least, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to change the face of mainstream Canadian publishing, a publishing contract once the imprint is viable, and you get to spend time with me."

"Okay," my mouth agreed before my brain could think. 

Sim's jaw dropped. "Okay? Like, okay, okay? You're agreeing?"

I nodded slowly, still not sure why I'd just said yes. "I have conditions though."

Sim smiled sardonically. "I was expecting that."

"I expect equal say in things," I said quickly. "Half-and-half; if you want us to be partners in this project then I expect it to be fair." He nodded as I continued. "You also need to know that if this is some clever ploy to get into my pants it won't succeed. I've already told you I'm not that sort of girl." Sim arched an eyebrow but said nothing. "And I'm not sure you completely understand what you're getting yourself into," I smiled widely. "The world of erotica is a strange place, Sim Forster. Think you're ready for it?"

It took a moment, but Sim nodded slowly.

"Alright," I stood up, downing the rest of my now-cold tea with a gulp. I collected my purse and laptop. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Sim asked slowly; he sounded confused. I tried not to smile too hard at having the upper hand for once. I liked it.

"Back to my place," I said with a laugh, watching as the confusion danced across Sim's face. "We're going to go read some porn together."

-------



Writer's Block Ch. 03



[To My Readers: I'm quite sorry this chapter has taken so long. I probably shouldn't have named this story "Writer's Block", since it's apparently become one for me! But trust me, I'm working out the kinks as best I can and fully intend to tell Imogen & Sim's story to the best of my abilities. I thank you as always for your very kind reception of this new storyline and for your positive feedback. All the best -- firstkiss]

*

"Nice place..." Sim quipped as I cleared a space for him to sit in my messy office.

I glared, trying to keep a straight face when I saw the teasing glint in his chocolate brown eyes. "Thanks," I muttered, moving a stack of notes and bills. "Go easy on me, I work from home. Plus I'm not exactly the domestic type."

Sim shrugged. "Creative minds are rarely tidy."

I nodded. "Good. We understand each other then." I gestured towards the desk chair I'd just cleared. "Have a seat."

"So, what precisely are we doing?" Sim asked as I sat beside him and flicked my laptop on.

"Research," I teased, drumming my fingers impatiently against the desk, waiting for the wireless to kick in. I opened the internet browser and clicked on my 'favourites' folder. Sim's eyes grew wide as he watched the website names appear.

"Holy crap," he murmured.

I shrugged. "Ya gotta read what you wanna write."

Sim regarded me silently for a moment. "Do you read it a lot?"

I laughed and opened up one of my favourite story sites. "Not so much any more," I confessed. "There are a few authors whose work I like, so I follow what they're working on, but now that I'm writing it myself I'm pretty busy, besides I find it distracts me."

"So do you have to pay for this stuff, or what?"

"Sometimes." I clicked on a promising title to bring the story up on screen. "But there are a lot of free sites too, which you'll have to keep in mind, competition and all. Mind you, a great deal of it is crap and painful to read since anyone with a computer can submit a dirty story." I glanced over at Sim as he shifted in his chair. "Don't tell me you've never read online erotica."

Sim cleared his throat. "Well... no, actually I haven't. I read at work all day long, so when I get home I'm..."

"More of a picture guy, huh?" I supplied, trying to spare him a little embarrassment. Sim had the decency to blush and I laughed. He was such a contradiction: cocky and flirty at times, boyishly hesitant at others. Although I suppose most people aren't accustomed to discussing such things with a virtual stranger.

"You know," I teased, "if you're going to publish erotica you're going to have to loosen up a bit."

Sim ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and smiled sheepishly before his eyes flickered down the screen briefly to read the words there; the resulting expression on his face was priceless.

"People read this stuff?"

"People love this stuff," I laughed.

"D-do you write stuff like this?" Sim asked huskily. I tried to ignore the hoarse sexiness of his voice.

"No, it's not my style," I grinned. "I don't personally care for the whips and chains myself, although there certainly is a huge market for it."

Sim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"You okay? Do you need a glass of cold water?" I asked, legitimately concerned as his usually swarthy complexion paled.

Sim chuckled. "Cold shower is more like it." I laughed along with him. "Actually," he admitted when we'd quieted, "I could use a drink."

"Sure. Water? Milk? Gingerale?" I offered.

"Got anything stronger?"

"Rye."

"Yeah," Sim murmured. "I'll have one of those."

"Straight?" I stood up, grinning. It was only mid-afternoon, but I was feeling like I could use a drink myself. 

"Throw a little gingerale in it, if you don't mind."

I laughed all the way to the kitchen. When I returned with two large rye and gingers brimming with ice Sim was scrolling through the story, reading intently.

"Do you like it?" I asked, handing him his drink.

Sim took a sip, nodding. "Yeah, it's really good; once you get past the whips and chains it's very well written."

I giggled. "You're not supposed to get past the whips and chains, Sim; whips and chains are the whole point."

"Not when you're an editor," Sim pointed out. He leaned casually back in his chair and grinned at me. "A good editor reads the story with two sets of eyes." I must have looked confused because he hurried on. "When I read a story for the first time I have to see the different levels of it; spelling, grammar, punctuation, format: these things can be fixed, tweaked, made better. Plot, dialogue, description, characterization: these things are inherent. If a story lack those elements it's not going anywhere, no matter how perfect the grammar."

"The story doesn't have to appeal to you personally? It just has to have an appeal?" I asked. I'd never picked an editor's brain before; as a writer, I was intrigued.

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt if I like it," Sim explained. "But my taste is very different from that of the general public; what's going to sell isn't necessarily what I like personally. It's my job to consider the public's tastes over my own."

"Oh," I said teasingly. "So you're more of a whips and chains sort of guy working in a vanilla world?"

Sim opened his mouth to reply and then closed it wordlessly before laughing sharply and taking a swig of his drink. "Yeah, in a manner of speaking I guess I am. It's fair to say my personal taste is a little less mainstream." He leaned forward and double-checked the pen name on the screen. "Okay, so I've read mystryssofthenyte's fine work, what else do you have for me?"

"I don't know, are we looking for recruits or are we just trying to get a feel for the genre?" 

Sim chuckled. "I don't think I'm quite ready to graduate from Erotica 101 just yet, so let's just get a feel."

I nodded, scrolling down the index of stories to another title. "Fair enough. Should you be taking notes?"

Sim shook his dark head. "Plenty of time for that later. Who's this?" He leaned forward to read the small screen of my laptop and his shoulder brushed against mine. I jumped at the scalding contact and tried to ignore Sim's arrogant grin.

"This is lustyenuf4u," I said with a laugh. "Haven't figured out if it's a guy or a girl writing, but I really like their stuff."

"Why?" Sim's eyes were diamond bright, curiosity evident on every line of his handsome face.

I shrugged. "I don't know. His or her descriptions are extremely good; it's so immediate, like being there. And it all seems completely effortless; as a fellow writer I guess I'm a little envious of that skill."

Sim settled back in his chair, cradling his drink between his hands. "Read it."

"O-kay," I said slowly, unsure of where he was going with his request. I read the first paragraph, my eyes skimming the screen quickly.

"Out loud."

I looked over my shoulder; Sim was grinning broadly. "Pardon?" I asked.

"Out loud, Imogen. Please read it out loud." It wasn't really a request, more like a demand.

"Why?"

"You said this person has good, immediate descriptions. I just want to prove you right. Reading out loud helps me to visualize."

I quickly reread the first paragraph to myself, blushing furiously.

"What's wrong Imogen? You use those words when you write. Can't you say them out loud?" There was a teasing note in Sim's words which irked my temper.

"N-no," I stammered, only too aware of my cheeks burning brightly. "I've never been very good at talking dirty."

Sim chuckled warmly and the sound sent a frisson of awareness straight through me. "You're good at writing dirty; besides, it's not like you're talking to me. It's just a story and this is just research, so read it. Out loud."

Taking a deep breath I complied; my voice wavered initially, but as the story progressed I grew more comfortable with it. It also helped that I didn't have to look at Sim. I could feel the heat of his gaze watching me and I tried to ignore the sensation and concentrate on the words on the computer screen, all the while cursing myself for picking that particular story; it was really hot and featured a few situations I'd never in a million years write about, never mind attempt.

When the female lead of the story finally reached her very vocal and descriptive climax I stumbled over the phrasing and stopped reading, very aware of how hard I was blushing. 

Flustered, I glanced over my shoulder at Sim who sat silently, watching me with heavy intent. His drink was empty and he had a crooked grin on his handsome face which I didn't quite trust. I couldn't bring myself to look down to see if the story had affected him as much as it had me, but I didn't really need to see the bulge in his jeans to know that it did. The gleam in his eyes gave him away.

"I need another drink," I mumbled, rising clumsily to my feet. I fled to the kitchen without looking back. I was only half-way through my second glass of water when Sim appeared behind me. 

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly.

I kept my eyes on the view from the window over my sink. "I'm fine."

Sim chuckled lowly. He was standing very close behind me, all but trapping me against the countertop.

"I don't think you are," he drawled, his breath hot against my ear. "That turned you on, didn't it?"

I shook my head vehemently; I didn't trust my voice.

"It turned me on," he laughed in my ear. "If you're ever looking a day job you could narrate those things for a living. Any guy with a heartbeat and a hard-on would pay a fortune to hear that sweet little voice of yours say things like that."

I closed my eyes; even with my back to him I was aware of every square inch of his broad torso. It was way too warm in my kitchen. I drank the rest of my water with a gulp.

"Will you read me one of yours next?" he asked.

"No," I replied without hesitation.

"Why not?" He sounded almost hurt.

I didn't reply. I couldn't get the words past the lump in my throat.

"Too personal Imogen? Would it hit too close to home? Are your heroines you?"

I leaned forward and again filled my empty glass with cold water from the tap, downing half the glass with one unladylike chug. 

Sim's laugh rumbled deeply in his throat. "When Lena is frantically riding Aidan's long, hard cock it's really you, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes, leaning heavily against the countertop with one hand, still desperately clutching the cold glass of water in the other. It was the only solid anchor in a room that was otherwise spinning, crowded with the sound and scent and presence of Simeon Forster.

"Imogen," Sim purred, pressing himself against me. His breathing was as ragged as my own. His erection nestled against the base of my spine. 

I gasped and shuddered and then without thinking I threw the cold contents of my glass of water over my shoulder.

"What the fuck Imogen!" Sim yelled, stepping back. I whirled around, all too aware of the cold water seeping down my own back; it hadn't all hit him.

"I told you I'm not that kind of girl," I growled, glad for the distance I'd put between us, it made it easier to think. I tried not to look at Sim as he paced the length of my kitchen, cursing me; the water had soaked the front of his white t-shirt and it clung most appealingly to his broad chest.

"What the hell is your problem? What are you - gay?" Sim snarled, shooting me a dirty look. "It's fine if you are, but you could have told me sooner."

I laughed. "I'm not gay, Sim. I told you that if this project was just an elaborate ploy to get in my pants it wouldn't work."

Sim stopped his pacing and came to stand over me. He had to be at least 6 feet tall, which gave him quite an advantage over my own petite stature. "You want me, Imogen. I know you do."

I said nothing, but averted my eyes to look someplace over Sim's shoulder. His chocolate brown gaze was too piercing.

"You do," he murmured lowly. "I see the way you look at me. And you know I damn well want you too, so what's the problem?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

"Give me one night," Sim whispered, taking another step closer. "Just one night, Imogen and if you don't want to talk about it ever again I'm fine with that."

For one brief moment I wanted to give in. I knew Simeon Forster would be good in bed and the flicker of arousal in my belly would have loved if I'd consented, but my brain wouldn't shut off, no matter how much my body wanted it to.

"I'm not going to fuck you Sim just because you've gotten all riled up over a little story," I said stubbornly. "If you're going to edit erotica you're going to need to develop a thicker skin than that."

"Why?" he asked huskily. "You write the stuff and your skin hasn't gotten any thicker. You're just as turned on as I am."

I nodded, unable to lie. "Yeah, but I'm not the one looking to do something about it."

There was an odd look in Sim's eye and I felt a moment of panic. I wanted to run away, but his gaze held me frozen in place. I knew he was going to kiss me but I couldn't seem to move.

Sim's kiss was fierce, claiming every corner of my mouth with considerable skill. I moaned loudly, my brain fighting against the rush of sensations, but when I tried to take a step back Sim followed, clutching my arms roughly and pushing me against the kitchen cupboards. I could feel the edge of the countertop dig into my back and the heated wall of Sim's torso in front; I felt trapped, panicked, and very aroused.

"You're going to say 'no' to that?" Sim growled as the kiss ended. 

I nodded weakly, amazed that my mind could still function when such heat burned in my belly.

Sim studied me intently and an understanding light flickered in his eyes. I averted my gaze. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Are you a virgin?"

I took a step aside, shaking my head vehemently. "No. Not exactly," I stammered. I could feel a blush tint my cheeks.

"Not exactly? What the hell does that mean? You are or you're not, Imogen; there really isn't an 'exactly' about it."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Sim stepped closer as I retreated and he effectively backed me into a corner of the kitchen cabinetry, his beautiful brown eyes were probing and I knew I couldn't lie to him; silence was my only defence.

Sim grabbed my wrist the same way he had the first day we met, firmly and warmly. I shivered at the touch and tried not to look him in the eyes, but he tilted my chin up with his free hand. "You might as well tell me the truth, Imogen, because I'll find out one way or another."

I processed his words through a fog. "I've had sex, but...," I whispered raggedly, pausing.

"But...?" Sim urged.

"But it was only once. And it was a long time ago." I felt the heat of my shame settle on my face. Sim still had a firm grip on my chin, but I closed my eyes so I didn't have to look at him.

"Tell me."

"I-I was eighteen and it was a terrible, painful mistake," I gulped nervously, feeling the heavy weight of regret anew. "I didn't really want to, wasn't really given a choice, but by then it was too late and since then, I..."

"But you write about it," Sim said lowly. "You write about it so well."

I shrugged. "Ironic, huh? I've done my research," I offered weakly. 

"No you haven't," Sim countered, exerting a gentle pressure to my chin. "Open your eyes and look at me, Imogen."

I obeyed, shocked by the very real concern I saw reflected back.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I-I know," I mumbled, all too aware of the rising panic of my voice. He wasn't supposed to know, no one was supposed to know.

"Whoever he was, he was an asshole and he should be shot," Sim said lowly. "He's done a terrible thing to you. You've missed out on so much."

"Do you think I don't know that?" I asked bitterly. "I suppose you're going to volunteer to remedy the situation?"

Sim started slightly at the derision in my voice. "You know how I feel, Imogen; you know what I want. But this really isn't about me. How can you write about something you know nothing about?"

"I know about it," I shot back angrily. "Slot A, Tab B; insert someplace warm and moist, repeat. I know the words Sim, the concepts. I understand how it works."

"Understanding how something works is vastly different from experiencing it yourself, Imogen." 

"I know!" I cried. "You think I don't know that? But what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"

Sim's eyes darkened and he leaned over me. My heart hammered in my chest so frantically he must have been able to feel it he was so close. "Let me show you."

My breath caught in my throat.

"I want to show you everything, Imogen. It will be so amazing between us, I promise you. You should experience it; you deserve to. You're a beautiful, sensual woman; you can't go on living in fear of something that happened years ago. Let it go and I promise you that you won't regret it. I'm not some callous teenager who's going to hurt you. There's so much pleasure from giving pleasure Imogen and I very much want to pleasure you."

There were no words, nothing I could say to convince myself that Sim was wrong or that I didn't want him. I was afraid to open my mouth and give him my consent, but just as afraid to say no and let the opportunity pass me by.

I stared at Sim and fought the trembling of my bottom lip. I could feel the tears just behind my eyelids fighting to escape, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction; besides, I was always a horrible, blotchy mess when I cried.

Sim reached out and gently traced the side of my jaw, brushing his fingers gently over my cheek and nose before sweeping down to trace the outline of my lips. "You teach me about erotica, I teach you about sex. Seems like a fair trade off to me," he whispered. "I'll start you off with the vanilla stuff, I promise."

I couldn't help but laugh. "What, no whips and chains?"

Sim's chuckle was deep and reverberated thrillingly in my chest. "Only if that's what you want, Imogen."

"Convince me," I whispered breathlessly. Confusion flitted over Sim's handsome face.

"Uh... I thought I was." He reached to trace the rounded swell of my breast through my t-shirt, but I slapped his hand away. "What the hell?" Sim grumbled.

I tried to ignore the fact that my nipples were rock hard and very likely completely obvious beneath my t-shirt. "Tell me," I smiled slowly as Sim growled lowly in his throat. "You like words so much, so tell me what you'd like to do."

The confusion on Sim's face was replaced instantly by a wicked grin which made me shiver. "I thought you didn't like talking dirty," he chuckled.

"I don't," I laughed as I blushed. "But that doesn't mean I don't like hearing it. This is a big chance you're asking me to take. So pitch it to me."

Sim nodded slowly and then was silent for so long I started to get nervous.

"What would you do first?" I prompted, afraid I'd asked too much of him. I might not know much about men, but I knew there was only so far you could push them before they'd walk out the door and look for an easier target. 

Sim's brown eyes flashed. He took a step closer to me, but didn't touch me. I focussed on the white fabric edge where his t-shirt met his neck and tried to resist the sudden urge to kiss him there, just a little, to see how he tasted.

"I'd kiss you first," Sim said huskily, the words coming out thickly. "I'd kiss you until you couldn't stand upright, until you didn't want to; and then I could lay you down. It's so much easier to touch every part of you if we're lying down."

I bit back the moan which jumped to my lips. Sim chuckled. I could feel the intense heat radiating off his broad chest and wondered dreamily what he looked like without the damp t-shirt covering him.

"You have fantastic breasts," Sim said quietly. "That tasteful little bit of cleavage you like to show so much and the way your hard nipples look under that t-shirt you're wearing; you have no idea what that does to a man. It makes me want to run my fingers across your nipples and feel them harden even more. I can't wait to see them, to taste them."




Writer's Block Ch. 03



I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy, knowing that my nipples were indeed as hard as they'd ever been. I positively tingled from head to toe.

"I can't wait to find all those little places on you that make you shiver," Sim chuckled lowly. He brushed a soft touch against the curve of my ear before dipping down to skim down the length of my neck and across the exposed line of my collarbone. He laughed as I did shiver. "I bet there are million more of those spots; the soft underside of your breast... the curve of your hip... the back of your knee... the arch of your foot... the inside of your thigh... I'll find them all, I promise."

I'd told myself I wasn't going to touch him, but I clutched at his arms as the room tilted. Sim pulled me into his embrace and held me against the solid heat of his chest as he whispered in my ear. "I bet you moan, a lot. And I'm quite sure that when I make you come, and I will...," he paused, and although I couldn't see his face I could practically hear him grinning cockily. "When you come for me Imogen, I promise you'll scream."

There was expectant silence for a moment and I struggled to respond, to speak past the dryness of my mouth and the pounding of my heart. And then the phone rang shrilly on the countertop beside us, making me jump and Sim laugh; but it was nice standing there in his embrace, it was warm and exciting and I could feel his erection pressed against my belly. I didn't want to move. 

The answering machine picked up after four rings and my bright and cheerful voice filled the room. "Hey, you've reached Imogen but I'm not home. Leave a message and I promise I'll call back!" My voice sounded overly happy and I cringed as Sim laughed.

Beep. "Imogen, its Simeon Forster... Senior..." his voice was deep and smooth and filled the room loudly as he chuckled warmly; the Sim in the room with me stiffened at the flirtatious noise. "Look, I've been giving you and your writing a great deal of thought lately. About that dinner date..."

But I didn't hear the rest of the message because Sim let go of me, pushed me away, and strode out of the room as his father's voice echoed meaninglessly around me.

[to be continued...]



Writer's Block Ch. 04



"Fuck," I muttered lowly. The sound of Simeon Forster Sr. hanging up the phone and Simeon Forster Jr. slamming my front door coincided and left me achingly hollow. I knew I should run after Sim, should chase him down and explain that there was no dinner date and was never going to be one, but my legs wouldn't move, locked in place no doubt by my pride.

Outside there was the sound of a car starting and the violent squeal of tires as Sim tore out of my driveway. I leaned heavily against the kitchen countertop and tried to take deep, calming breaths. I could still hear the echo of Sim's low-pitched voice in my ear telling me all the sensual things he wanted to do to me. 

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" I growled with frustration. I pressed the rewind button on my answering machine and once again Simeon Forster, Sr.'s voice flooded my kitchen.

Beep. "Imogen, its Simeon Forster… Senior… Look, I've been giving you and your writing a great deal of thought lately. About that dinner date, I really wish you'd call me so we can get together and discuss business. Strictly business, of course. I had a meeting with Linda Swartz and we think you and my son are the perfect combination. If you and Sim can manage to get this going I know it'll be a huge success. You're perfect for this, Imogen. Please don't say no to him."  

There was a long pause, rife with expectancy. "And please, consider the dinner date. I'd love to see you again." 

I hit 'erase'. My message count on the answering machine went back to its usual position of '0'.

Dejected, I set about to pouring myself another rye and ginger. 

-------

The next morning I dragged my tired, grumpy ass out of the house by sheer force of will. I hadn't slept well, hadn't gotten any writing done. I'd just lain awake and thought about Sim and all the things I should have said and done and didn't. So I got dressed, packed up my laptop, and headed down the street for a cup of tea, hoping the fresh air would help with my headache.

I hadn't been sitting on the patio at the café long when a tall shadow loomed over me, blocking out the sunshine. 

"Good Lord," I muttered rudely as Simeon Forster Sr., slid into the seat across from me. "You people never quit."

He chuckled warmly. "We're a stubborn bunch, Miss Wallis."

I glanced up at Forster Sr.'s handsome face. His grin was such a twin to Sim's own that for a moment it took my breath away. "Bunch? You mean there are more of you?" I asked drolly.

"I have four sons, Miss Wallis," Forster Sr. offered with a laugh. 

I shook my head, unable to resist the urge to laugh too. "That doesn't bode well for me now does it Mr. Forster?"

"Probably not, Miss Wallis, I'm afraid we're all a great deal alike. And please, just call me Forster."

I rolled the epithet around in my head, preferring it to the longer titles. Secretly, I was quite glad he didn't ask me to call him Simeon. I wasn't sure I could.

"And I'm just Imogen." 

Forster held my gaze for a moment, making no effort to hide the flirtatious little spark reflected there. I glanced surreptitiously at his hands as they lay clasped casually on the table. No wedding band and a handsome, confident smile; there was little doubt in my mind that this man was trouble. 

"Is there something you wanted, Forster?" I asked bluntly, not really feeling up to playing games. The tea I'd consumed had revived me a little, but sparring with the likes of Simeon Forster Sr. was out of my league and all the Earl Grey in the world wouldn't change that.

Forster chuckled lowly. "Since you didn't return my call I thought I'd see if I could find you here. What did you say to my son yesterday? He didn't seem pleased when he returned to the office."

"It wasn't what I said," I admitted. "He was at my place when you called and heard most of your message."

"Most of it?" Forster shook his head and managed to look sheepish. "Just the beginning, I assume?"

I nodded. 

"So he's mad at me, not you?" 

"Actually, I think we're both the enemy," I said with a wry smile, remembering the events of the previous afternoon. If Sim had been left half as sexually frustrated as I was, it was pretty certain he wasn't fond of me anymore.

Forster watched as I played absentmindedly with the rim of my teacup. His own smile had morphed from flirtatious to slightly sarcastic. "He thinks I'm trying to steal you from under his nose, doesn't he?"

Something in his voice hinted there was more history between father and son than I could ever suspect. "I take it that I'm not the first?" I asked.

"Ah… no." Forster looked abashed. "We seem to have similar taste in women."

"How convenient," I murmured into my tea, ignoring Forster's eloquent grin. I wasn't interested in being caught between the two of them. Forster was a handsome man and the attention was extremely flattering, but Forster was too complicated, too much effort. Besides, somehow I didn't feel as if I could trust him. 

Sim was easy, every thing he thought and felt was written across his face, but his father was a different story. I knew I'd never truly know where I stood with Simeon Forster Senior, which left me feeling acutely regretful that at that moment I had no idea where I stood with Simeon Forster Junior either.

"I have to fix things with Sim," I said, trying out a weak smile. "Would he be in the office today?"

Forster nodded. "He's always in the office; he practically lives there. Do you have a plan?"

I considered Forster for a moment. Every inch of his appearance was perfectly tailored and impeccably pressed. He exuded confidence and power and had a smile which I didn't doubt was capable of defeating many a stronger woman than I. I knew it would be easier to get Simeon Forster Senior, but it certainly wouldn't be easier keeping him.

I shrugged in response to Forster's question. "No plan," I confessed. "I'll just be my usual charming self."

I'd meant to be sarcastic, but Forster's answered smile was sexy and knowing. I averted my gaze from his own; it was too much like Sim's for comfort. 

"I think that will work," Foster chuckled.

-------

I loitered in the lobby, partly from nerves and partly because I didn't think showing up to apologize to Sim while trailing in the wake of his father was a particularly good idea. I tried to give myself time to allow my racing heart to slow and my frantic brain to compose itself, but neither worked under the cold glare of the perfectly blond receptionist who watched my pacing with thinly veiled interest. Vaguely, I wondered if Sim had ever slept with her.

It was much easier navigating the maze of cubicles at Logan, Richardson, and Monk the second time and Sim's small office was exactly where Forster had told me it would be. The door was slightly ajar and I could hear Sim having a telephone conversation. I knew I should have knocked but I didn't want to give him the opportunity to refuse me; besides, he'd barrelled into my own business often enough over the past couple of weeks for me to feel it was his turn. So I pasted on a confident smile I didn't feel and entered his office without announcing myself first.

Sim's brown eyes widened as I moved to sit across from him, but his smooth voice didn't waver as he kept up the conversation with the person on the other end of the phone. His gaze was oddly unreadable and certainly didn't help my churning stomach, but I was content for a moment to let him finish what I'd interrupted. I busied myself with taking curious glances around his cluttered office.

Sim's office was only slightly tidier than my own at home and there were piles of manuscripts teetering precariously everywhere. If there was any semblance of order to the chaos it wasn't immediately obvious to an outsider. In the corner by the window was a beat up old leather club chair surrounded by more piles of manuscripts; perched upon one such pile was a laptop computer, a second computer was open on Sim's desk.

It was apparent quite quickly that Sim had no intention of cutting his phone call short just because I'd shown up. Feeling restless I stood and paced back and forth the short length of his office before settling into the well-worn club chair. My hand wandered impetuously to the nearest pile of manuscripts and out of sheer boredom I chose the topmost one and began to read.

The first laugh bubbled to my lips unbidden and by the time I'd read six pages mirthful tears were running down my face. It was the worst book I'd ever read, so bad it was funny. It contained every cliché known to man in the first thousand words.

"Trust me," Sim's husky voice cut through my snorts of laughter. "Once you've read a million just like it, it ceases to be funny." His tone was dry but there was a teasing note to it that gave me hope.

"I'm surprised it didn't begin with 'It was a dark and stormy night'," I laughed, stealing a glance up into Sim's handsome face. 

"I think chapter two does," Sim said with a slight smile. "What are you doing here, Imogen?"

I thought about cracking a joke, but something on Sim's face held me back. "I wanted to talk about yesterday," I said simply.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Sim growled as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, weaving his way around the mountains of manuscripts.

For a moment I was so hurt I couldn't speak. "No it wasn't," I said. "Calling it a 'mistake' implies that I regret it and I don't. Do you?"

Sim watched me silently for a time while I waited on edge for him to answer. Finally he shook his dark head, the shaggy curtain of his hair obscured his face for a moment and I felt the rising burn of panic in my throat. 

"I don't understand you," he admitted gruffly. "You're never of the same mind one day to the next."

I didn't understand and my confusion must have been evident because Sim stopped his frenetic pacing and stood to face me. 

"Yesterday you didn't want me, today you apparently do. What the hell am I supposed to think, Imogen? And if you think you can have both my father and me, you're sadly mistaken. I've been down that road before; I don't intend to do it again."

"I don't want your father," I sighed, coming to my feet. "I never did, despite what you may think." I reached out to touch Sim's arm but he jerked back before I could make contact and that small action hurt more than any words. I wasn't accustomed to apologizing and I knew I was making a mess of it. "I think we could have been good together," I said softly. "I'm sorry we never had the opportunity. Find yourself another author Sim, I understand."

I turned to leave, brushing past Sim as I did while trying to navigate the maze of manuscripts. His touch on my arm was tentative but stopped me nonetheless. "It's never going to be easy for you and I, is it?" he asked quietly.

I tried to smile up into his handsome face. "I don't think so," I admitted truthfully.

Sim leaned down and brushed a whisper of a kiss against my lips. The ache in my throat was painfully large; it felt like trying to swallow a grapefruit. Sim's chocolate brown eyes were sad. "I'm not good at things like this," he said. "At admitting I've been wrong."

I reached up and pushed Sim's dark hair from his eyes; it was soft to the touch. "Me neither. I know you don't know me very well, but you should know I'm not the sort of girl who would do that. Play you against your father, I mean." I said earnestly.

Sim nodded and clasped my elbows, drawing me in closer. "I know, Imogen. I knew that yesterday after I left. You're not the sort of girl to do most things." There was a teasing glint in Sim's eyes that made me laugh softly.

"Well there are a few things I wouldn't mind trying…" I let my voice trail off suggestively, pleased to see the edges of Sim's mouth curl into a smile. He chuckled and the warmth of the sound made me feel much better.

"Do you realize," Sim asked archly, running a finger across my bottom lip, "that we're Im and Sim?"

I laughed loudly, resting my head against Sim's chest, letting the charming resonance of his laughter sink into my body. "That's too much for me. No one calls me Im anyway."

"Thank God," Sim muttered as he rested his chin atop my head. "That would be awful. Besides, Imogen has such a nice ring to it."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into the solid comfort of Sim's body. "Does this mean everything is good?" I whispered against the silken fabric of his necktie.

"Yeah," Sim said with a contented sigh. "Everything's fine."

When he kissed me I couldn't have been happier and a spark lit in my belly so fiercely it stole my breath and made me dizzy. I clung to Sim's arms and fought to stay upright.

If there was a knock at the door neither of us must have heard it because we both jumped when Forster whistled lowly from the doorway. Our heads snapped up in guilty unison, but to give Sim credit he didn't push me away. If anything his grip on my arms grew tighter.

"For fuck's sake," Sim muttered loudly. With a grimace he turned his attention to his father, who leaned casually against the doorjamb with a smug grin on his handsome face. "What do you want, Old Man?"

"Actually, by the looks of things I've missed my opportunity," Forster said with a cold chuckle. His face was as calmly composed as always, but that didn't stop me from getting the impression Forster didn't enjoy being called 'old man'. Beneath my hands I could feel the tension poised in Sim's muscles.

"So now that you two have made up," Forster continued. "Does this mean you might actually get some work done today?"

I could feel how angry Sim was, so I resisted the urge to laugh; when I caught Forster's eye I realized he knew exactly what he was doing to his son and that didn't please me much. It did make me wonder just what had happened between father and son in the past to cause so much enmity. 

"We were working," Sim ground out through clenched teeth. I squeezed his arm reassuringly and felt the silent ripple of his reaction to my touch.

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Forster asked snidely, allowing his gaze to roam very obviously over the two of us before it lingered on me. I lifted my chin a notch and refused to look away. Again the distinct impression that Forster wasn't to be trusted washed over me. There was a lot more going on behind that handsome exterior than he let on.

"Anything else you needed, Sir?" Sim asked sharply.

Forster shook his head. "Just wanted to know where the project stood, Sim. Everything's clear to me now, I'll leave you two to it."

"Good," Sim snapped and then he leaned in and kissed me hard. A gasp of surprise welled up in my chest which morphed unwillingly into a moan when it hit my lips. I could still feel Forster watching us, but couldn't move from under the force of Sim's passion. It was only after I heard Forster's departing chuckle and the loud echo of the office door slamming that Sim released me.

I punched his shoulder as hard as I could, angered even more when he didn't as much as flinch. "Was that really necessary?" I spat out, taking a step back.

"Yes," Sim growled. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"This is ridiculous," I resumed the pacing back and forth between the piles of manuscripts just as Sim had done earlier, trying to avoid his outstretched hand. "I'm not going to be part of this little game between the two of you."

Sim laughed lowly, watching my progress with ardent eyes. "I think it's a little late for that."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked scornfully.

Sim shrugged. "I don't usually win when up against my father, so yes, I guess I am."

I shook my head, stopping to glare across the room at him. "You two are insane. You realize that, don't you? You're going to both drive me crazy."

Sim took three steps across the room and grasped my wrist gently. "I'm sorry, Imogen. It was never my intent to put you in the middle. My father and I have our issues, but whatever they are really doesn't concern you. I'll speak to him and it won't happen again."

I watched Sim warily. There was earnestness in his face which I wanted desperately to believe was real. "I need a cup of tea," I mumbled, admitting defeat. 

Sim grinned. "I'll bring you one, but only if we attempt to get some work done today."

I nodded. "What did you have in mind?" 

Sim lead me through the maze of manuscripts and settled me down into the club chair before handing me a pad of paper and a pencil. "Make a list of ten reasons why Logan, Richardson and Monk should publish erotica. I'll go get us a cup of tea."

I considered the blank paper for a moment. "Ten reasons from whose point of view: those publishing it, reading it, or writing it?"

Sim paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder, smiling broadly. "Okay, make three lists."

I watched Sim leave, strangely satisfied to watch him walk away. He was wearing dress pants and a shirt and tie again and it was damn sexy; he had a very nice ass. Sighing, I settled back into the chair to consider my assignment.

I was a little unsure of where to start and so decided to tackle what I knew best, the reasons from a writer's point of view. I scribbled down the heading and considered for a moment. Why did I write erotica? It's not like I was the sexiest woman in the room or the one with the most experience. What had made me decide to write within that particular genre?

The pencil flew across the page as my mind took over.

Ten reasons to write erotica:

1. Endless scope for the imagination. There is no limit to what you can say, think, write, or do. 

2. Erotica has the power to touch on every important issue: political, religious, environmental, psychological, sociological. It can be a powerful tool to introduce these greater issues to a wider audience.

3. Intrinsically, it is a study of human relationships. The world has changed in a myriad of ways since the beginning of human life, but sex has remained the same. It is who we are and how we interact. 

4. Challenge of making something old sound new again each time. 

5. Desire to find something magical and eternal in an act so many of us take for granted.

6. Connection to the world around us. No matter how different each of us is from one another, we all have this in common.

7. The hope that creating passion in one's writing translates into creating it in one's life.

Momentarily stumped, I looked up to find Sim holding two mugs of tea and watching me intently.

"You look so serious," he smiled, handing me my tea. I grasped the warm mug with grateful hands. 

"It's not as easy as you'd think," I admitted with a smile, watching as Sim settled himself gracefully on the floor at my feet. "I guess I've never thought about why I write what I write before."

"What did you come up with?" Sim asked. I handed him the pad of paper and watched his handsome face as he perused the beginning of my list eagerly.

"You have nice handwriting," Sim said when he'd finished reading. He handed the list back to me. 

"That's all you have to say?" I said with a snort of derision. Maybe I'd misunderstood the assignment.

Sim shook his dark head. "No, it's really good. I wouldn't have considered any of those points." He touched my bare ankle, just above the strap of my sandal and I jumped at the contact, almost spilling my tea. "I like these sundresses of yours," Sim confessed, his fingers wandered further up my leg, sending shivers over me. 

"T-this isn't getting work done," I gasped as he found my knee and traced the hem of my dress where it met my skin. 

"Of course it is," Sim countered huskily. He glanced up at me through his thick fringe of eyelashes and smiled. "You're teaching me about erotica, I'm teaching you about sex. Keep writing. What's number eight on the list?"




Writer's Block Ch. 04



My mind was in a fog as Sim's fingers skimmed from my knee to my inner thigh. He parted my legs gently and for a moment I thought about fighting him as I felt the panic borne of long-time habit and ancient fears wash over me. Sim paused and smiled reassuringly up at me, leaning down to drop a kiss on my knee. 

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to adjust to the unfamiliar sensations. Sim chuckled. 

"Number eight?" he prompted.

"E-eight," I murmured as Sim ran both hands up the top of my thighs, pushing my dress up as he went. The air-conditioned room was cool, but I don't think the temperature was to blame for the goosebumps which covered me.

"White cotton panties," Sim said lowly. "I should have known."

My eyes flew open and I watched Sim as he sat at my feet, positioned between my spread thighs, smiling for all he was worth. I put my mug of hot tea down on the nearest pile of manuscripts and tried to pull my dress back down, feeling the overwhelming need to cover myself, to protect myself from the predatory gleam in Sim's brown eyes.

"Too much, too soon?" Sim asked with concern. My brain was screaming 'yes' as the old fears tugged relentlessly at the edges of my mind, but Sim was so worried, so gentle, and I wanted him so badly that I fought back the urge to break into hysterics. There might never be another opportunity.

"N-no," I said softly. "It's not too much, I'm just…"

"Scared?" Sim finished for me when my voice trailed off.

I shook my head. "Scared isn't the right word; it's more like 'apprehensive', or 'unsure', 'or worried-as-hell-that-I-won't-please-you-in-return'."

Sim laughed. "You're such a writer, Imogen. Always using more words than necessary."

I laughed along with him, feeling my fears dissipate at the sound. "And you're such an editor Sim. Never using enough."

He covered my hands with his own and eased my iron grip on the hem of my dress. "It isn't possible for you not to please me, Imogen. Don't worry about that." He gestured downwards and my eyes followed and widened at the very noticeable bulge beneath his pants. 

"Well," I said with a giggle I didn't recognize as my own. "That's… ah…"

"All for you," Sim supplied with another sexy grin. "You do this to me."

"I-I haven't done anything yet," I said with a laugh. Sim's hands were on my thighs again, my dress was making a renewed trip upwards and this time I didn't mind. 

"You don't have to do anything," Sim said. "You just have to look the way you do and laugh the way you laugh. That's pretty much all it takes."

No one had ever said anything that nice to me before and it took me a minute to register what was being said. I was unaccustomed to complements and unsure of how to respond.

Sim's grip on my thighs tightened and he pulled me forward across the slippery leather of the chair until I was seated on the edge. I gasped at the swiftness of his movements, but couldn't move as he leaned in and traced the edge of my panties.

"If at any point you want me to stop Imogen, you only have to ask. Okay?" There was so much concern in Sim's deep voice that my response caught in my throat. I nodded.

Sim's breath against my skin made me shiver. My own lungs were forcing rapid, ragged gasps past my lips. Every nerve in my body felt as if it were teetering on the edge of something bigger than I could understand. When Sim leaned in to kiss the hot, dampness of my flesh through my panties I moaned loudly.

He grinned, kissing me again, putting his mouth where one had never been. I couldn't do anything but stare at the sight of his dark head against the pale expanse of my thighs, a striking contrast to the blinding white of my underwear. I couldn't remember ever seeing anything so exciting before in my life.

"You're already wet," Sim chuckled, stroking one finger against the fabric, making me squirm, needing more. "You're amazing."

"S-says you," I gasped as his finger brushed delicately over my clit, the sensation muffled by the barrier of my underwear. I could feel myself close to coming undone already. 

There was so much patience painted on Sim's handsome face that I couldn't speak for a moment, but behind the concern was a spark of something I was only starting to fully understand: lust. Sim made no move to hide his want from me, but instead of frightening me I was pleased to find that it only fuelled my own desire.

"I-is this lesson one?" I gasped as his touch became more insistent. 

Sim laughed. "We sort of skipped a few," he admitted gruffly. "I probably should have started with kissing, but this was too hard to resist." He tugged playfully at the edge of my sundress, pushing it further around my waist, getting it out of the way. "Maybe if you wore pants once and while I might not get so distracted."

His teasing made me laugh. "I thought you liked the sundresses," I counted flirtatiously.

"I do," Sim grinned. "I never know when you're going to move a certain way or the breeze will stir and I'll get to see a little extra leg. You have amazing legs."

"They're short," I said with a grumble.

"They're perfect," Sim whispered, running his hands over them again. "And they lead to something quite wonderful." He leaned forward and kissed my panty-covered flesh again, chuckling into my heat as I jumped at the feeling.

"N-no one's ever done that before," I confessed. I knew I was blushing, but with Sim it didn't seem to matter.

"Good," Sim said lowly. "I want to be the first."

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, dizzy from the overwhelming rush of sensations. It was almost too much, but I only wanted it to continue and dreaded it ever ending.

"Can I take your panties off?" Sim asked. My eyes opened to find him watching me warily. I nodded, unable to speak.

Sim hooked his long fingers into the waistband of my underwear and drew them off with agonizing slowness while I watched through heavily-lidded eyes. 

"Good Lord, Imogen," Sim groaned, his gaze intent on the space between my legs. "You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

I laughed, feeling the moment happening as if I were standing outside of myself, looking in.

"Knowing I'm the only one who's ever tasted you turns me on more than you can imagine," Sim confessed. I watched disbelievingly as his dark head lowered to meet my auburn curls. When his tongue met my flesh the moan dragged from me sounded inhuman. I dug my fingers into his dark hair and held on tightly as Sim's exploration grew bolder. 

"Oh my God," I gasped, repeating the words over and over as the rush of unexpected feelings crowded in on me. I never knew it would feel that good, never knew the intimacy of his mouth against me would make me so crazy, so desirous for more. 

I'd had orgasms before: frantic, half-guilty ones when I tried to touch myself, but I'd never been given one by someone else and the blinding pleasure and overwhelming surprise of it all undid me. I cried his name.

Sim didn't let up, but led me smoothly from orgasm to successive orgasm, slowing his tongue one moment, sucking strongly the next. When his fingers entered me gently I came again, wailing with pleasure at the rightness of it all.

For a while I was completely and wonderfully oblivious to the world around me as my breathing slowed and my heart quieted. There was a tingling warmth all the way down to my toes. Sim rested his dark head against my thigh and smiled up at me. I could see my wetness coat his chin and was surprised to find I wasn't embarrassed by it.

"Thank you," I whispered once I'd regained my breath.

"My pleasure," Sim replied huskily. The response was polite, but so sincere I could feel tears well up unbidden and I fought to keep them at bay. "You okay?" Sim inquired.

I nodded and loosened the tight grip I had on Sim's skull. I brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried a wobbly smile. "I had no idea."

Sim's grin was infectious and I could feel myself respond. "See? You've missed out on too much."

"I know," I admitted with only the smallest hint of regret. "But you're turning out to be a very good teacher."

Sim leaned in to kiss the top of my auburn curls again and I could feel my body respond automatically to his touch. Sim noticed it too and dragged one long finger through my dampness before bringing it to his mouth, tasting me again. "I'd like to teach you more," he suggested with a growl. "But not here."

I nodded, suddenly very willing to learn everything I could. A new story sprouted almost fully formed in my brain, but I tamped it down and cursed its timing. It could wait, simmering and growing in the darkest recesses of my imagination until I'd learned everything Sim could teach me.



Writer's Block Ch. 05



Sim's house wasn't what I was expecting. It was smaller and messier than I would have supposed, filled to over-flowing with crooked stacks of books and mismatched furniture, discarded shoes and carelessly tossed aside sweaters. It was wonderful.

In the window a large, orange tabby cat ignored me completely, half-asleep in the afternoon sun. Sim ushered me through the livingroom and out through a set of French doors to the backyard. The lawn needed to be cut and there were more weeds in the flowerbeds than flowers, but I was immediately struck by the charming green space. 

I sat at the patio table and accepted the offer of tea with as much grace as my jittery stomach could allow. If Sim was thinking of the recent intimate events it didn't show on his face; he was as calmly suave as always. When he left me alone to go put the kettle on, I laid my head on the table and tried to breathe deeply to settle my nerves. I felt hot all over, a little in awe of what he'd just done to me, and very apprehensive about what was coming. 

I tried to play out every possible scenario in my head, every position I knew, every minute of porn I'd snuck a peek at on the internet. The truth was, as much as I wrote about sex, I'd never really had it, and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to please Sim the way he pleased me. I didn't know what to do or what to say, what noises to make or what noises not to. Where did I touch him and what if he didn't like it? Was I supposed to return the favour he'd bestowed upon me earlier? And just how the hell did I do that?

To be honest porn stars made sex look easy: detached and impersonal - that's what I'd always sort of figured it would be like. Sure, in my stories it was different, earth-shattering and profound, but in real life? I didn't even know where to begin. I didn't know much, but I knew that watching Sim between my legs and feeling his mouth on me was more intimate than I ever could have dreamed. I was in over my head.

"Imogen?" Sim's deep voice broke through my reverie. I raised my head swiftly and tried not to blush. "Are you all right?"

I nodded, unable to speak the words. He was standing the doorway clutching two steaming mugs of tea, his hair rumpled, his dress shirt even more so. He looked sexy as hell. I was definitely in over my head.

"I thought for a moment that you were asleep," Sim chuckled, seating himself across from me. He pushed a mug my way. 

"Not asleep," I confessed. "Just..."

"Hiding?" Sim finished with a slow smile. "Did I freak you out back at the office? I'm sorry."

Again I shook my head, mystified by the sensitivity Sim was exhibiting. In my limited experience guys weren't like that. They'd tried to get me in bed, been rebuffed, and taken off faster than you could say 'cold feet'. The first few times had been embarrassing, after that I just gave up and didn't really care any more. Men wanted sex, I wasn't going to give it to them, therefore I had little to say to them. Period.

Sim was different though. He'd managed to sneak his way past my usually stalwart defence system and get me to do things I'd only ever written about, and I knew instinctively I'd willingly do more. But in the back of my head I couldn't shake the fact that at the end of the day it was entirely possible that Simeon Forster Jr. was his father's son; perhaps he was just better at hiding his ulterior motives than his progenitor.

"What are you getting out of this, Sim?" I asked bluntly, voicing my fears without preamble. Sim watched me with a blank expression; it was almost as if he'd been expecting the question.

"Apart from the pleasure of your company, you mean?" he replied smoothly. I nodded and tried to ignore the little flirtatious upturn of his mouth. "You're wondering why I'm bothering with you, aren't you?"

"A little," I admitted, suddenly feeling shy. I watched the steam roll off the surface of my tea; it was easier than looking Sim in the eye. 

"Imogen," Sim chided gently. "You're being ridiculous. You're funny and smart and sexy as hell. You have the most amazing legs under those little sundresses of yours, and there's just enough cleavage there to make me think of doing the naughtiest things with you. I look at you and I just want to kiss you, to make love to you. Not every woman makes me feel that way. That's why I'm bothering."

"But you could have any woman you wanted," I interjected. Inwardly I cringed at how insecure I sounded; I hoped Sim didn't hear it the same way.

Sim shrugged. "I've done that, Imogen and it doesn't satisfy me. I guess you could say I like a challenge and you're a challenge. I like the idea of knowing I'm the first to do these things for you. It's selfish, I suppose, but I like to think that ten years down the road when you're happily married to some lucky guy, he'll touch you in a certain way and it'll remind you of me, of right now and what we had together."

I turned my attention from my tea to Sim's chocolate brown eyes. "Immortality, huh?"

"Of a sorts," he chuckled warmly. "Does that bother you?"

I considered him for a moment. "Surprisingly, no," I admitted with a crooked smile. "It should, but for some reason it doesn't."

Sim returned my smile with a breathtaking one of his own. "Good, then we can begin lesson two."

"Which is?" I prompted.

"Flirting," Sim replied swiftly. "You're already very good at it, but you don't even realize you're doing it, and while there is a certain amount of charm in your approach, with a little practice you could be downright dangerous."

I laughed, feeling a little of my anxiety ease as I watched Sim's own expression soften. "You're going to teach me how to flirt?"

"I happen to be very good at it," Sim said with mock derision. His smile was wide.

"Your first words to me were 'Actually, I think it's great'; not exactly Don Juan," I teased. 

"Ah, but it produced the desired effect," Sim pointed out. "I got your attention, didn't I?"

"I wanted to punch you in the face!" I admitted with a laugh. "I hated you."

"But you were thinking about me." Sim laughed and took a sip of his tea. I watched the progression of the mug to his lips like a hungry woman being denied food. The way his mouth met the porcelain made my knees weak. The memory of those same lips between my legs was like being hit with a lightening flash of arousal.

One look in Sim's eyes revealed he knew exactly what he'd just done to me. "Is that a lesson too?" I asked breathlessly.

"Of course," Sim grinned. "Your body says more than your words." 

"Riiight," I drawled. "I know words, Sim; I'm a writer. My body however, we're not always on speaking terms."

"Part of the problem, don't you think?" Sim asked. "You do the cutest little things without realizing it, but just think of the possibilities if you did know the effect those subtle movements had on men. Think of what you could do!"

"I don't know about that. I'm really not that sort of girl," I admitted with a wry smile. 

"What sort of girl? The sort who understands the power she has just by being female? There's no shame in that, Imogen. I'm not saying you have to flash your tits around like some floozy. I'm suggesting you become comfortable with yourself, confident in your body. Once you accomplish that, you can do anything."

"What makes you think I'm not confident?" I countered defensively. I wasn't, but I didn't think it was apparent to others.

"You can barely look people in the eyes. I'd say that's a pretty obvious indicator. It's only when you're mad at someone that you actually raise your chin and look at them." Sim's smile was gentle but it didn't stop my feelings from being hurt. 

"You hide behind things: your hair, your computer, the image of yourself as an aloof writer. You think you should be above us all, looking down and watching us, writing about us, but writing doesn't work that way. You have to get your hands dirty. Live what you write, Imogen, and there's no limit to what you can accomplish."

I had no response for Sim. There wasn't anything I could say to refute his argument. All of it was true, but hearing it from a virtual stranger didn't make it hurt any less. 

"I don't like this lesson," I confessed in a whisper.

"Yeah, well that's how intimacy works, Sweetness. You have to open yourself up and let the other person see the messy insides." Sim's gaze was direct and I fought hard to hold it, to resist the urge to look away and hide from the piercing brown depths of his eyes.

"All right," I conceded with a shrug. "What about you? When do I get to see your messy insides?"

Sim froze and the concerned expression on his handsome face fell away. He stared at me for a moment before laughing bitterly, shaking his head. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

The question which had been plaguing me for days flew from my lips without thought. "What happened between you and your father, Sim? Why do you two treat each other the way you do?"

Sim's answered chuckle was dry and cynical. "That's a long story, Imogen. It goes back a long way. I'm not sure you want to hear it."

"Why wouldn't I? I'm caught up in it somehow; don't you think I deserve to know?"

Sim's gaze dropped to the tabletop. We both watched his hands flex against the glass as the silence lengthened. "Not here," Sim said finally. "Let's go inside."

I stood and followed him from the garden patio, watching warily as the long line of his broad shoulders stooped under some unseen weight. His normal, cocky demeanour disappeared, so by the time we were seated on the battered old sofa in his livingroom he looked like a shadow of his usual self. I felt inextricably like I was sitting beside a lost little boy.

"When I was sixteen my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer," Sim said quietly. The hurt in his voice was audible and made my throat ache. "It took her almost two years to die and watching her go through that... well, I wouldn't wish that sort of death on anyone, not my worst enemy."

He paused to look up at me, his eyes haunted and wounded. I nodded my encouragement, afraid to say anything.

"I'm the oldest in my family and through it all I had to be the strong one, you know? The one who made sure the groceries still were bought, the house was cleaned, and my little brothers were dressed and off to school every morning. Dad was always working. He's always been like that, a complete workaholic, but you'd think he would have taken some time off when his wife got sick. But he didn't. I guess that's where it started between us.

"Mum finally died a few days short of my eighteenth birthday. I don't know if losing someone is easier when you see it coming or not, but it was hard, harder than I would have thought. I was happy she wasn't suffering any more, but damn I missed her. I still do."

I reached for Sim's hand and held it. Words of comfort sprung automatically to my lips, but they all seemed so shallow and unnecessary; instead, I kept quiet and let Sim continue.

"Not long afterwards Dad started bringing women home. When I think about it now I guess he was just lonely too, for all his problems he loved Mum a lot. But it seemed like every Saturday morning the boys and I would wake up to a different woman standing in the kitchen, wearing Dad's bathrobe, and fussing over breakfast. 

"I don't really remember any of them, what they looked like, who they were. We made it into a big joke at the time, my brothers and I, but I always hated it. Then just before Christmas that year I was cleaning the den and came across a card in Dad's desk. It was signed by some woman named Kathy and said 'Happy Second Anniversary'..." Sim paused and the bitterness in his words made tears spring up behind my lashes.

"Two years, he'd been seeing some bitch for two years, which meant they were together while Mum was sick. He couldn't even wait for his wife to die, even when he knew she would. I was so mad I couldn't think, couldn't speak. But I couldn't keep quiet about it either, it was eating me up inside. So one night I had a few drinks and confronted him. Accusations were made and punches were thrown. I don't think I've ever hated him as much as I did that night. 

"And then we both woke up the next morning and never spoke of it again. Life went on at our house just as it always had. I graduated high school later that year and went away to university, studied English Literature, played varsity soccer, met Julie."

Sim's laugh was cold. "Julie was perfect. Smart, funny, beautiful. I'd never loved a girl the way I loved her. I was going to marry her, I was sure of it. You would have liked her, Imogen. Everyone did. I'd wake up in the morning at just marvel at the fact that she was mine, you know?" He paused and looked at me for acknowledgement, but he wasn't really looking at me so much as through me. I nodded weakly through my unshed tears.

"I brought her home for Thanksgiving my senior year so she could meet my brothers and my father. I had the ring in my luggage and every word of the proposal planned. Damn, I loved her."

Sim stopped and for a moment I was scared he might not continue. The silence in the room was oppressive. I was afraid to breathe. Sim's hand in my own was unmoving.

"Two days, that's all it took him. Two days to steal the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I woke up at 3am and she wasn't in the room with me. I thought maybe she'd gotten up to get a drink, or perhaps she'd eaten too much at dinner and wasn't feeling well. I found her with him. She'd gotten out of my bed and gone straight to his. How do you forgive that, Imogen?"

"I don't know," I admitted truthfully. "What did you do?"

Sim pulled me into the crook of his arm and smoothed my hair down before settling his chin atop my head. "I got in the car, drove back to school that night, and never spoke to Julie again."

I hated her. Hated a woman I'd never met simply because she had the power to make Sim sound so hurt, so bitter. I tried to picture what he'd been like before that time and even further back, before his mother fell ill: a younger, happier version of himself, free from the cynicism and cockiness that surrounded him like a fortress wall.

"Funnily enough Dad knew, in his own way at least, that he'd done something wrong. He bought a condo and moved out, and signed over the house to the four of us so that after graduation I could move back here to take care of the boys, just like we all wanted."

"You all live here?" I asked incredulously, looking around the small, messy livingroom, seeing it with new eyes.

Sim chuckled, the first happy noise I'd heard from him since we moved our discussion inside. "Off-and-on, yeah. It's just me and Jude at the moment. Jude's the youngest. He's a history major at the university here. Wants to be a teacher."

"And the others?" I asked. My curiosity about the remaining Forster men was piqued; Forster Sr. had said that they were all very much alike. 

"Ash is travelling around Europe this summer; he's a photojournalist. Ben's an officer in the RCMP and is currently stationed up north."

"You must be proud of them."

Sim chuckled into my hair. I could feel his body relax against my own. "As any mother."

"Your Mum would be proud of you," I said softly, certain without even having known the woman that the words were true.

"I hope so," Sim admitted. 

"So if you have all these issues with your father, why'd you become an editor? Wouldn't it be easier if you didn't have to see him at work all the time?" 

"I don't know. I guess so. I'd gone to university with the intention of following in his footsteps. I love books, always have. I got that from both my parents. Growing up I always heard Mum praising what Dad did for a living. It's so honourable, she'd say, helping authors to get published, bringing their work to a larger audience, making their voices heard. I'd gotten it into my head at a young age that I wanted to do that too, and then after she died... well, I guess I figured I was doing it for her, you know?

"So even when everything fell apart with Dad, I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do as badly as be an editor, so I made up my mind I'd still do it, but I'd be better at it than he was. I'd rise higher, faster. My authors would be better, more famous, sell more books.

"But there's nothing a Forster loves more than a little competition, we thrive on it; just ask any of my brothers. The harder I worked, the harder Dad worked, and by the time I'd made my way up the ladder to more than just an underling, he'd made his way to Senior Commissioning Officer. The man is practically in charge of everything at Logan, Richardson, and Monk and whatever he doesn't control directly he has his fingers in. And in those years more women came and went, usually from me straight to him. He's always won, always come out on top. That's why you're so important, why this project is so important."

"So you can finally beat your Father at something? That's why I'm important?" I could hear my temper cause my words to sound shrill, but I didn't care. I didn't want to be some game piece between Sim and Forster; didn't want to be nothing more than a competition.

Sim reached down to angle my chin so I could look at him. "I knew the first second I saw you'd tempt Dad too, but that didn't stop me from wanting to get to know you. The huge risk that I'd lose you to him was nothing compared to the benefit of knowing you. I hope you can believe that."

If it was a line, it was a clever one because I could feel myself falling for it without any hesitation. And if Sim was acting, he deserved an Oscar, because I'd never seen him look more sincere. I smiled.

Sim's chocolate brown eyes sparkled with an intriguing combination of kindness and mischief.

"What?" I asked teasingly. I liked the little flirtatious look on his handsome face. It made me feel apprehensive and excited all at the same time.

"I was just wondering if you'd seen enough of my messy insides to let me move along to lesson three?"

I reached up to tug at a lock of his brown hair. "I don't know," I flirted back. "Depends of what lesson three entails."

Instantly the heat between us relit as Sim smiled slowly. "Should I be completely honest with you?"

I took a deep breath. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hear what he had to say, but I was dying of curiosity nonetheless. "Please do," I whispered. 

Sim lowered his head until our lips were a hairsbreadth apart. "I definitely think lesson number three should be kissing. But I should warn you, lesson three usually progresses quickly to lesson four and possibly even lesson five."

I arched an eyebrow. "Really?" Sim brushed his mouth to mine and he chuckled when I moaned at the delicious, delicate sensation. "What's lesson four and five?"

"Lesson four is your breasts and all the wonderful things I can do to them... lesson five... well, we'll worry about lesson five later." Sim's voice was thick and irresistibly sexy. Being in over my head was starting to be fun.

My mind whirled as I wondered about lesson five and what it could be, but all of that went immediately out of my head the second Sim claimed my mouth. His tongue was hot and insistent and battled mine with ferocious efficiency. In moments I had melted against Sim and I couldn't even protest when his hand snuck up to slip the strap of my sundress off my shoulder. His touch was soft but confident as it traced my bare skin. Goosebumps followed behind his caress.

I don't know how long we kissed, how long we lay on the couch and learned every flavour of each other's mouths. I lost track of all time, everything around me, everything but the uneven breathing of the man spread out beside me and intriguing sensation of his fingers against my skin. 

For the longest time Sim didn't do anything more than kiss me and trace a path down my arm, over my hand and between my fingers, only to run back up to the curved corner of my shoulder and into the hollow of my neck. Every pass of his touch across my collarbone and over my throat made me shiver, and Sim tried the experiment several times, laughing into his kiss as it garnered the same response each time.




Writer's Block Ch. 05



"You're so sensitive," he murmured in a low voice. "You're amazing."

"Thanks," I gasped as he lowered his mouth to my neck and sucked gently. My back arched off the couch in a combination of surprise and pleasure.

"You're welcome," Sim chuckled into my ear. His low voice sent shivers racing across my skin. "If I told you a secret, would you blush?"

The gentle, teasing tone in his voice made me smile. "I don't know, is blushing a good thing?"

"When you do it, it's beautiful, so yeah," Sim said. He smiled against my neck and bit my earlobe playfully before he whispered: "Your nipples are so hard I can see them through the fabric of your dress. It makes me want to taste them. May I?"

Sim was right: I did blush -- about a million shades of red that made him laugh in the deep bass tone I liked so much. I turned to bury my face in his shoulder but nodded my assent before I could over-think the situation and back out.

"Thank God," Sim growled. "I'll stop at any time, all you have to do is ask, okay?"

I nodded again and waited with breathless anticipation as Sim's fingers met the first of the many buttons which ran down the front of my sundress. The fourth button had been successfully freed when Sim stopped, his fingers nestling just at the top of my cleavage. The lack of movement made me raise my head.

"W-what's wrong," I asked in a panic, afraid I'd done something he didn't like.

The expression on Sim's face was serious and intense. "Nothing's wrong, Sweetness. I want you to look at me when I touch you. I don't want you to hide from this anymore. I know you don't believe it yet, but this is who you are," he brushed his hand lightly over my sundress-covered breast and groaned when my eyes opened wider. My nipple pearled even more tightly against the fabric and heat shot straight to my loins. 

He returned his attention to my buttons and this time I didn't turn away, but watched his determined expression as he released me from my dress. "You're beautiful," he murmured, slipping the fifth button free. "And sexy," the sixth button fell to his expert touch. My breath came out in rapid, ragged gasps which echoed Sim's own. "And...," he paused at the seventh button, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric to tease at the cleft between my breasts. "And not wearing a bra?"

I shrugged, giggling at the stunned expression on Sim's handsome face. "I don't really need one," I explained. "Besides, this dress has such thin straps you'd be able to tell if I had a bra on. I think it's a little tacky when you can see a girl's bra straps, don't you?"

Sim response rumbled low in his throat. "Actually, I think it's hot. I just assumed you were wearing a strapless number. I never imagined you'd leave the house without one."

"Surprise?" I giggled. 

Sim leaned his forehead against my own and took several deep breaths. I watched him unabashedly, completely amazed by the raw passion painted across his face. "You surprise me at every turn, Imogen Wallis. Maybe I shouldn't admit this to you, but I'm so hard right now it hurts."

My response was a low laugh so coy I couldn't believe it came from my own lips. "Is that lesson five?" I murmured.

Sim nodded before opening his eyes. "Possibly, but I'd hate to skip lesson four. I've been looking forward to lesson four for a long time."

I reached up and released buttons seven, eight, nine, and ten in rapid succession. "Okay then," I whispered. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to make you wait any longer."

"You flirt," Sim accused good-naturedly. "Maybe I'm not such a bad teacher after all."

"Not at all," I giggled as I drew the front of my sundress open. Sim groaned loudly as more flesh was revealed, but he stopped me with a touch before I could bare my breasts completely.

"Let me do it," he whispered in a husky undertone. He traced the upper curve of my breasts with a slow caress that made my insides blaze. "God, Imogen. I want to taste you so badly." He pushed back more of my dress until my right nipple was revealed, and we both groaned loudly as the combination of cool air and Sim's hot gaze caused it to harden further.

When he dipped his head to take me into his mouth the moan torn from my lungs was loud and long. I hadn't expected it to feel so good. I watched Sim through a haze of arousal so unexpected I was dizzy with it. The sight of his mouth against me was so much more erotic than I would have guessed and I was so taken in by it that I didn't notice as he'd undone a few more buttons to free my other breast until he pinched my left nipple lightly. 

The combined sensation of Sim's fingers and his mouth was more than I could take and I squirmed against him, wanting something more than I really understood. I could feel the length of his hardness against my hip and knew when the time came I wouldn't be afraid of it, of him. Anyone who could make me feel that good couldn't possibly hurt me.

I clutched at Sim's shoulders as he transferred his lips from one breast to the other. "This isn't fair," I gasped when the ability to speak returned to me. "When do I get to see you with your shirt off?"

Sim laughed against my breast and shucked off his rumpled dress-shirt with alarming speed. I ran my hands appreciatively over his broad shoulders and thick arms, purring with pleasure at the rock-hard muscle beneath my fingers. 

"God, you're amazingly beautiful. You're unlike anything I've ever seen before," Sim murmured as his mouth travelled back up to my throat. He shifted his weight so that his chest covered my own and I gasped as the heat of his body permeated my own. The rough rasp of his chest hair teased at my exposed skin. His hand travelled down to cradle my hip and still my impatient, unconscious wiggling.

"Keep that up," Sim said in a low moan, "and you'll end this before it's truly begun."

I laughed and tested the theory with another little wiggle. Sim's hand snuck under the hem of my sundress and pushed the fabric upwards until he clutched at my ass to keep me from any continued writhing. 

I fell into his kisses, returning his enthusiasm with a fervour I couldn't quite believe myself capable of. No little voice remained in my head, nothing felt as if it was holding me back any longer. Any fears I had, any hesitation I might have felt, was swallowed up by the overwhelming magnetism of Sim. Every touch felt right.

I heard the slam of the front door through a fog. Sim was much more attuned to the noise than I was, however. His head shot up as the clatter of sneaker-clad feet thumped noisily down the front hall.

"Shit," Sim swore quietly. He reached down to the floor beside us and found his dress shirt to cover me before he smoothed down the fabric of my dress to conceal my bottom from view.

"Hey, Sim -- what the hell are you doing home so early?" yelled a loud voice from the back of the house. I could hear the slam of the fridge door coincide with the unmistakable sound of a can of soda pop being opened. I barely had time to pull on Sim's shirt and hold it closed before a young, slim, dark-haired man burst into the livingroom, soda in hand.

"Holy crap," he laughed, taking in the sight of me and Sim with a pair of familiar-coloured brown eyes. "Shit, sorry man. Class got cancelled this afternoon. If I'd known you were going to be here, I'd have gone to the library or somethin'." His cocky smile was enough like Sim's that I immediately knew who stood before us even before he crossed the room to hold out his hand to me and introduce himself.

"You must be the lovely Imogen. I've heard a hell of lot about you from a couple of sources. I'm Jude Forster, nice to meet you."

To be continued...

-------

[A Plea for Help: normally I wouldn't do this and interrupt your reading time but I hope that you, my dear readers, can be of some assistance. I need an editor. I had an editor for a very brief period of time and things were great, but due to circumstances beyond my control he had to retire... and so now I'm all alone again. 

I'm looking for someone familiar with my work who is willing to cultivate a writing/editing relationship with me and help spot all those pesky spelling/grammatical/punctuation problems which still creep into my stories, despite all my careful self-editing. I take my writing very seriously and would like to find someone just as dedicated as I am to making each chapter as perfect and polished as possible. If you're seriously interested in helping me out (and honestly qualified in some sense to do so - remember I was an English Major too, and can spot a fake from a mile away) please contact me through the links below. Thanks! ~firstkiss~]



Writer's Block Ch. 06



My dear readers; yes... this has taken a long time to write. I'm sorry for making you wait. If it's any consolation, both Imogen and I have been just as frustrated as you. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for all of your continuing feedback and comments. Cheers - fk

For C.

I held Sim's shirt closed with one hand and automatically shook Jude's with the other. I was in such a state of shock at being interrupted that I didn't think to refuse the gesture. Sim's rude suggestion to his youngest brother of where to go and how to get there didn't so much as phase the young man. Instead he grinned at the two of us with unrestrained glee.

"Seriously, Jude. Fuck off," Sim muttered, rising from the couch in one fluid, graceful movement. I ducked my head and started doing up the buttons of the borrowed dress shirt, anything to keep me distracted from the breathtaking sight of all six-plus feet of bare-chested and angry Simeon Forster Jr.

"Sorry, man," Jude laughed as he backed out of the livingroom. I could feel his eyes on me still, but I didn't look up. "Didn't think you'd have a girl here. Shit, you shoulda put a sock on the doorknob or called me to warn me or somethin'. You could have at least brought her upstairs to your room - that's what I do." The young man's tone was light and I bit back the urge to laugh. I could tell by Jude's teasing that bringing girls home wasn't something Sim did often. The thought pleased me immensely.

Sim followed Jude from the room and I could hear the two of them arguing in the kitchen. I sighed and leaned back on the couch. Even from two rooms away I could tell Sim wasn't truly angry at his youngest brother, just pissed at being interrupted. I felt a little hollow myself now that I'd started to come down off the sensual high Sim had wrapped me up in. It was beginning to feel like we'd never get to the end of our lessons.

The back door slammed and moments later I could hear the cough and sputter of a lawnmower starting in the yard. I grinned as Sim came back into the room, the expression on his face was both smug and bashful. He stood at the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his wonderfully broad bare chest.

"You're making him cut the lawn?" I asked with a laugh. 

"It's only fair," Sim said with a wry twist of his mouth. "I pay the bills."

I shook my head, unable to stem the giggles which brewed up from my lungs. I leaned my head back against the couch and just laughed, letting all my frustration and exhaustion out until my sides ached. Sim watched me silently from across the room, a crooked grin on his face. From the backyard the lawnmower buzzed on.

"Stand up," Sim said in a gruff tone when I'd finally quieted. There was a glint in his eyes which made my insides melt. I did as I was told.

"Take off your dress," Sim ordered. I reached under Sim's dress shirt and undid a few more buttons of my sundress, enough so that I could slip it off my hips. It pooled at my feet. I let his borrowed shirt fall back down. It enveloped me totally, reaching to my knees and the sleeves were so long I couldn't see anything but the tips of my fingers. 

From the doorway Sim watched me hungrily and I stood frozen under the heat of his gaze, waiting on my next lesson.

"My bedroom is the third door down on the left," Sim said in his low, deep voice. "You go up and I'll be there in a minute."

I could feel my knees wobble, but didn't want to argue. I thought Jude's return home would have put the end to our lessons for the day, but the determined look on Sim's face said otherwise and I was more than willing to co-operate. 

I stepped out of the fabric puddle of my abandoned sundress and made my way past Sim to the hallway, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. I shot a glance over my shoulder and was so surprised by the undisguised look of lust on Sim's face that I practically ran up the stairs.

The third door on the left opened to reveal a large bedroom crowded with books. The huge bed was tidily made and I sat on the edge of it to relieve my quaking insides. I knew I'd never been more turned on in my life than I was at that moment. 

Everything was happening so fast and yet at the same time, it didn't seem to be happening quickly enough. I couldn't remember the last time I'd let myself go so completely. I hadn't dropped my defences in years and it felt liberating: terrifying and liberating. And it wasn't just the promise of sex either, it was all the other things that went along with it -- desire, excitement, intimacy. Hell, it had just been so long since I'd let anyone touch me that that fact alone was enough to shake me to the core. 

It hurt a little too to realize how lonely I'd been and how hard I'd been on myself by not admitting it. 

Minutes later I heard the slow, measured tread of footsteps up the stairs which I could have sworn were Sim's, but his bedroom door didn't open. Instead I heard doors opening up and down the hall and drawers slamming in other rooms. Curious, I stood up and poked my head out into the hall just as Sim emerged from another bedroom, his hair slightly rumpled, his face triumphant. In his hand were a few distinct, foil-wrapped packages that even with all my inexperience I could recognize. 

He looked up to see me peeking at him from his bedroom. We both blushed.

"Thank God for brothers," Sim joked, sweeping past me into his room and trying to look casual. "They're a veritable pharmacy at times." His chagrin was charming. I giggled past my own embarrassment.

We stared at each other for a moment before both looking down at the prophylactics Sim clutched in his hand. "Imogen... I... that is... I mean that we...," Sim stumbled over his words and had the grace to colour violently. 

I smiled and came to stand beside him. I held out my hand. Sim arched his eyebrow questioningly. "Well... let's see what we've got," I teased in a soft tone. Sim grinned and dropped the assortment into my hand. 

I chose the topmost packet and read the label. "Strawberry flavoured?" I asked, feeling confused. "Why the hell would it need to be flavoured? Unless you were going to... oh." I stopped mid-sentence and mid-thought. Sim chuckled knowingly.

"Oh." I sat on the bed with an outward gust of breath and let the condoms fall to the mattress beside me. "Oh."

Sim knelt at my feet. His smile was a patient one. "Don't worry about that, or those," he gestured towards the foil-wrapped pile beside me. "That's like lesson sixteen and lesson thirty. We've got a long way to go until we get there. I just thought it might be best to be prepared, you know?"

I nodded. "It's just that, well..." I hesitated awkwardly. Sim ran his hands up my legs to cradle my hips and smiled encouragingly at me. "It's just that... what if I'm no good at it?" The last half of the sentence came out in a tortured whisper that revealed more about my fears than I would have liked.

Sim's laugh was gentle. "Imogen... Sweetness... there is no possible way you can be bad at it. Trust me. You've got nothing to worry about."

"How do you know?"

"Truthfully?" Sim asked, his expression was bemused. I nodded. "Because you kiss like no body's business and you respond to my touch the way no other woman ever has. That's how I know." He reached up to brush my hair out of my eyes before cupping my cheek gently. "Imogen. You'll be brilliant, I promise. I'll help you."

I must have looked worried, because Sim chuckled warmly and kissed me. His smile was kind. "As much as it kills me to say this," Sim sighed. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day." He collected the discarded foil packages and unceremoniously dumped them into the drawer of his bedside table before he crawled on the bed and propped himself comfortably against the headboard. He motioned for me to join him, which I gladly did, curling up with my head on his bare chest as he wrapped his arm around me.

We lay like that for a time and I could hear the gradual slowing of his heartbeat and I felt my own slow to match it. Outside the lawnmower buzzed on, the sound growing dimmer as Jude circled to the tackle the front lawn.

"Can I ask you a question," Sim inquired softly after the minutes ticked away lazily on his alarm clock.

I raised my head a little sleepily and smiled. "Sure."

"Why erotica?"

I could feel my brow wrinkle. "I'm sorry?" I asked, not quite getting it.

"Why do you write erotica? Why that? Out of everything you could write about, you choose the one thing that scares you most. Why?" Sim's chocolate brown eyes were brightly curious.

I considered him, thinking. "For just that reason, I suppose," I confessed. "Because it does scare me. I guess we're a little alike in that regard -- I like a challenge just the same as you. The first time I did it just to see if I could, and I liked it. It..." I trailed off, unsure and Sim prompted me along with a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

"It was hard and easy at the same time, if that makes sense," I continued. "It was a challenge to write, but when that first story was done, it was the best thing I'd ever written, the most satisfying thing I'd ever accomplished. Everything else I ever tried to write never sounded right, no matter how often I went back to it, how hard I worked at it. But writing sex... it came naturally. I don't know why. I don't really question why."

"Isn't it difficult though?" Sim asked. He trailed his fingers down my arm before settling his hand over my own. "If you've never been in those situations, don't you find it hard to write about?"

"Yes and no," I admitted with a little smile. "I do have a pretty good imagination. And it's been an outlet for me all these years, you know -- since I wasn't doing it, writing about it seemed the next best thing. And it was..." I trailed off, unsure.

"Safe?" Sim supplied. "Safer than giving it a try in the real world?"

My smile was regretful. "Yeah, I guess it was. It's just... you should know Sim, that most men aren't like you. Actually, no man is like you, not the ones that I've met anyway. So yes, to answer your question, it was safer to write about it than to experience it. There was no one to judge, no awkwardness, no fear of doing something wrong, of not pleasing the other person."

"Until you submit your writing to an editor," Sim teased.

I laughed. Beneath my hand Sim's heartbeat was a pleasant rhythm and I snuggled deeper into the warmth of his body. "Yeah, well that's a whole 'nother bunch of fears and insecurities. It's just in my case one is closely tied to the other."

Sim chuckled. "I'm not your editor though, Imogen. I have a hard time picturing you pleasuring Linda in quite the same way as you do me."

"I couldn't even imagine it," I gasped with a laugh. "And besides, I haven't pleasured you yet anyway."

"I wouldn't say that," Sim conceded in a warm tone. "Being curled up with you, half-naked in bed on a Friday afternoon instead of slogging through manuscripts at the office? I'd say that's quite pleasant."

I elbowed him in ribs. "That's not what I meant."

He kissed the top of my head again. I liked the gesture: it was sweet and still somewhat at odds for the sort of person I'd thought Simeon Forster Jr. was. "I know what you meant, Sweetness. And trust me, seeing you in my shirt, hell... seeing you without many clothes on, getting to kiss you, to touch you. That's pleasurable for me, although I know you don't believe me."

He was right. I didn't. I hated how hard it was for me to think that someone would want those things from me, would enjoy sharing those moments with me. I couldn't help but think that out of everything that had happened to me in the past, my insecurity was the worst legacy of the whole messy business.

He'd been so sweet to me, so kind after all my craziness. Sure, we'd started off on the proverbial wrong foot, and I knew there were moments where Sim probably wished he'd kept his mouth shut that afternoon in the café when we'd first met, but I couldn't help but feel like we'd come a long way in a relatively short period of time. I could almost allow myself to admit that I liked him. I liked him a lot. Maybe more than I'd ever liked any man -- and that thought was scarier than anything else.

The minutes flowed smoothly past, the silence between us comfortable. From time to time Sim's long fingers trailed across my back, but other than those unconscious caresses neither of us moved. 

"Are you asleep?" Sim asked eventually.

I shook my head against his chest. I was so relaxed it felt like I very easily could be. "No, I'm still here. Why?"

Sim's chuckle reverberated through my own body. "Because my arm is and it's starting to hurt." Sim flexed the shoulder I was leaning against and I could feel his arm move behind me. I sat up with a small noise of disappointment.

"Sorry, Sweetness," Sim apologized. He held his hand out and straightened it experimentally. "Old soccer injury."

I looked down at him and smiled. His dress pants were hopelessly wrinkled, his chest bare. He had a sleepy, sexy smile on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes. He looked like a hero stepped out of one of my stories, only better because he was real. He was mine to kiss and touch and do with what I liked.

"What are you thinking?" he drawled teasingly. "I don't trust that expression."

"What expression?" I bantered back.

"That playful, sexy one on your face right now," Sim chuckled. "You look like you'd like to take a bite out of me."

I laughed. "Maybe I do. Would you mind?"

"Not in the least," Sim said in a husky voice. "Do with me what you will." He spread his arms wide and grinned.

It didn't seem right to refuse such an invitation and I was infinitely curious about Sim's body. I reached down and trailed a finger over his chest, brushing past his nipple. It hardened and Sim made a small noise of pleasure. I traced over the ripple of his muscles and the masculine dusting of hair into the dimple of his belly button. He chuckled softly. I splayed both my hands against him, amazed at his broadness, his solidity.

"You like?" Sim asked gruffly. His chocolate brown eyes were dark.

I nodded. "You're beautiful."

He laughed again, pulling me over him so that I lay completely on top of him. I could feel his hardness beneath me and he didn't seem the least bit put off by the weight of my body. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"That's a compliment I've never heard," he joked lightly. He brushed a kiss against my lips. His hands were strong around my waist.

I braced my hands on either side of his head and looked down at him with a smile. "I thought we'd had enough for one day?"

"You started it."

"I did not!" I retorted with a flirtatious giggle.

"Did so," Sim growled roguishly against my lips.

I bit his bottom lip before sweeping my tongue over it. "Did not."

Sim moaned. "You learn too fast."

"You like?" I parroted with a breathy laugh. He nodded. I did it again, moving my tongue over him more slowly, flicking at his parted lips. I swallowed his groan.

One strong hand came up to cup the back of my head and Sim kissed me hard, driving the air from my lungs with an audible gasp. I could feel his erection nestled between my legs, with only his dress pants and my thin panties between them.

I'd kissed men before, but none of them had the same effect on me that Sim did. I could feel every nerve in my body respond to his touch, could hear myself making soft little noises of pleasure which normally would have made me blush. All I could think about was Sim, it was like everything else in the world melted away the moment his mouth met mine.

For the first time Sim followed my lead. He let me tease at his tongue with my own, let me slow the pace when I liked, let me deepen the kiss when it felt as if I couldn't get enough. 

Sim's breathing was as ragged as my own when I finally broke the kiss. 

"Am I too heavy?" I asked when I realized I was still lying entirely on him. I had propped myself up with my hands pressed against his chest and the pressure of that alone must have been making it difficult for him to breathe.

"Not at all, Sweetness," Sim laughed. "I kinda like it."

I shifted my weight and moved so that I straddled Sim instead, letting my knees on either side of his hips take my weight. "Better?"

His hands floated down to cradle my hips. We were so much more intimately pressed against each other that way, and I could see the flare of satisfaction in Sim's eyes when the heat between my legs met the hardness between his. Even the layers of our clothing couldn't muffle it. 

"Much, much better," Sim groaned with a chuckle.

I wiggled a little against his erection. It felt nice to let the solid length of him press against me. It made me want more than I understood.

"Easy now," Sim gasped. He stilled my movements with gentle pressure to my hips. "I'm supposed to be teaching you, remember?" With a wide grin he easily rolled over so our positions were reversed and I lay under him. His hands moved from my hips to the buttons of my borrowed dress-shirt.

He undid each button with smooth swiftness and parted the shirt to lay me bare except for my panties. Sim's touch was gentle as he traced the curving indent of my waist. When he brushed against the underside of my breasts it felt so good my spine arched off the mattress.

He knelt over me, silent for a moment as he took the sight of me in.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," he whispered. He reached down to cup my breasts lightly. My nipples hardened against his palms and we both moaned together. "These are amazing."

"I wish they were bigger," I confessed with a wry half-smile.

Sim's head shot up and his eyes met mine. "Why? They're perfect. A nice little handful." He squeezed gently to prove his point. "And such lovely nipples Imogen. I wouldn't change a thing." I watched wordlessly as he bent his dark head and dragged his tongue slowly across one. I gasped.

He suckled me, pulling from me the most unladylike sounds. It felt so amazingly good, like I never would have imagined, and every swirl of his tongue against my nipple went straight between my legs. I could feel my pulse beat in my clit, a hard, little ache that was half pleasure, half torture. I knew Sim would get there eventually, but eventually wasn't soon enough.

When Sim's fingers trailed down the length of my torso to tease at the edge of my panties I could have screamed my frustration, but he seemed content to just let his hands wander softly over me. I spread my legs, impatient for more, but Sim just chuckled against my breast and kept his leisurely pace.

"Sim," I pleaded, my voice a husky murmur. I buried my hands in his soft, dark hair. He worried my nipple gently between his teeth, the sharp sensation make me shiver and groan.

I desperately wanted him to touch me and when his touch neared the damp spot on my panties I growled with pleasure and shifted my hips, hoping to divert his fingers to where I wanted them to be.

"For someone who didn't want to do this only a few days ago, you're awfully impatient," Sim teased. He raised his head and grinned at me.

Every kiss and touch felt so good that I didn't want him to stop. I could barely remember the girl I'd been only hours before, the girl who'd been so scared and unsure. All I wanted was more, was for things between Sim and I to come to their natural conclusion. I wanted his mouth on me, his hands touching me. I wanted everything he wanted to teach me, to give me. It was greedy, but I'd missed out on it for too long. I wanted it all.

"What do you want Imogen?" Sim asked huskily, as if he could read my mind. His hand strayed to the top of my panties before slowly creeping under the fabric. He teased at edge of my curls. "This? You want me to touch you here?"




Writer's Block Ch. 06



I nodded and arched against him, pressing myself the length of his body.

Sim's grin was predatory as he dipped his fingers lower. He brushed lightly against my clit before finding the slick dampness he'd created. His beautiful brown eyes widened.

"So wet," he said in a thick voice. "You're so wet for me."

I couldn't speak, couldn't think of anything but the throbbing, aching sensation in my pussy. I wanted it to go away. I wanted it to last forever.

I mewed with displeasure as Sim dragged his hand from inside my panties. He chuckled and then pulled my underwear off slowly, keeping his eyes on my face. He peeled the damp cotton from the tangle of my feet and tossed them over his shoulder. My legs fell open as if they had a will of their own.

Sim took mercy on me as his fingers delved back into my moist heat. He strummed against my clit with gentle insistency, his dark eyes drinking in every shudder and gasp as I writhed beneath him.

He took my mouth fiercely, the rhythm of his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers. He swallowed the first cries of my orgasm with an answered groan of pleasure and before I could comprehend what he was doing, Sim moved swiftly to kneel between my legs. His mouth sought out the quivering wetness his fingers had brought on. He drank at me, an unrelenting writhing battle with my body as he brought on another orgasm, and then another. 

I lost track of everything but the sensations he gifted me. I couldn't think to check the noises that I made or to be embarrassed when he finally gave me a minute's rest and moved to kiss my mouth. The flavour of me on his lips should have mortified me, but it wasn't unpleasant, and I was too wrapped up in the moment to care.

I could feel his erection pressed against my hip and I reached for it, tracing it through his pants.

"Imogen," Sim whispered thickly. He kissed a path down to my neck and sucked noisily there, making me gasp. "Imogen, if you keep touching me..."

I knew what he was going to say, but wouldn't. I'd had my orgasm. He hadn't. But I desperately wanted him to. And despite my own pleasure, there was still a curiously hollow ache between my legs. I didn't know much about what we were doing, but I knew there was only one thing which could make the hollowness go away.

"I want you Sim," I gasped as he nibbled at my earlobe. "I don't want to wait for lesson number fifty-six, or whatever it might be. I want you now."

He raised his head, his beautiful brown eyes so dark they were almost black.

"Are you sure?" he asked. 

I nodded.

"If we do this here, now... we can't go back, Imogen. And once I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."

I smiled at Sim's considerateness. "I know. I don't want to go back. I don't want to stop."

Sim growled deeply in his chest. There was so much want in his eyes I was dizzy with it. Dizzy with disbelief that I could make someone feel that way, bring someone to the place where they could forget everything else, the way Sim had made me forget. This wasn't something I'd ever read about in books. There was an intensity in his expression that written words could never do justice to. 

My hands trembled as I reached for the drawer of the bedside table.

I opened it slowly and without breaking my gaze from Sim, reached a hand inside and pulled out the first condom my fingers closed around. I let my eyes flicker up to the small, foil-wrapped package.

"Ribbed for her pleasure?" I read with a giggle I could not repress. "You mean there's more pleasure than this?"

I turned back to Sim, expecting to see the familiar teasing glint in his eyes. Instead his expression was so powerfully intent my breath caught in my throat.

"Imogen." My name was a rumble deep in his throat. "So much pleasure, you have no idea." His hand wandered again to the pooled slickness between my thighs. I moaned his name, my mind made blank of everything else.

"Dear God, Imogen," Sim rasped as he plunged two fingers into me. My body contracted with pleasure around his long, slim digits. "You're so wet, so tight."

He kissed me deeply and I felt his free hand close around my own, gently prying the condom from my grip.

"I'll be careful, Sweetness, I promise."

To be continued...



Writer's Block Ch. 07



I really wanted to know how the story ended but I could see Sim's point. If I read each book to completion it would take me all night just to get through one. "But how will we know if we really like it?"

Sim handed me another manuscript. "We'll come back to it, I promise. For now we have to weed out the bad ones. Then we'll worry about getting more in-depth with the rest."

I cracked open the next story and shot a shy little smile at him. It was a weird being in the same room with Sim now without thinking of what we'd done together. I could feel a pleasant, anticipatory tingle between my thighs and every time our eyes met my heart all but stopped in my throat. I wanted so desperately for him to touch me again, but I knew if he did I wouldn't be able to read another word. With a sigh of impatience I set my mind to the words on the page in front of me.

Less than a page in, I tossed the manuscript to the floor.

Sim chuckled, but he didn't look up. I plunged my hand into the box sitting between us and pulled out the next in the pile.

I got faster at skimming the pages as the night wore on. The pile of rejects on the floor grew a lot faster than the other two. The 'maybe' pile was modest. The 'good' pile only had two manuscripts in it. My eyes ached with reading.

"Listen to this," Sim laughed. I raised my head to watch his eyes crinkle at the corners as he chuckled. "You rip the dress open my breasts are free as I have no bra you grab my head and pull me to you for a deep kiss and then you move down to my nipples taking them into your waiting mouth. You suck them and say god they taste ooh sooo good they are hard like steel I beg for more as you stop sucking them. You tear my dress off. I am naked totally you see my pussy it is glistening in the light."

My laughter joined his. "Was there even a comma in all of that? Or any punctuation at all?"

Sim shook his head and pretended to be short of breath, making me laugh all the harder. He cocked his head to the side and watched me for a while. Our eyes met and I could find myself smiling so hard my cheeks ached. How could I be so incredibly happy with someone I hardly knew?

"What?" I asked when no comment or quip was forthcoming.

He leaned over, picked up the box between us, and moved it to the floor. Then Sim shifted and spread his legs out across the couch until his bare toes rested against my thigh.

"I thought we weren't cuddling," I teased as I tossed aside the manuscript in my hands and bent down to get another from the box now on the floor. Sim just wiggled his toes against me, smiled, and began to read again.

With a shrug I started in to the new story. Sim and I read in comfortable silence as the clock on the mantelpiece ticked the hours away. Jude eventually ceased his banging and rearranging in the kitchen and popped his head in the room to say good-night. Sim would refill my glass of wine from time-to-time, and all the while there was the constant flow of words and images through my brain. As I relaxed I spread out a little across the couch too, until my short legs were entwined with his long ones.

The wine, the warmth of Sim's legs against mine, the crazy events of the day, and the endless, endless ream of badly-written pages all took their toll. I could feel my eyes grow heavier and heavier with each paragraph. It was so warm and pleasant curled up with Sim and I was so tired.

"Imogen," Sim whispered softly in my ear. His breath tickled my neck before he dropped a kiss there. "Sweetness, its bedtime, come on."

I opened my eyes to see Sim standing over me, a tender smile on his face. He reached down and took the forgotten manuscript from my hands. I tried to brush away the sleepy confusion from my brain, but before I could process exactly what had happened, Sim scooped me off the couch and into his arms.

The change in altitude made me a little dizzy. I threw my arms around his neck and clung drowsily to Sim's warmth.

"You fell asleep," he murmured as he carried me from the livingroom, down the hall, and up the stairs.

"No I didn't," I countered automatically. "I was reading."

He chuckled into my hair. "With your eyes closed?"

I nodded, a little embarrassed to be caught. "I am capable of walking, Sim," I pointed out as he made it to the top of the staircase. It was nice being held in his arms, but I couldn't get over the small fear that he'd either hurt himself carrying me, or worse - drop me.

Sim tightened his grip. "I know, but this is much more fun, don't you think?"

I couldn't very well argue with that, so I let Sim carry me down the hall to the third bedroom on the left. I'd never spent the night with a man before and my heart began to beat rapidly at the thought. By the time Sim closed the bedroom door behind us and set me gently to my feet, my sleepiness had disappeared – replaced instead by a tingling sort of expectancy.

I turned in Sim's arms, rose up on my tip-toes, and kissed him. He was warm and solid, and tasted like wine. It made me ache with wanting him.

His arms wrapped around me, curving up the length of my spine. Sim buried his hands in my hair and held me still before he dove enthusiastically into the kiss. The room spun - deliciously dizzy. We both held on to each other and greedily took what the other offered.

Time stopped as we kissed. Over and over I returned Sim's teasing tongue, his pleasurable pressure. Every once and a while one of us would surface for a gasping breath of air, only to dive back into the other, desperate for more. I tingled from head to toe, my insides a jumble of liquid excitement. I never knew a kiss could be so much.

Sim's hands moved from the back of my head to my cheeks and he broke the kiss with a gasp and a moan, my name on his lips. "Oh God," he chuckled in a deep, husky voice. "You drive me crazy."

His body was hard and lean against mine, stretched taut with tensile anticipation. His erection nestled against my abdomen: a trophy of my effort, a mirror of my own desire for him in return.

"Take me to bed?" I whispered.

In the dim light I could see Sim's chocolate brown eyes darken to lustful, inky black. 

"Gladly."

To be continued...