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Mentor Ch. 01

By: Megarae13



Author's Note: This is long, and there are going to be multiple chapters. Those looking for a story that is sex only should probably move along. Those looking for a mixture of sex, sensuality, romance, and tons of literary references (especially to fantasy fiction) however are invited to stay.

XXX

A tremor ran through my chest as I looked out at the sea of faces. Everybody spoke in a low murmur – the murmur of anticipation that always preceded the formal announcement of the Rives Gander Award. My agent sat to my left, his wife by his side, and they were having a conversation between themselves about the last industry event they had gone to. They mentioned names that I recognized – names of people who were legends. People whose books I had read before the thought of even publishing my book had crossed anybody's mind. 

To my right was my editor, and the rest of the table was taken up by people from the publishing house. They were all seasoned veterans in this game. I was the only one new here; everybody seemed to have forgotten that. 

So instead of talking with anybody there, other than to answer the occasional comment or question that was thrown my way, I sat in my chair and picked at my dinner, and looked out at the crowded mass of writers and agents, publishers and editors and their husbands and wives and lovers and friends.

I didn't know a single person there; and I was one of the guests of honor.

The room hummed for a moment, and then everything went silent. I glanced up to the podium, where a man in a steel gray suit was now standing. It was time.

"I would like to say thank you to everyone here, tonight. Especially our writers. It goes without saying that whoever receives the Rives Gander Award this year will have been a contender in one of the tightest races for the award that I, or my colleagues have ever seen..."

Closing my eyes, I wondered again how I had gotten to this point. A year and a half ago – just a year and a half – I had spent an entire summer, between semesters at college, writing and editing and perfecting my first book. Never expecting anything more than a nod here or there, or publishing on a small press somewhere, I'd sent my first queries off to a dozen agents. 

And now here I was, nominated for the most prestigious award in the world for Fantasy fiction. Funny, how life can change like that. In just an instant.

And, opening my eyes, I searched through the crowd to get a look at the man who had made it possible, without even knowing what he had done.

Simon Whatley. His table was three down from mine, and I could barely see his face through the crowd of people that sat between us. My heart started beating in that way it did when I thought of him. Wildly. Irreverently.

The person who had made me fall in love with writing - whose words I had devoured before ever realizing that there was a man behind those magical, wonderful words. And now, sitting here in the same room with him, I still considered myself his biggest fan. 

As if the world had thrown the biggest curveball at me that it could, he was now my toughest competition.

Of course, I was certain that the prize would go to him. I had been, ever since I had found his name alongside mine on the announcement of the short list for the prize that my agent had sent my way. I had barely had time to hope that I might actually win this thing when I had seen his name, and immediately it had become the biggest honor in my life just to have been announced alongside him. 

So I was sitting there, my eyes fixed on his face and barely paying attention to anything that was being said around me, when there was a slow pattering of applause that suddenly grew to a roaring crescendo. And inexplicably my agent was standing up, and on my other side my publishers and editor were rising.

And I thought back, trying to remember the name that had been announced. And realized that it had been Ramona Blackburn. 

Me.

I froze in place for several seconds. And across from me, a space cleared and I saw Simon Whatley staring back at me.

"Mona?" 

"Oh, yes," I stammered, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. Dazedly I hugged everybody at my table, my mind a sudden blank, and trying not to trip over the hem of my long periwinkle gown made my way to the front of the room. Taking careful steps up the stairs and onto the dais, I walked to the man and took the gold and glass statue that he thrusted into my hands.

And I turned, feeling as if I were sinking, back to that same crowd I had been nervously watching all evening long.

"I...can't believe this is happening," I said, surprised by my sudden honestly. "I can remember wondering, when I spent the summer writing my book, whether this would end up coming to anything. It was only because I fell in love with reading, and in love with writing, that I even managed to finish this thing."

I continued on, thanking anybody I could think of – my family , wherever they were, my agent and publisher, my friends back home...and as I finished with my mental checklist I stopped, taking a breath. Tears were threatening to ruin my carefully applied makeup, and I wondered how actors and actresses managed to keep their cool under this kind of pressure.

"And finally," I said, after taking this pause for breath, "I'd like to thank all the writers who have inspired me. C.S. Lewis, and Tolkien, Bradbury, Moorcock, and J. K. Rowling and...and last of all, Simon Whatley," I finished. My gaze fell down to the award in my hands, lest I should look up and see him looking my way. "It's an honor to have been even considered as competition for one my favorite writers. I still think it might have been a bit of mistake, though. I won't blame you if you demand a recount." I laughed lightly, and was relieved to hear a good amount of laughter from the people in the room. I finally felt the tears starting to escape me, so shakily I excused myself and made my way back off the stage and down to my table as the room erupted in more thunderous applause.

"Excellent, Mona," said my agent. I turned slightly, smiling weakly. He was a middle-aged man, and – like I had said – this wasn't his first time dealing with something like this.

"Thanks," I said. "I still can't believe..."

"I knew it all along," said my publisher, placing a hand on my shoulder. I smiled, feeling a little uncomfortable at his touch. I knew there was nothing behind it – nothing more than fatherly affection for his 22 year old literary superstar, if that's what you wanted to call me. But intimacy has never been my strong suit, even with those I knew and loved best.

And more than anything, that was what was bothering me at that moment.

Everybody else there was surrounded by the people who had supported them. I didn't even know where half of my family was, at that given moment, and my friends were happily living their own lives off in the town that I had left behind. Too busy with their domestic bliss, I guess you could say, to witness my moment of triumph. 

Among these strangers – among all the millions of people, now, who had read my book – I was a superstar. And with the people who actually knew Mona Blackburn, I was nothing more than a side note.

The dinner was almost over, my award sitting on the table in front of me. I reached out, picking it up. "Excuse me," I mumbled to my agent.

"Gonna make some celebratory phone calls?" he said with a wink.

"Yeah. Something like that," I said with a laugh, picking up my handbag. Then, finding the exit, I slipped away unnoticed as everybody carried on.

I got out into the hall and finally exhaled – one long, shaky breath after another. I glanced around, looking for a way out and finally saw the door that led out toward the rooftop. 

Nobody else was in the hall to see me as I pushed my way through the doors and out into the cool night air. The city lights were flashing like a million stars as I moved toward the edge of the roof. I set my statue down on the ground, digging out my cell phone.

> I typed to Sarah back home.

Then, leaning forward onto the railing, I looked out at the movement of the world around me. 

And there I was. Twenty-two years old – having just gotten everything I had always wanted. A prodigy in the writing world. And the same fears – the same longings – that had always torn me apart were threatening to do so again.

I felt my phone buzzing at my fingers, and flipped it over to read Sarah's message.

>

Whenever that would be, I thought. I allowed myself a moment to smile, knowing that Sarah was probably doing all the shrieking and jumping and happy crying that I just couldn't bring myself to do, right now. At least some one was having the appropriate reaction, I thought. Then, dropping my phone back into my purse, I pulled out my emergency store of cigarettes and lit one.

"Here's to fame and fortune," I muttered.

The world went silent. Then, to my shock and mortification, came a voice. 

"Oh, come on. Fame and fortune deserves a more enthusiastic salute than that."

I whipped around, cigarette still dangling from my fingers. Simon Whatley was standing there, a bemused expression on his face as he looked at me. "Leaving your awards ceremony for a smoke break?" he laughed.

"Oh. No." I quickly became interested in the ground, my shoes – anything other than that look on Simon's face. "I just wanted to text my friend...you know..."

"Spread the good news," he said, taking a step toward me. "Of course. I know how it is. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Miss Blackburn. Your book was excellent."

"I...you read my book?" Now I did look up.

"Yes, after it was nominated for the Caddo Prize back in March. It really is excellent. And don't worry – I'm not demanding a recount. The prize is yours, fair and square."

Laughing, I took a deep drag from my cigarette. "Well...thank you," I said, my heart now flip-flopping for the millionth time that night after the compliment that he had just given me.

"It was an honor, for me, hearing that I was one of your favorite writers. Although I think my fellow nominees might end up being just a little bruised, ego-wise, that you didn't mention them as well."

I laughed again and for the first time, all evening, I really meant it. "I love their writing too," I said. "But you're a legend. Uhm...and if I don't sound too weird and...and fangirl and gushy...you're not just one of my favorite writers. You're probably my favorite writer."

Simon smiled. "Ah. You see? Whatever pain I was feeling after losing that award has now been fully wiped away. Thank you, Miss Blackburn. Hearing that certainly means a lot coming from somebody as talented as you are."

I hoped he couldn't see the blush on my face. I didn't blush often, but I could tell in the cool shadows that my cheeks were growing warmer by the minute. 

Simon for his part looked perfectly nonplussed, even if he did keep smiling at me after the comment that I made. His unruly dark hair fell slightly onto his face, giving him the boyish, roguish looks that had defined his public persona for most of his career. 

In person, I noted with surprise, I could actually tell that he was the age his bios claimed him to be – fifty years old. But it was only because of the fine laugh lines that creased the corners of his mouth and his eyes – the touches of salt and pepper that were starting to appear at his temples.

But he was otherwise fit. His chest was muscular against the woolen sweater he wore underneath his jacket. And he was much taller than me – a rarity, given my height at just under six feet. 

Neither of us said anything. I finished smoking my cigarette, flicking the still red butt over the edge of the roof. Then, realizing my nerves were still shaky, I reached into the box and pulled out another one.

"Don't mind me," I joked. "Got to have something to soothe these wobbly nerves."

"I understand completely. Mind if I bum one off of you?" he said.

Slightly surprised, I finished lighting mine and handed the box and lighter over. He took and lit one, handing it back. And then, surprising me further, he came over and sat down on a raised cement ledge as he took a long puff.

"I quit years ago, in theory," he said. "But certain times call for certain vices."

I smiled, and pulling the long silky train of my dress out of the way I sat down across from him. 

"So. Why don't you tell me why you were really out here alone, looking so sad?" he asked.

My eyes widened. "I...well. I guess I was just a little sad that nobody could be here to experience this with me. It's silly, I know. I know they're happy for me, and all. But it would have been nice to have somebody other than my agent to give me a congratulations hug," I joked. I was trying to trivialize the matter, but as I spoke the words I felt myself starting to choke up. A tear rolled down my face, tracing its way along my cheek.

Simon reached out, touching it. "I see," he said, wiping it away. "I really am sorry. An achievement like this really should be celebrated."

With a shrug, I sighed. I felt my skin prickle, in a good way, at the light feeling of his fingers against my cheek.

"Do you remember the first award you won?" I asked. "What was it like?"

"Ah. It was 1993. I won it for my third book. That was just after my daughter was born. My ex-wife was fussing all the way through the ceremony, and she stepped out just after they announced I had won to call the babysitter and make sure that Kayla hadn't choked on anything. Or spontaneously combusted. Whatever it is that mother's worry about."

"Ah. 1993. I think that was right around the time I learned my ABCs," I joked.

Simon looked up. "You are young. How old are you, Miss Blackburn?"

"Mona, please," I said. "And I don't think I'll tell you how old I am. You'd never be able to take me seriously."

"Hmm? Is that right? You are at least eighteen, aren't you?" he asked. "I'd hate to find that out, after sitting her and admiring how lovely you are.

Lovely? I smiled a little.

"I'm definitely over eighteen," I joked. "But I'm not telling you anything else. You'll just have to wait until they write my Wikipedia page to find that out."

"Tease," he said, winking. 

We continued to talk, discussing books and the industry and other authors that the both of us admired. Halfway through Pratchett his phone rang and he pulled it out of his coat pocket. "Ah. Looks like we both lost track of time," he said. "I have to go have a few words with my wife, and then give my publicist a call."

I was shocked back to reality, realizing that my attraction to him had been transitioning from solely intellectual to physical, too, as our conversation continued. 

"No problem. It was nice meeting you," I said, starting to stand.

"Wait. I'd like to continue this," he said. "I..." Then he stopped, glancing down at the telephone as it continued to ring. Obviously, I thought, he was having some of the same thoughts as me. He hit the mute button on the phone, slipping it back into his coat. "It can wait," he said. "How about...are you staying at this hotel?" he asked.

I nodded mutely, realizing that the way he was looking at me had changed – had been subtly changing, ever since we had sat down and started to talk. "Yeah. Come on," I said, picking up my purse as he took the award, and together we went out into the empty hall.

A few stragglers were left behind in the halls, and as they caught sight of us they rushed over to greet me and give me their congratulations on winning the award. A photographer, too, caught sight of us. Simon started to step away as he asked me for my photograph, but I kept hold of his arm and pulled him close to me. His arm slipped down and around my waist as the light flashed.

Then, excusing ourselves, we found an elevator and hit the button that would take us down to the third floor. 

"So what now?" asked Simon, leaning in towards me. 

"Well," I said. "You're already this close."

And, changing everything, or perhaps changing nothing – in that moment I couldn't be certain – Simon's lips brushed against mine and I pressed up against him. His tongue slid across my lips, tasting me, before diving deeply inside. We kissed deeply for just a moment, pulling apart in time for the elevator to stop at my floor.

I whipped out my room card and went down the hall, Simon close behind me. His hands closed over my waist, tracing my curves under the gown. His hips pressed against me as I yanked the door open and we stumbled inside the room.

The door slammed closed behind us and Simon whipped me around, kissing me deeply and soundly. His hands moved up, gripping the delicate red braids of my hair. He tore out pins and clips, sending it out into a mass of red curls that fell straight down to my breasts.

He shrugged out of his jacket, and I excused myself just long enough to get to the restroom and unzip the dress, pulling it off and hanging it in the shower. My lingerie was now exposed – a matching periwinkle corset and panties, each covered with a dewy netting that made me shimmer, fairylike, in the shadows.

"Sexy little pixie," said Simon, grinning madly as he yanked his sweater over his head. He reached behind me, undoing the lacing until the corset slipped down over my hips and fell to the floor. Kissing me again, his hand reached up to cup my breasts, thumb flicking against my nipple. I moaned and Simon pulled me over, sitting down on the bed.

I was about to have sex with my idol. That was the thought that flittered through my brain as I let him pull me over and lay me down. The man whose books lulled me to sleep when I was a frightened teenager...whose beautiful words had so changed my life. My mentor.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of the panties and pulled them down, revealing the neatly trimmed red patch that lay there. My eyes closed as I felt his weight come down on top of me and his lips secured themselves over one nipple, sucking deeply, tongue flicking across it, and then the gesture was repeated with the other.

His lips left my breasts and I felt the tip of his tongue sliding wetly down my stomach, teasing my bellybutton. Then he softly kissed the top of my pussy, licking up the moisture from the edges of my slit. I spread my legs wide, giving his head room to nestle down between my thighs. And he did. His tongue dove into my pussy and he started lapping my softly. His fingers began to tease my clit as he licked and sucked me to madness. 

Then, without warning, I felt his finger slide between my pussy lips and into me. I jumped in surprise, and tried to warn him, but it was too late. He had pierced me, and the pain shot through my body, stabbing like a knife. He went still.

"You're...a virgin?" he said.

"Yes...no! I mean...I don't care...just fuck me," I stammered, surprising myself that I could be so crude in my wants...my desires. I was suddenly afraid that he wouldn't want to continue – that my lack of experience would scare him away. But instead, he moved back up over me, placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Once again, I'm honored," he said. He reached down again, sliding his finger into my pussy. He slowly fucked me, first with that one finger, and then with two, watching my reactions to see the moment that his actions turned from being painful to pleasurable. I don't know how much time passed, but eventually all the pain had subsided and I was moaning.

Whimpering as he finally removed his fingers from me, I sat up slightly. He was on his knees in front of me, unbuckling his belt. I quickly got up, reaching forward to do it for him. Then I slid my hands down over the front of his pants, feeling the hard shape of his cock outlined beneath the fabric. He moaned now, reaching down and putting his hand over mine.


Mentor Ch. 01



He rubbed my hand against the outline of his cock for several moments, and was panting by the time I got him unzipped and slid the pants down his thighs, his cock springing up and out toward me. It wasn't just bigger than many I had seen – it was thicker too. I waited for him to wrestle his way out of his pants completely, and then moved over so he could lay down on his back.

I moved over him, gripping his shaft firmly with my hand. I pumped it slowly, up and down, remembering the smattering of hand jobs and blow jobs that I had given in college. This one was different. He was still – not thrusting against my hand, letting me set the pace. 

I continued to pump it, then slowly moved down and with a tentative tongue tasted the moisture that was oozing from its tip. I slid my tongue in circles around the head of his cock, and then becoming more bold I took him into my mouth completely.

He moaned, reaching down to caress my hair with one hand as I continued to suck on him, taking his cock as far into my mouth as I could. At one point I started to gag and, teary eyed, stopped.

"Mmm...shh, it's okay," he murmured. I sat up and so did he. He leaned me back, his weight moving over me once again. Then he pushed my legs open wide, positioning himself over the top of me. I felt his cock teasing me, rubbing my clit. Then slowly, achingly, he pushed himself inside me.

I cried out, stretched much further than I had been by his fingers. But he took it slow, pushing just a little and then easing back, pushing and easing, until finally his entire cock was buried deep inside my pussy. I opened my eyes to see him hovering over me, his own eyes closed and a look of determination on his face.

"I'm okay," I whispered.

He nodded, leaning down and kissing me deeply as he slowly eased back and began to thrust. Like before, pain quickly gave way to pleasure, and I found myself starting to scream as he began thrusting harder and harder inside me, my legs automatically moving up to wrap around his waist. 

Eventually he paused, moving me onto my hands and knees and kneeling behind him. His cock pressed into my pussy once again, and taking hold of my waist he began thrusting even more deeply inside of me. I cried out at as he fucked me, moaning as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled, jerking my head back. 

He pounded and pounded, and finally I felt my orgasm nearing. I cried out, feeling my pussy squeeze around his cock. Then, just as quickly, he pulled out and I felt something warm and wet splash against my back.

"God," he moaned. I felt him grab something, using it to wipe away the cum on my skin. Then I flopped over, looking up as he flopped back down onto the bed next to me. He was panting deeply and both of us were covered in sweat.

"Best consolation prize for losing an award, ever," I said.

He burst out laughing, gathering me close to him. "That was better than winning any prize," he said. "Mona...you are a treasure."

"Thank you," I said.

"Now. Are you going to tell me how old you are?"

I grinned. "Nope."

"Well, you were a virgin...so not over twenty-five," he said.

"Maybe...maybe not...." I teased, thrilling over the way he had put my virginity in the past tense, andwondering suddenly if he would regret what he had done once he found out just how young I really was. But that was a worry for another time. 

I knew that what we had done would probably never go any further than this night. Apart from the age difference, we were both so busy...and he was married. Those thoughts on my mind, I curled up next to Simon and drifted off to sleep, knowing he wouldn't be there when I woke up in the morning.



Mentor Ch. 02



Authors's Note: Thanks for the great feedback on the first chapter! 

*

I hadn't expected him to be there the next morning, and in that I wasn't surprised. The sunlight filtered through the curtains and into my bedroom and my eyes flitted open. The first thing that struck me was the memory of being sprawled out on that very bed, with Simon over me, taking away the innocence that I had held on to for so long. 

The second thing that struck me was that, despite my emotional reaction to it the night before, I had won. I was a prize winning author. 

I pushed the blankets aside, noting the dull but still somehow pleasant pain I was feeling. Everything had changed in one evening, I realized. And it was a stunning realization. My life would never quite be the same, I thought. Not after this. 

Ignoring everything else, but smiling brilliantly at my statue where it had absently been set aside by Simon when he came into my room, I ran a hot shower and allowed myself the luxury of long soak. When I finally came out it was just in time to hear the faint beep of my phone as it left a voice message.

I went over, turning it on. There were a dozen voice messages and about as many texts. I flipped through the texts, responding to the people I wouldn't want to leave waiting. Then I got on the phone let the messages play, one by one, as got dressed.

"Hey, Mona! I heard about the award, congratulations!...."

"Mona! Congratulations on the prize!"

And so on.

I had finished dressing and was picking up my suitcase to start packing my things when another voice came on, one that surprised me. Simon's smooth words came floating into the room and towards me, making my heart skip another beat.

"I hope you don't mind, but I texted myself from your phone so I could get your number. I hope we can stay in touch. Feel free to send me a message anytime. You can use my private e-mail too; I texted it to you. Take care, darling. Bye."

No mention of last night. No, "hey baby, that was great". And that was good, too; I preferred it that way. I let the last couple of messages play, then I picked my phone back up and found the text that he had sent. I hit reply, and then after only a moment's hesitation messaged him back with my e-mail address. I went back to my packing. After a few minutes, I heard my phone beep and went to pick it up.

**So you're 23?**

I laughed, remembering my hesitation to give him my age the night before.

**22. My b-day isn't until October**

His next response came just a few minutes later.

**You do realize you're going to be the writing world's darling, don't you? Everybody loves a child prodigy.**

My fingers went to the buttons, and then I stopped. No, probably better not to respond to that one, I thought, and went back to my packing. I just managed to make check out time and to catch my driver as he pulled up outside. The drive to the airport was long and uneventful, and I used it to finish answering the texts and phone calls that I had received. 

My publicist, Mark, was waiting for me when my driver dropped me off. "Great show last night, Mona," he said. "Check this out." He took my luggage from me and handed me two things -- a steaming cup of coffee and the New York Times book section, opened to a page that prominently displayed the picture of me and Simon standing together in the hall of the hotel.

"Youngest Author Ever Wins the Rives," I said, reading the headline out loud. Then, catching the caption on the picture, "Ramona Blackburn is pictured holding her award and standing with fellow nominee, three-time Rives award winner Simon Whatley."

I let my breath out in one long, steady whoosh. "I can't believe it," I said shakily. "This really is going to change everything, isn't it?"

"You bet," said Mark. 

He ushered me onto the plane, where I was subjected for the next three hours to what turned out to be an impromptu business meeting. I found out that all morning long Mark had been fielding interview requests, signing requests, and reading requests from around the country, and even a handful from the UK. 

By the time we landed back home, my head was spinning. I parted with Mark at luggage pick-up, and had just had time to catch my breath when I heard a loud squeal. 

"Mona!" shrieked Sarah, who was suddenly running at me and throwing her arms around my shoulders. "I can't believe you won!" she said. 

Then Sarah's husband, Patrick, was coming up too, grinning as widely as he could. He clapped his hand down on my shoulder.

"I knew you could do it," he said. "Looks like we got ourselves a celebrity."

"Have you seen the Times?" squeaked Sarah.

I nodded. "Mark showed me. I still can't believe it."

"I can't believe you met Simon Whatley!" said Patrick. I grinned back at him. As much as I loved Sarah, and we were best friends, Patrick was my soul brother when it came to books and movies and all things...well, nerdy. I wondered briefly what he would think if he knew just how close I had become with Simon the night before. 

Surprised to find myself thinking that, I felt my cheeks turning slightly red. Of course, I thought. I would have to tell Sarah that I had lost...it. I hadn't even thought of that, yet. 

"Are you okay?" said my friend. 

"Uhm...yeah. Just a little tired," I said. This for the most part was true.

"Oh. Well, let's get out of here then," said Sarah. 

They ushered me out of the airport, and I was surprised to find that I found it nice to be crammed into the backseat of my friends' old Chevy for a change. 

And after that things started to settle into a new kind of normal for me. Half of my time was spent at home, where I was working on my third book (having finished the second and shipped it off to my publisher already). The other half of the time, I was being shipped off to attend writer's workshops, and readings, and interviews -- all things that still felt surreal and magical to me.

And Simon did stay in touch. We never discussed that night. Instead, he became my mentor, guiding me through the writing process, giving me comfort when things didn't go right or coaching me through a new experience. Sometimes he was just there to praise me, when I felt like everything was falling apart around me or that I wasn't worthy of the honors that I had been given.

**From: Simon_Whatley To: Mona_Black**

Subject: Stop Stressing

You know you'll do fine, sweetheart. You've already accomplished this much at such a young age, what makes you think you're suddenly going to start failing? Well, all right, you might fail a little -- we all do. But what's important is knowing that even if you slip a little you're still much higher than the rest of us mere mortals.

Anyway, I heard that someone's book was creeping up onto the New York Time's bestseller list. I've got my eye on you. If anybody takes that number one spot away from me, it had better be you. I'd hate to have to let Stephen (as in King) rub that in my face again.

Talk to you later.

S.

**From: Mona_Black To: Simon__Whatley**

Subject: Still Stressing

I hardly think being at the very bottom of the bestseller list qualifies as being on the bestseller list. I'll probably be off it by this time next week. Still, it's an honor being on it. I guess I worry about failing because, well, it'll hurt more to fall from this far up than it would be to trip from ground-level...don't you think?

Oh hey, have you met Anton Liebovitz? I'm sure you have. Everybody says he's a tough interviewer. I'm meeting with him when I head up to NYC next week to discuss the final details for my next book. 

-Mona

**From: Simon_Whatley To: Mona_Black**

Subject: Re: Still Stressing

Liebovitz will be a pushover, especially if you bat that those lovely blue eyes at him. I'm going to be in NYC the week after; wish I had known you'd be there next week, I'd have juggled my schedule around so I could see you. Maybe next time.

-S.

And that was how it went, for the next several months. A string of e-mails, occasional texts, and one phone call (to congratulate me when my book reached the number two spot on the Bestseller list -- I never did quite manage to wrest the number one spot away from Simon, although I did manage to beat King.)

I had met Simon in February, and it was closing in on early July when the fates finally seemed to deem it the right time for our schedules to coincide. I got a message from him, informing me that we were both on schedule the next week to speak at a Library Fundraiser in Boston. I had forgotten completely that I would be going to Boston and, as such, had never bothered to check and see who else would be there.

Seeing that Simon was right, I felt a little thrill of excitement. Even though we had ignored that night, had never even referred to it in all the months we had spoken, I had a deep desire to feel him -- to experience him -- again. I hoped that he felt the same way.

When I arrived in Boston it was uncharacteristically hot. The sun was shining brightly down on the world below. I was waiting curbside for my driver for almost a half hour before I called one of my handlers, who politely informed me that the convention wasn't springing for drivers and I was going to have to rent a car myself. 

Irritated, sweaty, and more than a little sleep deprived after having spent the night before editing, I dragged myself and my luggage to the rental car counter. I handed the man behind the desk my ID and my credit card. He stared at both suspiciously, before sliding them back toward me.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I can't rent to you. You're under twenty-five."

"What?" I pushed my sunglasses off. "But I have to --"

"I'm sorry, but that's our company policy," he said shortly. "I can give you the number to a taxi service. And there's brochures over there for the bus system."

"I...but I..." 

I stared at him for a long moment. Then my mouth snapped shut. I had been spoiled for too long, I thought to myself. I was getting too used to things being easy. Once again, I hauled myself to the curb, glancing at the telephone number the man had given me for the taxi company. I was just getting ready to call it when I heard a familiar voice.

"That wouldn't be bestselling author Ramona Blackburn, stuck at an airport without a ride, would it?" I whipped around and there was Simon standing there, the same bemused expression on his face that he had been wearing the first time I saw him. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, and I wanted to touch him so badly that I didn't even think as I darted over and slid my arm around his waist.

He hugged me back, more of a friendly gesture than anything.

"So is this the world-famous girl author everybody is talking about?" said a woman's voice. I looked around and a tall woman with cropped, bleach-blonde hair was standing there. 

"It sure is. Kate, this is Ramona...sorry, Mona. Mona, this is my wife, Kate."

My world fell apart, for just a moment, then. Then it quickly knitted itself back together and I forced a smile on my face. 

"So you're Kate Chase! Wow, I'm a fan of yours, too," I said. 

I had known about Kate Chase for about as long as I had known about Simon Whatley. She was a famous artist and fashion designer, and beautiful in a strange androgynous kind of way. It had never occurred to me to feel guilty for having slept with Simon that night, even knowing that he had a wife -- a wife who I admired as much as I admired him. 

Why that was I couldn't be certain. Maybe because, for so long, I had thought that it would never happen again. Or maybe because a part of me thought that if Simon had been so willing to sleep with me that night, he and Kate must be in an open marriage. 

"Thanks. I guess I'm a fan of yours, now, too," she laughed. "Simon made me read your book. It's hard to believe you're so young. What are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-two," said Simon and I in unison. 

"Wow," Kate said with a grin.

"Hence the problem I'm having," I added. "My handlers kindly informed me that I should rent a car to get around the city, but it turns out I'm too young to get one."

"Ah, I see," said Simon. "Well, if you need a lift, I believe we're staying at the same hotel. Why don't you come with us?" 

I hesitated for only a second, looking over at Kate. "Sure," I finally managed. Picking up my things, I followed Simon and Kate out to their car. Simon opened the back door for me and I slipped inside. 

When we got to the hotel we went our separate ways. I found my room and got myself settled in. It's strange how easy it becomes, living your life going from city to city. But I had gotten used to it, and was starting to find that I liked it, no matter how difficult it could be sometimes. After a quick nap I woke up and, realizing it was barely two in the afternoon, decided to call a cab and see a little of what the city had to offer.

That evening I stumbled back to the hotel, my feet tired and my hands full of shopping bags. I was coming through the lobby of the hotel when I spotted Kate coming my way. She stopped when she saw me. 

"Mona? Is that you?" she asked.

I came up short. "Yeah," I said. 

"You look like you had fun," she said. "Hey, is that one of mine?" she said, pointing at one of the many shopping bags I was holding in my hands.

"Guilty," I laughed. "I did tell you that I was a fan."

"Ooh, exciting!" she said. "Hey, why don't you come to dinner with me and Simon? We were just going to head out, but we can wait for you if you'd like to get changed. You should wear my dress. It's only fair since I read your book," she teased.

And I slept with your husband, I thought, the first pang of guilt really starting to rear itself into my thoughts.

"Uhm...sure," I said. "Can you wait for about twenty minutes?"

"Of course. I'll be waiting with bated breath."

I rushed up to my room, and only when the door closed behind me did I let out the long breath that I had been holding. What the hell had I done? I thought. I had slept with a married man. It didn't matter that he was Simon Whatley. 

I picked up my phone, typing out my message quickly.

**Does she know?** I texted Simon.

I stood there, cradling the phone in my hands. Please say yes, I thought. It would be a weird situation -- one that I didn't know how to handle. But it would be better than this guilt. I had my eyes closed when I felt the phone buzz and looked down. I had received my answer, a single word.

**No.**

I decided to cancel, but then the image of Simon's face above mine came crawling back into my head. I didn't know when I was going to see him again, I thought. And even if it would wrack me with guilt, I couldn't bear the thought of missing this chance to be this close to him.

Tearing through the bags, I found the one marked Kate Chase, and pulled out the dress that I had bought that evening. It was a snug bandage dress, a pale jade green. I pulled it on, yanking my hair back into a ponytail and throwing on a pair of heels, then headed downstairs where Simon and Kate were both waiting. 

Simon's eyes took in my body hungrily, but it was Kate who voiced her admiration. "Wow," she said. "If you hadn't been a writer you could easily have become a model. You certainly have the body for it," she said. 

We had dinner at a small, private club surrounded by older, rich people. Kate and I stood out among the other women at the club. Kate was sexy in a way that was hard to define -- she was small breasted, and wore a top cut almost down to her navel over a pair of white slacks. I noticed for the first time that she wore hardly any makeup, except for a sheer coating of gloss on her lips. 

But her almost masculine exterior did nothing to keep her from being flirtatious, or charming, or womanly. In a strange way, I found myself attracted to her. But in the end, I only had eyes for Simon.

Simon -- roguish, mature, thoughtful, and unbelievably sexy in a t-shirt and black dinner jacket. I wanted to taste him, I wanted him to taste me. Sitting there, remembering that first night, I felt myself getting wet.

Dinner ended finally, and we all drove back to the hotel. "I'm off to bed," announced Kate as we came into the lobby. 

"If you don't mind," said Simon, "I was going to stay up a little and have a chat with Mona," he told her.

She waved her hand. "Oh, of course. Writery stuff. Boring. No offense," she said, grinning. "Have at it. I'll see you in the morning, love," she added, reaching over and kissing Simon deeply. "Night, Mona. Nice meeting you. You're a doll."

She went to the elevators and disappeared, leaving me and Simon alone together, at long last. He moved towards me, dropping his voice so that only I could hear him.

"I've been hard ever since you showed up in that little green dress," he whispered to me. "God. I've been waiting to fuck you for so long..."

And that was that. No pretense, no guilt, no wondering. We got the elevator and went to my room. He unzipped the dress and yanked me out of it, pressing me down on the bed. He dove down, covering my mouth with his. His tongue dove deeply into my mouth, caressing mine.

I pulled up his shirt, revealing his broad, slightly hairy chest. I slipped my head down, licking and sucking at his neck. My lips traced his collarbone, darting along and nuzzling his nipples.

He flipped us both over, and all of a sudden I was straddling him. I unhooked my bra and my breasts were revealed. He reached up, rubbing them. He pinched my nipples, already stiff and hard in my excitement, and started rolling them between his fingers. 

"Suck me...lick...oh!" I moaned aloud as he pulled me down, taking one nipple into his mouth and scraping it lightly with his teeth as he began to suck. He moved from one breast to another, and I felt the pressure building in my pussy without him even touching me. 

"Fuck, you really like that, don't you?" he murmured, pushing me up again. I lifted off of him, sliding out of my panties as he unbuckled his pants and slid them down his legs. His cock sprang out, hard and rigid and stiff. 

I laughed nervously. "Uhm...nipple play has always been kind of a...a favorite of mine," I said, blushing.

"Good. Because you have gorgeous nipples," he said. He pushed me down on the bed then, kneeling over top of me. He lightly traced the head of his cock over a nipple, leaving a shining trail of pre-cum behind. "Have you fucked anybody since you fucked me?" he asked.

"No," I said, watching as his cock slid over my skin. He moved up then, his cock pushing against my lips. I opened my mouth and let him slide deep inside me. 

He took it slowly. I suckled him as he pushed slowly in, then out, in and out, fucking my mouth as gently as he had my pussy when he knew it was my first time. I reached up, running my hands up and down his sides, trailing along the muscles of his stomach and pelvis. Finally he pulled out, kneeling between my legs.

He started kissing my knee, biting gently sometimes and other times using his tongue as he made his way up my thigh. I whimpered as he closed in on my pussy, but he simply kissed my moist slid as he passed it and started kissing up and down my belly. Then he came back down again, once again skipping my slit as he trailed his way back down to my other knee.

And then he made his way up again. Finally I felt his hot breath on my pussy. His tongue darted out, tasting how wet I was. Then his tongue slipped between my pussy lips and he started lapping, diving deep inside my hole and then flicking lightly at my clitoris with his tongue. He slid a finger inside me, fucking me as he continued to taste. Then the first finger was joined by a second, and a third.

Pressing deep, stretching me, he carried on until my legs were trembling and I was crying out. "Please, fuck me," I moaned.




Mentor Ch. 02



"Not yet," he managed, pulling himself away from me for just a moment. "Not until you come." Then his head disappeared again, in between my thighs. He was sucking on my clitoris, fingers fucking me. I laid back completely, grabbing the bedcovers. I felt my whole body tremble and then, all of a sudden, the first wave hit me. I cried out, thinking he would pull away, but he didn't. Instead his assault continued even more relentlessly and he pushed me on. I was screaming as I came, not once, not twice, but again and again. Orgasm after orgasm wracked my body as he sucked my pussy. Finally he pulled away and I lay back, taking several deep breaths.

He climbed over me, placing his lips over mine. I could taste my pussy on his tongue as he kissed me.

"Now," he said hoarsely. "Now, it's my turn," he said.

He pushed my knees open and I felt his weight on top of me as he knelt down. The head of his cock slid up against my slit and slowly he pressed inside me. I was still tight, but he didn't have as difficult time getting inside me as he had before. He sighed deeply once he was all inside, and slowly he began to thrust inside of me.

"No...harder," I said. "I want you to fuck me, Simon. Fuck me!" I said.

He nodded -- or at least, I think he did. Because no sooner than I had said that he pulled all the way out of me, until just the head remained inside, and then he plunged inside as quickly and as hard as he could. I cried out, and he did it again. 

At first he was slow and deliberate -- aching blow after aching blow ramming into my pussy. Then he leaned forward, pulling my legs up and hooking them over his shoulders as he started to pound himself into me. 

It was fast and furious. Sweat dripped from his chest down onto my stomach. Neither of us were thinking clearly. We were two of the intellectual elite -- masters of the written word -- and the only sounds we could make were animalistic, unintelligible groans. I felt another orgasm building up and cried out as he continued to pound me. He stopped as I cried out, his cock slipping from my pussy.

He laid his hand flat on my chest, sliding it down my belly and then laying it over my pussy, squeezing lightly. "Fuck, you're amazing," he said. 

Moving over, he laid down and reached over to me. Taking his cue, I moved over and straddled him. He aimed his cock at my pussy and I plunged down, hissing as he speared me yet again. He brought his knees up behind me and I leaned back against them as he started pumping his hips up and down, me riding his cock. 

He reached up, pinching my nipples hard as I continued to ride him. That was it, for me. The combined sensation of him playing with my breasts and his cock ramming in and out of me sent me hurtling over the edge into my largest orgasm of the night. It seemed that Simon had reached his breaking point too. 

He quickly pushed me off of him and got to his knees. I was laying on my side as he pumped his shaft, shooting thick white cum onto my breasts. I realized that he must have been telling the truth, about being hard all night. He came more than I thought was possibly, thick loads of it that ended up covering my breasts.

We both panted, coming down from our high. "I've got to take a shower before I go back to my room," he muttered. He held out his hand to me, and surprised at the gesture I came with him. He turned on the shower at full blast, hot the way I liked it, and stepped inside, pulling me after him. 

He kissed me under the spray, then reaching over grabbed a hand towel and squirted some sweet smelling soap onto it. He worked it into a lather and wiped off my breasts.

"I'm sorry..." he started. "I mean, I figured you weren't protected, and in the moment..."

"It's all right," I said. "I...I actually really liked it," I said, blushing. He continued washing me, then quickly rinsed himself off before turning off the steam. He went back into the room and quickly dressed. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, kissing me one last time before he went through the door.



Mentor Ch. 03



The taxi pulled away, leaving me at the bottom of the long concrete stairway that led up to the majestic, Frank Lloyd Wright inspired house in the woods. Everything was green and beautiful -- a true writer's paradise. My heart was racing, but not at the prospect of staying here for an entire two weeks. No, it was the thought of who lived inside that house, who would the door and greet me, that was setting every nerve in my body on edge. 

I set off up the concrete path, coming to the front door. I rapped on it twice, and barely had time to catch my breath before Simon was there, his mouth sinking down over mine, his arms wrapping around my waist as his tongue plunged deep into my mouth. 

He pulled me inside, and somehow we managed to get the front door closed and locked. "I've missed you," he murmured.

"You too," I said, before he bent down to kiss me again. 

It was spring, again. Over a year had passed since the first time we met. A year of friendly messages online and on the phone and, since that night in July, stolen evenings when we both happened to be in the same city, or near enough that traveling the distance didn't seem to count. 

Over a year, and I found myself dreaming of those stolen moments with Simon, when his body touched mine, when we were in private and nobody could see us or know how wrong we both were. Those moments when nothing else in the world, not our writing, not the people around us, mattered.

I had been forced to admit to my friends that I was seeing somebody, without telling them who it was. After all, how could I explain something like this? He was twenty-eight years older than me. He was married. He had a daughter who was only a year younger than me. And Patrick...

How could I tell him that our idol, the one who we had bonded over on long, literary evenings during college, was now the person I dreamed about when I laid down to touch myself at night?

It was an impossible thing, and we were both people who didn't believe in impossibilities. I'm certain we both knew it couldn't last, not in secret, not the way it was. But we were doing our best to make it last as long as it could.

In Chicago we had met after a author's panel. He fucked me long and hard, throughout the night, and because we were both alone in the city it was the first time that he stayed with me until the morning, when he kissed me and told me goodbye for another month.

Then there was the book reading and signing Simon did in my hometown. I met him there and took him back to my place, where I cooked him dinner and, as dessert, got down on my knees and sucked him until he came, all before ever moving the plates away from the dinner table.

The thing about it was, I quickly realized that he was becoming my mentor in more than just the field of writing. As my star bloomed and begun to rise in the literary world, I was becoming less shy and more adventurous during our times together. 

One time, in New York City, he took me to his room and revealed a set of metal nipple clamps that he had somehow managed to sneak through airport security. Either that or he somehow convinced his assistant to find a sex shop in the city and buy them for him. 

Either way, I learned what it meant to scream in pain and ecstasy at the same time, as he rode me furiously while the clamps bit sharply at my tender flesh.

I also learned to take chances. During that same trip, in New York City, he pulled up the window that separated us from his driver and knelt down on the floor in front of me. He licked my pussy tenderly, furiously, and I came just before the driver stopped to let us off at the Manhattan Book Convention.

It was around that time that I realized, to my horror, that I had fallen in love with him.

Simon Whatley, the impossible man, was quickly becoming the person who I felt most strongly about in the entire world. I felt like my life was hollow -- absent -- in the moments that he wasn't there. It wasn't healthy, I told myself. Not that it mattered.

I had never been in love before. I think now that perhaps I loved him before I ever even met him. Either way, it was a frightening and intense experience, and I was determined not to do or say anything more about it.

Simon pulled me further into his house, his hands roving down my body, pushing my blouse and bra up and exposing my breasts. He bent down hungrily, tongue and teeth devouring first one nipple and then the other, back and forth. Then, pushing me into the kitchen, he lifted me up and pushed my skirt up to my waist. Quickly he unzipped his pants, and without even undressing his thrust himself deep inside me.

So often, our experiences together were about my pleasure. I realized with a gasp that this time it was all about his. He thrust deeply, pounding into me as I leaned back on the table. His hands were grasping at my breasts, fingers digging in. I cried out as he pumped, gasping my name as he did so. 

My legs came up, wrapping around his waist. He used the new angle as leverage, pounding even harder now. I could feel him stretching me, pushing far deeper than he had ever gone. I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed as I let the sensations take over me. I didn't see his head come down, but all of a sudden I felt his tongue tracing lazily over my breast. Then all of a sudden he took my nipple between his teeth, biting it gently. 

I was wracked with a sudden orgasm. Sweat was now dripping down my chest. He reluctantly released my nipple, moving up to kiss me hard and deep. His tongue thrust in and out of my mouth with the same rhythm of his cock. 

Then he let go, and I whimpered in protest as he pulled out of my pussy. He pushed me back down, so I was laying back on the table, and came around the side. Grabbing a handful of my hair he pulled be back so my mouth was on level with his cock. "Relax," he sighed, just before he slid himself into my mouth and, still holding the back of my head, began to thrust in and out of me.

I had never been able to take him deeply before, but with the angle that I was at on the table I realized that with each subsequent thrust he was moving further down into the back of my throat. I did what he was told, thinking only of pleasuring him, as he finally managed to sleep his cock all the way inside me and down my throat. 

He groaned, reaching forward so he could grab my breasts while the other hand continued to pull on my hair. I reached one hand up, stroking the muscles of his chest and abdomen as they tightened, signaling his imminent release. 

Realizing he was about to come I managed to yank back, his cock falling from my mouth.

"I want it in me," I whispered.

Simon nodded, moving back around and pulling my legs up around him. He didn't miss a beat, thrusting his entire cock inside me in one move. He started pounding again, even harder than before though I'd thought that wasn't possible. He pushed my legs apart, spreading them as wide as he could get them, and slammed into me over and over again.

"You belong to me," he said hoarsely, still pumping his cock inside of me. "While you're here, this weekend, you are mine entirely."

"Your little...ugh...your little fuck slave," I managed.

That was enough for Simon. He groaned, and I felt warmth inside of me as he came. He kept his cock inside of me for a moment, leaning over. I felt it finally slide out as it grew flaccid, and finally he pulled away and zipped himself back up.

I gingerly got down, feeling his cum dripping out of my pussy and down my thigh. This was something new -- something we had only gotten to experience once before, since I had finally gotten to the doctor and had her put me on the pill.

"I need to go wash up," I said, reaching for my panties on the floor.

"No," he said. "Nobody is coming to the house today. I want you, just like this. Filled up with me, all day long. We can shower together tonight though, if you like."

Surprised, it took me a moment, but I finally nodded.

"And take the rest of your clothes off," he said, a wry smile coming over his face. He must have seen my shock this time, because he laughed.

"I promise, nobody else will see. This is just for you and me, Mona. I've been so long without you -- I just want to see you, every moment that I possibly can."

I laughed nervously, but trusting him I pulled my shirt and bra the rest of the way up over my head, pushing my skirt down my thighs and letting it fall to the floor. He looked at me appraisingly, smiling even more broadly.

"Ah yes," he murmured. He flicked a thumb across my left nipple. "This is my favorite," he said. "This freckle...this one right here..." He pressed his finger against a small brown spot just below the areola. "This freckle is magnificent."

His wife was going to be gone for the next month. On finding out that she would be spending so much time away from home, and that neither of us had any engagements lined up for the next two week stretch, Simon had immediately invited me to his house to stay.

To the rest of the world, I was simply a writer enjoying the company of another writer, making use of his lavish guest house. I had almost backed out when I realized that this trip wasn't going unnoticed by other writers, who now knew us both. To save face, and also because it would be fun for all involved, Simon had planned a dinner party for a handful of our contemporaries.

In the end, it had proved to be a smart move. He had been right in saying that I would soon be considered the "darling" of the literary world. Everybody wanted to meet me, to see the girl who had managed to break in where so many more seasoned professionals had failed.

This trip was also a celebration, in a way. My latest book had just been released, to critical acclaim, and like its predecessor it was slowly beginning to crawl up the bestseller charts. 

So there I was; bestselling author, child 

prodigy, and literary darling, sprawled out on Simon Whatley's couch completely naked, his cum drying against my skin and my hair plastered in sweaty disarray against my skin.

"Lemonade?" he offered, coming through the kitchen with a tall glass, perfectly garnished with mint.

"How perfect," I purred, taking it from him as he sat down across from me, watching in admiration.

We turned off our cell phones, shut down our computers, and spent that day dedicated to each other. It was a glorious experience. After lunch, Simon spent hours on his knees pleasuring me, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm. I followed suit by sucking his cock, letting his cum explode inside my mouth. And finally, late that evening, he led me up to his bed and laid me down.

In the many times that we had been together, we had been slow and cautious, and furious and eager. This time he fucked me with agonizing sweetness, thrusting his cock in and out of me deliberately and slowly. As he came, I finally understood everything. He collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the soft mattress.

"You love me," I whispered.

Simon lifted up slightly, his face just inches above mine.

"You love me," he whispered back.

He rolled over, and I curled up beside him, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

We finally showered in the morning, and reluctantly I pulled a yellow dress out of my suitcase and slipped it on before climbing downstairs to find Simon in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, holding aloft a newspaper and drinking coffee. When he heard me coming he looked up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Finally awake! I have a surprise for you!" he said. 

"Oh?" I closed the distance, kissing him deeply. "What is it?"

"This." He laid the newspaper down on the table, pointing at a line of script near the very top of the page. It took me a moment to realize why he was showing me the Bestseller list -- then I realized that, firmly nestled in the number one spot, was my book.

"What?" I screeched, picking up the paper.

"I knew you could do it," he said.

"I'm number one?" I said. Then, overwhelmed, I sank down into a chair. Without realizing that it was coming I burst out crying, happy tears, sliding wetly down my cheeks. Simon came around and hugged me tight, kissing me hair.

"Are you all right?" he chuckled.

"I...I'm fine," I said. "It's just so...I just can't....it's everything I always dreamed of, coming true. And it's almost too much to bear."

Simon fixed his gaze on mine. His smile had faded a little, and sitting back down on his chair he shifted closer to me. "You always seem so sad, when the happiest things happen. The first time I saw you, that night at the awards ceremony, you were close to crying. Why is that?"

"It's just..." I paused, wondering if I should continue. "It's just that I always felt like such a failure, growing up. I don't think anybody ever expected much from me. I was the poor girl, from the broken home. Broken and battered. And now...now that I've actually done something, there's nobody here to see it. Nobody here to care."

He came round to me, resting his hand on the top of my head and leaning down to place his lips on mine. "I'm here to care. Always, Mona."

And then, without even thinking, I told him everything that I had held back during this entire year-long odyssey between the two of us. I told him about the mother who had left, just before my thirteenth birthday. I told him about my father, who died a year before my book was published. The rest of my family, who had been too involved in their own lives to give me a moment's time or make me feel loved.

I even told him about Sarah and Patrick -- my loving, devoted friends, whose only fault was in living their own lives, and not having the room to let me be a part of it.

Simon listened quietly, reaching out and taking my hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "Well, no matter what happens," he said, "You're a part of my life, Mona. And I'm not letting you go anywhere." Then, his face fell. "But you need to understand, me and Kate..."

"I've thought about that," I said, the tears now drying up as I tried to catch my breath. "And...I understand. The two of us...we don't fit into any neat little box. There's no real way for us to define what we are, and what we have. So I'd rather not define it."

"I do love you. In a way that I've never loved anyone before."

"And I love you," I said. "In a way that I'll never love anyone else again."

He kissed me sweetly. "Come on. Let's get a celebration breakfast," he said.

The town that surrounded Simon's house was incredibly small -- it was just the out of the way sort of place that every writer needed, I thought, to feel like they could get away from the world. He took me in his car to a small café and guided me right to the back. A middle-aged waitress came over, immediately filling up two cups of coffee and plunking them down on our table.

"Good to see you Simon. Is this Ramona Blackburn? You know the whole town is buzzing -- you hit the top of the bestseller list today."

"I saw," I said, smiling.

"You're lucky, to have a man like Simon take you under his wing," she said with a nod, getting out her notepad to take our orders. "Fine man, and a damned good writer. So what would you like?"

We ordered and she disappeared. While she was away he managed to give my hand an affectionate squeeze -- our last show of affection for the day, it turned out, because after that he was taking me to all his favorite haunts, introducing me to the friends that he had developed over years of living in the place.

Nobody seemed to think any more of our relationship than it appeared to be, at the surface -- a seasoned professional, taking a younger one under his wing.

Of course, all the distance that we put between ourselves only made us more ravenous for each other by the time we returned to his house. 

We were both naked, him pressing me down on the bed, when I asked something that until that moment had been unthinkable. "Simon..." I said, as his cock began to trace its way along my slit.

"Mmm..." he murmured.

"I want...I need...Simon, fuck my ass," I managed, almost breaking down as I got the words out. He froze above me.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I nodded, and he leaned over and kissed me. Then he got up off the bed. I sat up to see what he was doing, realizing that he was pulling a small container of lubrication from the bedside table. As he peeled the plastic away I saw that it had never been opened, wondering if he had bought it just for our weekend together.

"Hands and knees," he said, and I did as he told me to. Then he moved me around, positioning me so that he was standing behind me. I felt nothing for a long moment, and then there was the cold wetness of the lube as he smeared a dollop around the crease of my asshole. His finger slid in then, and like he had done with me our first night together he fucked me with it slowly. After a while he added a second finger, and then another.

I was moaning with pleasure, surprised and delighted that something I had always said I would never -- could never -- do was bringing me such overwhelming ecstasy. I whimpered when his fingers suddenly disappeared, but the emptiness in that hole disappeared suddenly at I felt his cock pressing against me.

He pushed slowly. I whimpered again, this time in pain. Then the head of his cock pushed in and I cried out, first in alarm and then in pleasure, as he pushed his way deep inside. He groaned. Even though he was still pushing he wasn't moving.

"You need to relax," he whispered, running his hand down my back. "This will be better for both of us if you do."

I nodded, and took several deep breaths. I felt his cock slip further in then, and finally he began to pull back and thrust in again. I had thought his cock filled me up before -- I hadn't even been able to imagine that it could be like this. He kept on thrusting, and I buried my face in the pillows as I cried out.

Starting out gentle, he slowly began to get rougher. Eventually his hips were slapping against my ass as he held on to me, pounding deeply. He came deep inside me, filling my ass with his hot cream. I fell forward onto the bed and he stepped back. With me laying on the bed, and him standing beside it, he reached forward and slid his fingers into my dripping pussy. Thrusting into me, and playing with my clit, he pushed me to my own orgasm, and when we had both cum he fell down beside me on the bed.



Mentor Ch. 04



"My daughter is coming up today," said Simon, over our morning coffee.

I looked up, surprised. I didn't think she was supposed to come until the dinner party, which was still five days away. Seeing this, he shrugged.

"The girl has a way of springing surprises on me. She's just like her father, I suppose," he added.

"So I guess I'm moving back to the guest house," I said with a sigh. The prospect disappointed me, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause trouble for Simon and his family. He nodded.

"It would be best. But she won't be staying in the house the entire time. She has a lot of friends in the area. I don't have any doubt that she'll spend most of the next few days visiting them, and staying away from her boring old dad and his boring old writing friends as possible."

"Boring writer friends?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Present, charming company being the exception, of course."

We got my things to the guest house and Simon left, heading to the airport to pick up Samantha. I knew he would be gone for at least two hours, possibly three, so for the first time in the long week since I had been there I fired up my computer and got to work on book number three. 

I didn't expect to actually get anything done, and true to that I spent the first twenty minutes staring at a blank page in my word processer, wondering where I could possibly begin. Then, an idea struck. And then, another idea. My fingers started to fly across the keyboard, filling up that blank page, and I had already typed close to five-thousand words worth of my story when I heard a car pull up outside and moved to look out the window.

Simon got out of his car, followed closely by a woman around my age with very long and very straight black hair that fell straight down to her waist. She was wistfully pretty- like a fairy tale princess. For the first time, in a long while, I felt slightly self-conscious. I was wearing battered old jeans and a light sweater, my ginger red hair pulled up into a messy bun and black-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on my nose.

Not that I would be competing with her, I reminded myself. She was his daughter, after all.

And that was when, for the first time really, the age difference between myself and Simon really hit home.

"He's old enough to be my father," I muttered. "Older than my father," I corrected, thinking of my own beloved dad, dead in the ground at forty-five. And Becky was only a couple of years younger than me – a fresh, young twenty years old.

I went back to my writing, not wanting to interrupt their family reunion. Another two hours passed, and another few thousand words, when I heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. Simon was standing there, his arm around Becky's waist.

"Oh my gosh! It's really you!" she said. "I told my friends you were staying at my place for a little while, and they didn't believe me. We're all big fans!"

"Uhm..." I pulled the glasses off my face, offering her my hand. "So you're Becky, right? Nice to meet you."

Becky squealed, taking my hand and shaking it enthusiastically. Then she spotted my computer, with all those words splashed across the page. "Is that the next in the series?" she said, almost stammering with excitement. "Oh my gosh! Can I.."

"No. You can't read it," said Simon, putting his hand on her shoulder as if she would have darted into the room and looked if he hadn't stopped her. From the way she was bouncing on her heels, I thought that might be the case.

"Oh, come on. Just a peek?" she wheedled.

I looked at Simon and smiled. "Maybe I can show you my notes, later," I said. "But not the actual story. Nobody, even Simon, sees it until its published."

"Oh, all right," she said, not seeming displeased at all. "I wanted to come right on over, but dad said that you were busy. Are you going to come and have lunch with us?" she asked.

"Uhm...I'd actually really love that," said Simon. "Unless you're too caught up with your work."

"Not at all. In fact, I just came to a great stopping point," I said. I went to the computer, saving my work and closing it down. Then I followed Simon and Becky back down to the house.

Over lunch, I saw what Simon had said when he told me that Becky was very much like him, in many ways. She was a happy, cheerful person, and despite my original misgivings about spending so much time around her, when I was having an affair with her father, I realized that I genuinely liked her.

"I can't imagine doing something as awesome as you've done, at your age," she said as she tucked into her pasta primavera. "Even dad didn't publish his first book until he was twenty-eight."

"Twenty-seven," he corrected with a glare.

Becky rolled her eyes. "Whatever, close enough," she said. "You're going to be like...a legend," she said.

"I don't know about that," I said.

"Oh come on. Is it true that there's a movie deal in the works for the first book? That's what they're buzzing about on all the blogs."

"Well..." I glanced over at Simon, surprised that I hadn't even thought to share this information with him. "My agent is in talks with Warner Brothers and Paramount right now. But I don't want to sign on the dotted line until the third book is finished."

"A movie deal," he said, nodding. "Very impressive. Our little Mona is really going places."

"So have you heard from Kate?" asked Becky, turning to Simon. "I feel like I haven't seen her in forever."

"You haven't seen her since Christmas," said Simon. "I called her on the drive over to pick you up. She's doing fine. They're going to be doing some shows in Tokyo, then Milan. After that she's doing an art show in New York before heading home."

"Mom finally bought her first Kate Chase original," Becky joked. "The long, blue gown she released on her winter line."

"Ah, good to see your mother is finally trying to catch a younger man," Simon joked. 

Becky rolled her eyes, turning to me. "My mom is a total cougar," she said. 

"My ex-wife and I divorced about five years after Becky here was born. Since then, she's dated every young model on the face of the planet. And she's the one who introduced me to Kate," he added.

"Your ex-wife introduced you to your current wife?" I asked, interested despite the subject matter.

"We're a weird family," said Becky with a laugh.

You have no idea, I thought, looking over at Simon.

"So hey," said Becky, "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go shopping or something? I'm sure dad's showed you around here, but he doesn't know the sort of things a girl likes to see when she's on vacation."

"Uhm, sure," I said, then realizing just how long it had been since I went shopping with any of my friends, added, "that would be great, actually."

"Awesome! How about tomorrow afternoon?" When I nodded she squealed, yet again. "I'm going shopping with Ramona Blackburn!" she said. "How awesome is that?"

The next day I woke up bright and early. I missed the fact that I wouldn't get to share coffee with Simon, or indulge in the morning sex that I had gotten used to, but with that possibility taken away from me I instead settled down with my computer and started writing. I seem to have hit my writing streak – the words were flowing out of me, the story forming itself as if by magic on the page. 

I thought an hour or two had passed, and was surprised when I heard a knock at the door to realize that it was already after noon. I made my way over, pulling it open to see Becky standing there in skinny jeans, high heels, and a flirty ruffled top. She looked me over, taking in my old jeans and university sweatshirt.

"I was writing," I said, in defense of myself. Becky laughed.

"Oh, no problem. But you might want to change. We're going Uptown."

"Ah. Right," I said. I stepped back, inviting her in. "Just give me a second," said, leaving the room. Then, realizing I had left the computer running, poked my head back into see her leaning over the computer. "No peeking!" I called out. 

Becky groaned dramatically and I laughed. I went to my suitcase, picking out a nicer pair of jeans and a light blue top. Considering what my activities had mostly been for the past week, hardly any of the clothes that I had packed for my trip had even been worn. I slipped the clothes on and came back outside, surely enough to see Becky settled in front of the computer.

"Sorry! I couldn't resist," she said. Then she sighed. "The story is just...awesome. I can't even...wow."

"Thanks," I said, taking the computer back from her. 

Then, Becky looked at me, her eyes widening. "And you're really pretty, too," she said. "You're so lucky. I have no talent and I'm nowhere near as gorgeous as you are."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "I'd kill for long, black hair like that. Everybody called me the leprechaun growing up. Then I got too tall and everybody called me the Jolly Red Giant."

"So do you have a boyfriend?" she asked as we made our way outside, following the path from the guest house and down to the driveway.

"Not right now," I said, thinking of Simon sitting up in the house and probably working on some of his own writing.

"Why not? You're rich, famous, and gorgeous."

I shrugged. "I guess I'm just too busy, now," I said. And I was surprised to find that, in a way, this was true. This had always been true, and was the reason I had never been involved in a serious relationship before in my life. After my dad had died, I devoted myself to my studies in college.

I was an all A student, top of my class. And then, during the one summer that I had had any time to myself, I had gotten the wild idea to start writing my book. Then it had been published, and I spent he long hot summer after my college graduation driving myself in my old, battered Toyota from town to town across the country, promoting it.

Then, somehow, the book had become famous, and the car rides had turned to airplane rides, and my life had really taken off. 

"Well, you'll find someone," she said, sliding into the driver's seat of her car. I got in after her and watched the house disappear as we drove through the small town and out onto the highway, which Becky took at breakneck speed until we found ourselves entering what looked to be one of the richer areas around there.

We pulled up at a large mall, parking inside a large parking garage. It wasn't until we took a few steps inside that I realized just what kind of place that she had brought me too. 

Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana, Prada, Valentino – and, prominently, the Kate Chase boutique – all lined either side of the massive, modern brick corridors. Men who looked like they could be models and young and older women in designer labels walked along, all acting as if they were preening for invisible cameras.

"You really did mean Uptown," I said in astonishment.

Becky shrugged. "You can afford it, can't you?" Then she froze, looking mortified. "I mean...I just assumed..."

"No, I can afford it," I quickly assured her. I hadn't even checked the state of my bank accounts in a month or so, but knew for a fact that I was now settled well into the seven figures. "I just...haven't, yet," I said. "Except I did buy one of Kate's dresses, back last year when I had dinner with the both of them."

"Yeah, Kate told me about that. She also told me you had the figure of a model and didn't even know it," she said. "Come on. Dolce and Gabbana first, then maybe we'll stop in and get you something at Burberry."

The shopping was a whirlwind experience, if ever there was one. Becky prodded me into trying on jeans that were more expensive than my high school prom dress, coats that cost more than my laptop, and, finally, dresses that cost more than my first car.

We were standing in the middle of the store as a handful of shop ladies hovered around me. Becky had picked out a black gown for herself. "I need a new one for the book awards this fall," she said. "Kate's going to be out of the country again, so dad is taking me."

I felt a little pang in my chest, wishing that it was me that he could take with him. Then I thought of that periwinkle gown I had been wearing, so long ago, on the night when Simon had taken my virginity. I felt my face flush with the memory, but thankfully nobody was paying attention to me at that time. Finally, though, the shop ladies turned their attention my way.

"Now, what about you?" asked Becky.

"I don't need..."

"Of course you do," she said cheerfully. "You're going to have lots of book awards coming up, now that it's hit number one on the charts. So don't say anything, and let's have a look."

I sighed, but realized that Becky was probably right. So I went to the back of the story, where dress after dress was brought out to me. Becky turned as many of them away as I did, deciding for me. It didn't bother me as much as I thought it might, especially since it was starting to feel as if I had a real friend – one who wasn't too concerned with work, or family, or having babies, to spend time with me. 

We had already picked out three gowns when the last, and best, was brought out in front of us. It was a deep sapphire blue, closely fitted and low cut. "You're trying that on!" hissed Becky, 

her eyes wide open in admiration. 

I did. And immediately, I knew that I had to have the dress. It hugged my every curve to perfection, pressing my breasts up and together. The cut in the back hugged my waist and curved down, almost revealing the top curve of my ass. I felt sexier than I ever had, when I wasn't with Simon. "It's mine," I breathed, making Becky laugh.

So I handed over my card, trying not to let the poor girl that was still buried deep inside me protest, and took the dress – along with my other purchases – back to Simon's guest house.

I saw Simon very little over the next few days, becoming closer and closer to Becky as she dragged me to all her own favorite places to see more of the town. On the third day, Becky decided that we were both going to go to a cocktail party with some of her friends. Confessing that he had missed out on a lot of writing, and giving me a 

knowing wink, he sent us on our way.

I was wearing a little red dress, another find from my shopping day with Becky, as we drove up to a large mansion on a hill, an hour away from Simon's house. 

"These are definitely not my kind of people," I observed. "I came from this small town...middle of nowhere sort of place."

"Well, they're your kind of people now," said Becky. "And it's not as bad as it looks. They aren't stuffy or stuck up, I promise. Most of these people are already out of college – young 

professional types."

I was nodding as she parked, although I had my doubts. I got out of the car and made my way up the curve of a small hill, Becky leading the way. She wrang the doorbell and a man who was only a little older than me answered, smiling at Becky 

and then looking past her to appraise me.

"Becky, nice to see you could come. And who is your lovely friend?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could announce to the world who I was I put out my hand and shook it. "Mona. Mona Black," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Charmed," he said, grinning. He stepped aside and let me and Becky in. 

I saw quickly that Becky had probably decided to come to this particular party for my benefit. Although there were a few people her age around, most were older even than me. I guessed the average age of the people there to be in their late twenties. The men wore dinner jackets and ties, and with very few exceptions almost all the women were dressed in classic black.

"Mona Black?" said Becky, seeming amused.

I shrugged, laughing it off. "It's still weird, everybody knowing who I am. Let this be my night of anonymity."

"Whatever floats your boat," said Becky. She took me around the room, and I quickly realized that most of the people there who weren't professionals in their own right were the offspring of somebody big and important. I met heirs and heiresses, professors, engineers, doctors, and even an inventor who had made it big on a slew of direct to television products.

Surprisingly, they were all nice – something I hadn't really expected. I was in the middle of a drink when I suddenly heard the name of my book brought up in conversation nearby. 

Becky was busy, talking to a young (and very attractive) dentist, so I slipped away unnoticed to stand next to the group that was discussing it.

"It's literary garbage," said one bored looking man. "Just awful. Everybody is talking about how wonderful it is, the author is...what is it, twenty-four, twenty-five? Something like that? Really, it's just a bunch of thrown together allusions to ancient myth with a handful of carbon copy characters, and..."

"It's not really that bad," said a young woman. "I got a laugh out of it."

"And you aren't just jealous because your own book got turned down...again?" said a different man. He looked to be about thirty, with pale blonde hair and a chiseled face. The others turned to look at him in surprise.

"Cameron..."

"No, please, go on," said the man. "Criticize it all you want. But I think you should be able to defend your arguments. Personally, I think the book is pioneering. The characters aren't cardboard cut outs – they're lively and engaging."

Becky had finally heard what was being said and she came over. Her eyes widened when she realized that my book was being discussed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but I put my finger up to my lips to silence her. 

Although I had heard criticisms of my books before – everybody has critics – this was the first time that I had heard my books criticized, right to my face. I had been shaking with fury when all of a sudden this mysterious man had started to speak. 

"And furthermore," he said, "She manages to be original and unique without forcing it down the reader's throat. That is very rare in fiction these days. Unlike your fiction, Jack, which is precisely why it's never been published."

There was a smattering of applause by the people gathered around and the man, who I assumed to be Jack, took the arm of the woman who had been talking and led her away. 

"Way to go, Cameron!" said Becky. He turned around, spotting her. When he did he smiled.

"How's Miss Whatley?" he said, coming over and giving her a huge hug.

"Better now that I'm seeing you! I had no idea you were going to be in town." She turned around, facing me. "Mona? This is Cameron Parker. He teaches literature at Harvard."

"Mona? Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand toward mine. "And what do you do?"

"I...have my BA in English," I said. "But I write, too," I added. From over Cameron's shoulder Becky winked at me, and it was difficult for me not to laugh.

"And she's really good!" said Becky.

Cameron looked suddenly at me, and then at Becky. "Excuse us for a moment," he said, releasing my hand as he pulled Becky aside. He said something to her in a tone of voice too low for me to hear, and all of a sudden she laughed. They continued talking for a few moments, and finally they came back over.

"Cameron thought you might be using me to get to dad," she said, rolling her eyes. "I set him straight. Dad was the one who introduced me to you, isn't that right Mona?"

"Oh!" I laughed. "Yes, exactly."

"Well, that's good to hear," he said. "I'm sorry 

if I was being presumptuous."

"Not at all. Ooh! Excuse me, I have someone I want to talk to," said Becky, and with that she moved away across the crowded room, leaving me alone with Cameron. 

"Have you known her long?" I asked.

Cameron laughed. "Years," he said. "My father was Theodore Parker."

"The Theodore Parker?" I said with a gasp. "He's...he..."

"Exactly," he said. "Back when I was young, my father and Simon would spend hours working on material in our den. It was my job to watch over Becky. She annoyed the hell out of me at first, but over time she turned into...well, she's like a little sister to me. Hey, it's stuffy in here...want to move out to the balcony?" he asked.




Mentor Ch. 04



He turned, and surprising myself I followed him outside. He pushed through a pair of glass doors, where we were standing on a wide balcony. 

"So you're a fan of my father, and you're a fan of Simon Whatley," he said. "I take it you're a fan of Ramona Blackburn, and that's why you were eavesdropping on that conversation with my dear friend Jack?" he said.

"Something like that," I laughed. 

Cameron turned, looking up at the stars. "If my father were alive, I know he'd be saying the same thing that I am...that woman is going to change the world of writing as we know it. There's...magic in those books. It's like nothing we've seen since Simon released the Hexadrome series. Or since Rowling released Harry Potter."

"You're in love with those books," I said with a laugh.

"Yes, maybe," he said. "Or maybe I'm just in love with the writer. It's insane, isn't it? I've been begging Simon to introduce me to her for ages, ever since I heard he'd met her at the Rives Gander awards." He turned around, fixing his eyes on me. "Do you think that's crazy?" he said. "Being in love with somebody you've never met, just because of how beautiful their words are? How beautiful they are?"

And that was when it hit me. He was staring straight at me, his pale blue eyes boring down into mine. And the space closed between us. His lips closed gently down over mine, kissing me softly and tenderly there in the pale moonlight. I felt my heart begin to flutter and I pulled away, gasping.

"You...knew?" I asked.

"Not until you said you knew who Theodore Parker was," he said. "Until that moment, I just thought that you were amazingly beautiful and looked just like her. But hardly anybody remembers my dad's work."

I stared at him for a long moment, shaking my head. "Excuse me, I have to go find Becky," I said. I moved away and Cameron reached out to grab my arm.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"Don't be, it was lovely. It just wasn't...right. Not now. Not....I'm sorry," I said again. Finding Becky talking to a trio of young, eligible gentlemen, I told her we needed to leave. She looked concerned but didn't ask why, and we made our goodbyes to the host before heading outside and finding the car. 

"Wasn't Cameron nice?" she asked.

"He...was," I admitted. "You were trying to set us up, weren't you?" I asked.

"A little," she said sheepishly. "Did it work?"

I thought about it for a moment, whether I should tell her. Then I sighed. "He kissed me. And it was wonderful," I said.

Becky laughed, pushing the gas pedal and speeding the car up as a way of celebrating. I reached out, grabbing hold of the door handle. She glanced over at me. "Uh oh," she intoned. "There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"I...well, there is. I'm in love with somebody. But it's one of those...it's..." I gave up trying to explain, shrugging. "It just is."

"Oh. One of those," said Becky sympathetically. 

We pulled up to the house. Becky waved goodbye as I entered the guest house. I stopped short, seeing a light as I entered. Simon was stretched out on the sofa, wearing his pajamas and dressing gown. Feeling my heart tighten in my chest, I leaned over him. He was deeply asleep. I slid off his glasses, and reaching down I kissed him lightly.

"I love you, you impossible man," I said. As I did, his eyes flitted groggily open. He looked up at me, smiling. 

"I tried to wait up for you," he said. "It doesn't appear to have worked." He reached up, undoing my hair so it swung down over my shoulder like a bright red mane. 

"I love you," I said again. "But Simon..."

He sat up. "Mona..."

"Simon." Tears had been threatening to spill from my eyes all during the car ride home, and now they flowed freely down my cheeks. "I love you, more than I've loved anyone. But I think it's time to say goodbye."

Simon closed his eyes, the smile leaving his face suddenly. I bent down and kissed him, deeply and sweetly, and he twined his hands through my hair as he kissed me.

"I'll...stay through the dinner party tomorrow," I said. "And after that...I think it's time to leave."

He pulled me down onto the couch, still kissing me. "I know," he whispered. "I know." His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my dress up. We slid down to the floor together and he knelt above me, pushing his pants down. Then he sat back and pulled me up, positioning me over him. He pierced deep inside me and wrapped his arm around my back. 

I rocked on top of him, riding him gently. We were joined together, interminably, body and heart and soul. "I love you," we each whispered, again and again and again. Finally he came inside me, moaning as if his heart was tearing away from his body. 

I leaned my head down on his shoulder. And when I turned, I saw her face at the window. Her mouth formed in a perfect 'O' of shock and horror. She ran away before I could say anything, and then I turned back to Simon. It wasn't my place, I thought. It wasn't the time. 

"You will always be my first great love," I whispered into his ear.

He leaned in closer, nuzzling my neck.

"And you will always be my last," he said.