by Drew Sera
J.P.
J.P.,
Is it a lot different to top a male versus a female? Do you prefer one over the other? Let me know if my questions are too personal.
Amy
Amy,
Your questions aren’t too personal. Don’t worry about that. I don’t have a preference. They are a little different, in my opinion and it depends upon what I’m looking for on that evening. If I’m in the mood to be heavy-handed, I’ll typically try to top a male submissive. But if I’m in a playful mood and just want to hear some playful screams, I’ll pick a female. Sometimes I want to cane breasts, so a female is in order. If I want to really humiliate someone, I’ll usually select males.
J.P.,
Thanks for sharing that with me. I noticed most of the females in your pictures are in rope, and the males are in chains. Is that just a coincidence or is there reasoning behind it?
Amy
I smiled at her observation about the rope and chains and the gender of the subs I play with. I loved the way rope looked on the female form. In my eyes, rope complimented them better. On the flip side of that coin, there was nothing more raw or animalistic than a man in chains. I explained this in a lengthy message back to Amy. She seems accepting and understanding of my lifestyle.
Chapter 4
February
Amy
I went to bed pondering my characters, Nick and Rebecca, and woke up still thinking about them. Another restless night of sleep thanks to these two characters. I pulled myself out of bed and went through my morning routine of getting dressed and ready for the day. Even though I worked from home, I was one of those people who had to be fully dressed, makeup and all.
Eventually, I found myself with my Vanilla Coke, sitting on the patio. I ran through some possible directions for Nick and Rebecca while keeping my eye on the clock. J.P. often replied to my messages early in the morning. I think it’s convenient for him to respond to them in the morning before he heads out to work. I’ve been wondering now for a while what he does for a living. We’ve been talking almost every day now for a little over a month.
Once in my home office, I logged onto Kinky Links and saw the message waiting for me from J.P. It’s been bringing a smile to my face each time I see a message from him.
Hi Amy,
I downloaded Paris last night. Hope you have a productive day in your writing cave.
J.P.
Stunned, I sat back in my chair. The sadist downloaded my first book. My first, very sappy, office romance overflowing with sweetness. I grabbed my cell phone and found my most recent text string with Samantha.
Amy: J.P. downloaded Paris.
Samantha: Whoa. I wonder if he realized it was a heartbreaking romance.
Amy: He seems educated enough to know how to read and comprehend a book description. So, I think he knew what it was.
Samantha: I think he’s just trying to get a feel for your writing style.
Amy: Yeah, bad idea. Especially since he’s giving me pointers on a dark BDSM romance. Very different than the fluffy, coffee and candy goodness that my other books ooze.
Samantha: Relax, he’s just reading. Men can read romances. They can actually write them too.
I rolled my eyes at the phone and tossed it to the side. Sam wasn’t telling me anything that I didn’t already know.
Samantha: By the way…don’t kill me but…
I grabbed my phone when I saw that little message dance across the screen.
Samantha: I booked you for Sinfully Sensuous in San Diego.
I frowned. I don’t know why she thought I’d be upset or annoyed at that. I was excited to attend another book event. I started my text back to her.
Amy: That’s excellent news, thank you. I’m excited to go to another one of these events. Why did you think I would be annoyed?
Samantha: It’s Saturday. THIS Saturday.
I could only stare at the phone in disbelief. When the screen changed from the text screen to show me that I had an incoming call from Sam, I contemplated not answering.
“Why?” I asked as my way of greeting her.
“It’s a fabulous opportunity, Aims! There’s going to be lots of dark romance authors there, and it will be good exposure.”
I sat quietly while staring at the calendar on my wall. Saturday was forty-eight hours away. With the phone in hand, I crossed the room to my supply of paperbacks and took a quick inventory. I’d have enough for the event I decided while Samantha carried on in my ear.
“I’ll take care of all the arrangements, the swag, the books, promo—”
“What kind of promo are you planning on pulling off in forty-eight hours?” I asked out of frustration.
“Not to worry. Leave it to me.”
I threw my head back and looked upward while I kept my mouth closed for a few moments.
“You know, I’m trying to write a book here,” I said.
“Yes, and I’m trying to get you the events and promo you need.”
Fair enough. She believed she could, so she did. I repeated in my head.
“I know, and thank you. But two days away isn’t much time.”
“It just wasn’t something that I wanted you to pass up.”
After I got off the phone with Samantha, I returned my attention to J.P.
Hi, J.P.,
Thank you for downloading Paris. I’m happy to hear you enjoy reading romances. Let me know what you think of it when you finish.
My morning hasn’t turned out as planned. My P.A. signed me up for a book event this weekend in San Diego. My plans for spending the day on my book are out the window, and now I must concentrate on travel plans.
Amy
A response from J.P. came in the evening after I finished my “to do” list before the event Saturday.
Hello Amy,
Yes, I love reading romances. I guess you can call it a guilty pleasure of mine. You don’t sound thrilled over the San Diego thing. What goes on at book events?
J.P.
Hi J.P.,
I think if I had a little more time to prep for the event I’d feel better about it. There’s a lot of planning that goes into the events, and I hate feeling rushed and thrown together. My only saving grace in this will be my P.A., Samantha. She’ll have everything organized and handled before the worry even pops into my head.
Regarding your question about what goes on at book events, it’s a gigantic hookup environment. Authors hookup with just about anyone and some authors even put condoms out in a basket on their table for readers or fans to grab. Chances are the condoms will get used before the event is over.
I’M JUST KIDDING!
Seriously, it’s an exhibit type of set up where each author has their own table where they display their books. We also put out informational pieces that new readers can take in case they haven’t heard of us. You’ve heard me mention “swag” before. So those things are on the table too. Sometimes there are private author events before or after the event. We all joke about going out and getting drunk after the event or having some posh dinner in the city at some fancy restaurant, but usually we’re too exhausted to do much but walk through the hotel to our room. Dinner is usually at the vending machine on the way back to the room. Not quite as exciting as the fictional hookup environment.
But the most amazing and fun part of the book events is meeting the fans and readers. I love meeting someone I “know” from social media. Or the ones that I’ve never seen on social media that show up with my book and are already fans. The fan connection is my favorite.
Amy
Amy,
Tell me again what the “P.A.” stands for.
I quickly replied back that it stood for Personal Assistant. I kept myself logged onto the Kinky Links site for the rest of the evening while I worked for a bit on the new book. I didn’t hear back from J.P. though and logged off the site when I was ready for bed. He probably had some hot little number in bed with him. Or tied to the bed.
&nb
sp; Chapter 5
February
J.P.
“Fucking book,” I swore and tossed my tablet on the bed next to me.
It was 1:30 in the morning and I just power stormed through a fucking book in about twenty-four hours. Fuck Paris.
I had some energy to burn and logged into Kinky Links. There were a few pictures that got me going and soon I was jacking off. But not to one of those images that were meaningless to me. I opened my photo album and lost myself in one of the images.
“Someday if all my dreams come true, I’ll have you,” I said out loud while I wiped up my cum with a few tissues.
I felt a little bit calmer now and read Amy’s short note about what the P.A. stood for. That’s right, duh. I’ve read that on her social media stuff. There’s always reference to Samantha Kelly, the personal assistant.
It’s fantastic she has someone like that to help her with all the stuff associated with the book industry. Seems like a lot goes on aside from just writing a book. I scrolled through the Amy Andrews profile page and then the Amy Andrews author page on Facebook looking for anything on the Paris book. I read the teasers and watched the short video clip promoting the book.
Hi Amy,
I know it’s late, and you’re probably sawing logs right now, but I have to know something…why did you kill off Jeannie in Paris?
J.P.
There was one more thing I needed to do before I shut the lights off. I have seen fans and followers on Amy’s author page post reviews and Samantha Kelly has posted about how important reviews are. Amy even has a graphic that says something to the nature of “the best compliment for an author is a review.”
I quickly found Paris on Amazon and gave it five stars, along with most of the other thousands of reviewers. I kept it short and sweet and just commented that I enjoyed the characters, plot and the setting of Paris. Paris is the hub of love, so of course, she’d set this book there. Then destroy all the readers with the ending.
“Fucking book,” I said again right before shutting the lights out.
I woke up before the alarm clock went off; which I love. That way I can shut the thing off and not have to hear it. I quickly pulled on some gym shorts and began my push-ups followed by the sit-ups. I started to double my workout regime recently. As I’m starting to get a little older, I’m trying to hold onto my form. And I don’t need any shit from the younger guys at the club.
While I worked out, I ran through my day. Today was Friday and Amy would be finalizing her list of things to do for her event. If possible, I might try to log onto Kinky Links from my phone during my lunch break and see if I can catch her. After I showered, I opted to bypass breakfast so I could quickly log onto Kinky Links. I was hoping to have a response from Amy as to why she killed off Jeannie, but no such luck.
“Dammit,” I slapped the desk next to my laptop and went to work.
I thought about that book all morning and why on earth Amy killed off that character. Why do authors toy with readers like that? I fucking rooted for those two characters for almost twenty-four hours. Then when they’re finally together, nearly three hundred pages later the girl dies while riding her moped to the market to get stuff to make the guy breakfast in bed.
At lunch, I logged in. Yes! I had a new message, and I quickly opened up the message from Amy.
Hi J.P.,
Wow, you read that fast. It’s almost three-hundred pages. Impressive. No sarcasm there, finishing a three hundred page book in a day is impressive.
So, Jeannie. It was merely a lesson for the character Emilio. Emilio breezed through life, without a care in the world, or regard for life. He didn’t care about anyone through most of the book, and then when he did, it was too late.
I’m going to throw something out there, no obligation at all. I enjoy talking to you, but this back and forth on Kinky Links is getting hard for me to login consistently. Why don’t we try regular email or texting? 714-555-1980.
Hope to hear from you,
Amy
I knew her book or author email and I didn’t want to risk that because I thought the chances were good that the P.A. would have access to that. I opened up my address book and entered her name and phone number. Before my lunch break was over, I managed to send her off a text.
J.P.: Hi, it’s J.P. This is my cell number. My P.A. doesn’t have access to it, so feel free to hit me up whenever.
I smiled at it and instantly a reply came back.
Amy: Do you have a P.A.?
J.P.: No (haha).
Hopefully, she got my joke and didn’t think I was being an asshole or something.
Amy: I’ve meant to ask you, what do you do for a living?
J.P.: I’m in the medical profession.
Amy: I bet that can be stressful.
J.P.: It can be at times. But probably no more stressful than writing and trying to meet deadlines. Or killing good characters just to punish the guy.
Amy: LOL, Emilio took things for granted. Life isn’t as forgiving as he believed it was.
J.P.: But he was learning. He fell in love with her.
Amy: And just like the other hearts he was careless with and broke, he was left with the same destruction.
Fuck. I stared at the text. Damn.
J.P.: Some guy must have screwed your ass over for you to have written the ending that way.
As I hit send, I regretted it. That was shitty of me. I just get Amy’s number and then launch off something like that. Brilliant move. My watch beeped at me letting me know that my lunch break was over. Fuck, I hope I didn’t ruin something with her. While I walked back inside, I sent her an apology text.
J.P.: I’m sorry. That was out of line for me to say. I don’t know about your life or your past. For me to base a comment off of a book you wrote was shitty of me. My lunch is over, so I will hopefully catch you later.
When I got inside, there still wasn’t a reply from Amy. I went to the bathroom, and behind the safety of the stall door, I sent her another text.
J.P.: Hope you get everything done on your event prep list.
I sighed and slipped my phone back into my pocket and went back to work. I spent the day worrying that I may have carelessly wrecked what was becoming a good friendship. A relationship that wasn’t based on sex.
Chapter 6
February
Amy
Shit. When I glanced down at my phone after I got out of my nail appointment, I saw a few texts from J.P. He seemed frazzled, but I didn’t understand why. Then I realized that the text I typed out after his comment about someone “screwing my ass over,” never sent. So, he never saw my text response back and probably freaked out thinking that I was pissed.
Samantha: Are you done with your fingers and toes? If so, let’s meet for coffee.
I swiped Sam’s text message out of the way in an effort to sort this out with J.P. Poor guy seems worried. I hit “send” on the text that I failed to send over an hour ago and then followed it up with an explanation.
Amy: Being screwed in the ass sounds delightful.
Amy: Hi, J.P. My apologies for the delayed responses. I was at a nail appointment and was waiting to be called back. I was texting to you while walking and thought I hit send. But I just realized it never sent. I’m just getting out of the nail appointment. No worries about the texts – you weren’t out of line. I’m not angry, so please don’t worry.
I hit send and then inadvertently accepted the incoming phone call from Samantha.
“Hey, Aims. Done with the nails?” Samantha asked.
“Yes, just finished. Did you want to meet at our usual spot?” I asked while fumbling with my keys.
“Of course, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
I frowned because I knew that she lived a good twenty minutes away from our usual coffee hangout. I assumed she was out and about doing errands. We got off the phone and I drove to the coffee house. During my drive, my thoughts were on J.P. It was so sweet of him to be worried that maybe
he offended me. He’s not what I imagined for a sadist. My stereotyped thoughts made me think they were mean, selfish and just wanted to hurt people. J.P. had been nothing but kind to me and I feel a little silly to have thought that sadists were the worst people around. It simply wasn’t true.
Sam and I waited in a long line and finally sat down under the warm sunlight on the patio. I absolutely loved this coffee house because they had seating on a patio. It was very comfortable here.
“Love the nails, Aims. What are you wearing tomorrow for the event?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”
“I’m assuming something with purple since your nails are purple with black flecks.”
“I will take a look at the closet this afternoon, but I think I have it narrowed down.”
“Remember, you want to try, but not look like you did,” Samantha reminded me.
I nodded and sipped my coffee as she pulled out her notebook and began going over information. I had to be checked into the event by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Then before the event there’d be a group photo. Photos seemed to be common place at the events. I could handle that. I knew I needed to leave the house by 6:30 a.m. to allow enough time to drive to San Diego with traffic. Samantha was going to drive to my house in the morning and we’d just take my car down to San Diego.
Anytime we drove somewhere together we always took my car. Not because I was a control freak and had to drive, but Samantha loves my car. I think our friendship hinges on my car. Before my books started doing well, I was driving a twenty-year-old Honda that was falling apart. The air conditioner only worked part of the time, which wasn’t so bad living in southern California, until the summer and humidity hit. When I got my first big check, I began car shopping some. Since I loved the feeling of warm sun on my skin and the weather was perfect nearly year around, I opted for a convertible.