28
1027 Words
I dissolve into laughter. “You’re deranged.”
Her voice turns dry. “Twenty years of marriage to a man who thinks foreplay is standing at the edge of the bed and sticking his limp wang in my face when I’m about to fall asleep would make any woman deranged.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, don’t get me started. But listen.”
The change in her tone has me worried. “What?”
“Just…be careful. I know you set ground rules and you’ve both agreed it’s not gonna get personal, but s*x has a way of complicating things. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
A faint warning bell goes off in the back of my mind, the same urgent alarm I heard last night when I was falling apart in James’s arms. I push it aside.
“Don’t worry. My eyes are wide open. I actually think this is going to be good for me. Clear out the cobwebs, so to speak. I woke up this morning and wrote five chapters of a new book.”
Kelly’s excited whoop is ear-piercing. “That’s amazing!”
I grin. “I know. I’m feeling really good about it, too. It’s much different from my usual work, but I think it could be some of my best.”
“Holy s**t, Olivia, I’m so happy for you! This is exactly why you went to Paris in the first place! Who knew all you needed was some legendary d**k to get your brain kick-started?”
Her excitement is infectious, and I laugh again. “Technically, I haven’t had his legendary d**k yet, just a legendary orgasm.”
“Jesus, think what will happen when you have intercourse with this guy! You could end up writing the next great American novel. If you win the Pulitzer, you’ll have to go on stage and give all the credit to your vacation hookup’s lovely penis.”
I picture myself in an evening gown on stage in a crowded amphitheater, accepting an award from a dapper gentleman in a tuxedo, then turning to the podium to give a heartfelt speech of gratitude to James’s wonderfully inspiring genitals while the audience looks on with their mouths hanging open.
The imagery is interrupted when another call rings through. When I glance at the screen, I see that it’s James.
“Kell, Mr. Legendary d**k is calling. Can I call you back?”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And don’t forget—take good notes.”
She ends the call, leaving me smiling. I click over to James.
“Hello?”
“You’re smiling,” he says, his tone warm.
I turn and look out the living room windows. “How did you know that? Are you looking at me through binoculars right now?”
“I can hear it in your voice.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes, really. Did you know you look like an angel when you’re asleep?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I wander over to the sofa and sit down, smoothing my hand over the spot on the middle cushion where James held me in his lap. “I don’t believe anyone has made that observation before, no.”
“Well, you do. A pornographic angel, if there is such a thing. I was worried I’d have to seek medical attention today because my d**k stayed hard the entire night.”
I whisper, “I noticed that.”
After a beat, he whispers gruffly back, “You’re so f*****g beautiful. Your skin makes me want to cry.”
I grin, blushing furiously. “I know that’s a line from a song, Romeo.”
“Damn. You caught me. My script writers are on break. Bonus points for effort, though?”
“You don’t sound the least bit sorry, so no bonus points.”
“Hmm. What if I told you I’m hard right now just from hearing your voice?”
“Less romantic, but more realistic. I’ll give you one point.”
His voice turns teasing. “Oh, it’s romance you want, is it? And here I thought you were only after me for my body.”
“Your incredible body, yes, I’m sorry to say that’s all I’m interested in. By the way, I wanted to ask you about something.”
“What?”
“That tattoo on your shoulder. It was too dark last night for me to read it. What does it say?”
His hesitation is a sudden crackle of tension over the line. “Duris dura fraguntur.”
It’s Latin, I know that much. I also know by the change in his voice that I’ve stepped into dangerous territory, but I can’t help but step farther. My curiosity is too strong. “What does it mean?”
He answers in a low voice. “Hard things are broken by hard things.”
I think of the simple italic text tattooed onto the rounded muscle of his shoulder. Beneath it were two mysterious rows of short black lines, like a bar code.
An eerie uneasiness creeps over me, as if someone has stepped over my grave.
“Oh.”
We sit in awkward silence, until he says, “I noticed you don’t have any tattoos.”
It’s as elegant a segue as possible, considering the circumstances, so I go with it. “I’m not a big fan of needles.”
His voice warms. “That’s right. You said you’re not into pain.”
“Of any kind. I’m a big baby when it comes to physical pain. A hangnail can send me into a crying fit.”
“So can an orgasm.”
I know he’s only teasing because his tone is strokingly soft, but still I’m embarrassed. My ears start to burn.
He guesses why I’m silent. “Don’t be embarrassed. I hope to make you cry as often as possible from now until September.”
Picturing myself weeping every time he touches me makes me nervous. Dropping my head into my hand, I groan. “I have a bad feeling I’m going to need a lot of tissues.”
- Writer
