Author Anonymous: A True Story

by E. K. Blair

  “It’s only twelve days.”

  My gut pits with dread and loneliness. Twelve days feels like a prison sentence. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “You’ll be having too good of a time to miss me,” Alec says, his cock still inside me as I straddle him on the couch.

  Tomorrow, I leave for Australia with Landon for a book signing, but today, I snuck away so I could have Alec one last time before I left.

  “I’d rather be going with you,” I tell him.

  The last thing I want to be doing is traveling with my husband for two weeks with no escape—with no Alec. My cheap disposable phone I still use to talk and text with him will be of no use to me while I’m gone, and I’m worried about leaving him cold-turkey.

  He palms my breasts as I remain on his lap, his cum slowly seeping out of me between our melded bodies. “Tell me what it’s like when he’s fucking you.”

  “Miserable,” I respond while he squeezes me in his hands. “He feels nothing like you. I hardly ever orgasm, but when I do, it’s you who owns it because it’s the thought of you that drives me to it.” The words hurt to admit because I deeply care for Landon, but he no longer has my heart. I’ve given it over to Alec.

  “Grab my shoulders.” When I do, he holds me as he slides off the couch and onto the floor. He picks his shirt up, which is lying next to us, and instructs me to stand over him. He leans against the couch with his head tilted back onto the cushion as he looks up at my pussy. Using the shirt, he wipes me clean of his cum before tossing it aside. “Sit on my face.”

  My stomach flutters in excitement. When I settle my knees onto the couch on either side of his head, he wraps his hands around my thighs and lowers me down to him. His mouth opens, taking my delicate flesh against his soft tongue. I grip the back of the sofa to steady myself. My body rocks back and forth as he teases my clit with feather-like sweeps.

  He moves slowly—blissfully torturing me with his light touches. With my hips in his hands, he forbids my greed, holding me in place when I want to grind down on him. His tongue slides along my slick flesh, dipping only the tip of it inside me, causing my walls to clench and spasm. But he deprives me of the penetration my body is begging for, screaming for, practically crying for.

  His beautiful face is buried between my folds, and I manage to create a moment of friction when he moves his hands from my hips to my ass, allowing me to rub my clit along the bridge of his nose. Tilting his head slightly, he captures the bundle of nerves with his mouth, sucking on me hard while he laughs at my eagerness. His lips vibrate against me when he does this, and my body quivers in response.

  “Alec, fuck,” I moan, my voice lacerated between ravishment and deprivation.

  I need more.

  I reach between my legs with one hand, grab a handful of his hair, and pull his head up into me. He squeezes my ass, spreading my cheeks apart. Vision blurs when he swipes one of his fingers between my wet pussy and his tongue and then drags it to my back hole. He circles his finger around my rim, slowly easing his way into the one spot that’s only ever been touched by him.

  I once told Alec, when we first started talking, that I wasn’t into ass play. But when he convinced me to let him touch me there, we both discovered the truth that was suppressed within me.

  Tingles surge through me, prickling along my skin, and my head falls against my arm that’s clutched to the back of the couch. I’m blinded by heat, my head swimming through a foggy haze. Alec strokes his finger knuckle deep in me as he works my clit, sucking and licking.

  “Oh, God,” I mewl, growing dizzy because I’m unable to fill my lungs through fractured breaths.

  He picks up the pressure, building the intensity. Beads of sweat roll down my back, and when the tingles warp through my veins, I pinch my eyes shut and bear down. Alec pushes his whole finger inside me, and I fucking lose it. Screaming, moaning, body writhing, cumming in Alec’s mouth.

  My skin no longer belongs to me; I’m too wild, too carnal.

  Lights flitter behind my eyelids as my orgasm thunders deliciously through my core and down my thighs. I continue to hold on to Alec’s head with my one hand, and as I slow my pace, calming down, my body jerks a few times with pulsing aftershocks.

  I crumple onto my side, muscles weak, as Alec gets off the floor and sits next to me. He scoops me into his arms, cradling me like a child, and I melt into the sensation it gives me. The feeling of safety, of juvenility, of knowing this man will tuck me into his protective hands and forever nurture me. He makes me feel fragile when he’s standing next to me, so strong and sure. I never thought of myself as a person who would want to feel that way, but with Alec, it’s the best feeling in the world.

  He rests his forehead against mine, and I smell myself all over his face. I take his cheeks in my hands and kiss him, sliding my tongue along his, tasting what he tastes when he loves me so intimately. I’m wrapped warmly in his arms, no longer capable of knowing where my breath ends and his begins as I take him into my lungs for survivorship.

  Unwilling to drag my lips away from his, I mumble against him, “I love you”—he kisses me harder—“so fucking much.”

  We don’t stop, and when the emptiness returns and hollows me, knowing I have to leave soon and that I won’t be seeing him for two weeks, I cry. He bands his arms more firmly around me when I shudder against him. Never taking his lips from mine, he swallows my sadness.

  I stay until the very last minute, and when he walks me to the door, I cling to him with a somber heart.

  “Be safe and try to enjoy yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Call me as soon as you get back, okay?”

  With one last kiss, I tell him, “Be good,” before I leave.

  The excitement of being in Australia masks the loneliness of being away from Alec. Landon and I ride on my jovial mood of being somewhere new with so much to explore. We laugh, we sightsee, we take pictures to create memories he’ll one day want no memory of.

  After the first few days, the mask wears thin, and I struggle to keep myself together. I find myself thinking and fantasizing about what this trip would be like if it were Alec I was with. I think about how much more fun it would be, how passionate it would be.

  After a day of kayaking yesterday, we came back to the hotel to freshen up. After our showers, Landon wanted to have sex. I wanted to lie to him and tell him I was too tired, but I didn’t. In a weird, fucked-up way, having sex with my husband these days makes me feel guilty, as if it’s Alec I’m cheating on and not the other way around. I laid on my back while Landon moved above me, but it was Alec I was thinking about. I barely lasted ten minutes before I faked my orgasm just so he would get off me.

  Another day passes, and I have to force myself to not pull away when he reaches to hold my hand. I have to force my affections, and even at that, they’re weak and generic: short hugs, quick pecks, fleeting glances. He asks what’s wrong, and I tell him I think I’m about to start my period and must be PMSing. I promise not to let my mood interfere with our vacation, but it does anyway.

  We video chat with the girls, and they are always so excited to see our smiling faces, to hear about our adventures, and to get the scoop on the souvenirs we’re buying them. What they don’t see is the unhappy woman inside me who’s slowing dying. A woman who’s ready to break down and leave her family. A woman who’d give anything to run away as long as it didn’t hurt her children.

  This morning I cried in the shower. I don’t think it’s possible to hate myself more than I do. The misery I feel being with my husband every day on this trip is taking its toll on me. I should want to spend time with the man I’m married to. I should want to hold his hand. I should want to make love to him. But I don’t. There is no more connection between us, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going on like this.

  I’m so grateful when we near the end of the trip and grow closer to the book signing. I need the distraction of other people. Brynn and Erin are the first
of my author friends to arrive. Erin didn’t bring Gabe with her, so she’s sharing a room with Brynn. After Landon and I eat dinner, I ask if it’s okay to go to their room that’s two floors above ours, and he says yes.

  I couldn’t have rushed out any faster. Thrilled to finally have space, I hurry to their room, and when Erin opens the door, we squeal and hug each other.

  “You’re finally here!”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A little over a week,” I tell her and then turn to give Brynn a hug.

  Brynn is a hybrid author like I am, but she doesn’t do very many signings, so I’m thrilled to get to spend time with her.

  “Where’s your husband?” Erin asks.

  “He’s down in the room. He’s tired so he’s just watching TV and relaxing,” I explain. “We’ve been non-stop busy since we arrived.” I flop down onto the bed next to Brynn. “I haven’t seen you in almost a year. What have you been up to?”

  “Just pumping out books for my publisher and trying to get something out on the indie market. It’s been over six months since my last self-pubbed book.”

  “Well, that’s because of you-know-who,” Erin says as she lies on her bed.

  “Don’t even get me started on that bitch.”

  I look to Brynn and ask, “What am I missing? Who’s the bitch?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got the time,” I tell her.

  “I’m gonna need a beverage,” Erin chimes in as she walks over to the mini fridge. She grabs a tiny bottle of vodka and a can of cranberry juice. “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” I turn my attention back to Brynn. “So, what’s the story?”

  “You know Ashley, right? The blogger at All Spines?”

  “Yeah. She reads and reviews all my books.”

  “Well, she’s one of my beta readers,” she tells me before Erin hands her a drink. “She’s been reading for me for a couple years now, so there was no reason for me to not to trust her when she asked what my next project was about.” She takes a gulp of the vodka and cranberry. “Did you hear about the book called Pressing Stones?”

  “I think so,” I lie so I don’t sound completely out of the loop. Let’s face it, my life in the book world has been nonexistent this past year because of Alec.

  “Well, I decided to pick it up and read it when the blurb sounded close to one of my stories.”

  “No way.”

  “Someone needs to cunt punch that heifer,” Erin says with a sharp tongue.

  “She stole your fucking story?” I exclaim.

  “Uh huh. I knew it was no coincidence, so when I confronted her, she admitted to the pen name she wrote under but claimed she didn’t steal the story idea. She insisted she had been writing the book before I even told her about the story, but she’s full of shit.”

  “Wait. How did she have the time to write and publish it before you?”

  “Because I was still in the middle of working on my previous book when she asked about my next idea.”

  “It’s such shitty writing,” Erin says. “I still think you could write it and nobody would know,” she tells Brynn.

  “No way. I don’t want to be accused of copying since her book came out first.”

  “Did it do well in the rankings?” I ask.

  “I mean, for a no-name author coming out with her first book, she almost broke the top one hundred on Amazon. But I assure you, if I wrote it, it would’ve hit the USA Today because it’s a great story and I’m a much better writer than she is.”

  “Has she come out on her blog that she’s writing under a pen name?”

  “No,” Erin tells me. “People have speculated, but she denies it’s her because she wants to keep blogging.”

  “Unbelievable,” I sigh. “There’s not a damn person you can trust in this industry. Everyone is trying to climb to the top, forgetting that we need to support one another. I can’t tell you how many girls I used to be friends with, and then the minute they get a successful book under their belt, they think they’re hot as shit and their whole attitude changes.”

  “If only the readers knew how vindictive half these authors were,” Brynn remarks. “I mean, it makes me sick when Kristen posts on social media under her pen name and readers gawk all over her. I want to put her on blast so badly.”

  “Well, I won’t be sending her any more of my books to review.”

  “Same here,” Erin adds. “I’m glad I have a good circle of authors to run with. There’s too much drama out there to get mixed up in.”

  “Which is why I’m not going to say anything about what Kristen did. The last thing I want to do is create another scandal on Facebook. There’s enough of that going on.”

  “I agree,” I tell Brynn. “As much as it sucks, it’s best to just avoid it.” I see the frustration on her face and reach over to give my friend a hug. That story was income, it was lunch money for her kids, it was food on the table. No one deserves to get ripped off like that. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  “I’ll get over it,” she dismisses, but I know it’ll weigh on her shoulders for a while. How could it not? Our stories are our hearts, and when people shit on them, tearing them down and leaving nasty reviews, it hurts deeply no matter how thick your skin is. But to have someone steal that story and publish it as their own, that’s beyond wrong.

  We quickly change the subject and enjoy the rest of the night and before I know it, it’s after one in the morning. I say good night and head back to my room to find Landon sound asleep, but I don’t feel bad because I needed this time away. So much so, that I ditch Landon for the girls the following night after the signing.

  By our last night in Sydney, I’m alone at a random bar down the street from the hotel. Landon and I went out to dinner and got into a nasty fight. I couldn’t even tell you what started the fight because we’ve been bickering so much these past few days. One thing led to another and he called me frigid and unloving, so I called him an asshole. But it was when he threw my week of unfaithfulness in my face, I burst into tears and stormed out, leaving him to eat alone—if he only knew that my unfaithfulness has spanned far beyond just a measly week.

  I’ve been sitting in this bar ever since—drinking and missing Alec. Alcohol curbs my anger with Landon, allowing guilt to take over. I’ve never ached for a man as much as I’m aching for Alec. There’s not a second that goes by that I don’t wish I were with him. I know my heart’s choice, its been screaming it to me for months. I’ve been lying for so long, staying in an unhappy marriage and forcing every single emotion with him. I’m depleted and have nothing left in me to give.

  I order another shot, pay my tab, and head back to Landon.

  If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now because tomorrow we head home and the moment I see my girls, I know I’ll chicken out again. And I can’t do that. I can’t go on like this.

  With a good amount of alcohol in my bloodstream, I feel numb when I walk into the room where Landon is packing. I go over and sit on the edge of the bed next to the suitcase and look at the man I fell so madly in love with when I was younger. The man I made my life with. The man that gave me two of the most beautiful children in the world.

  “I don’t make you happy, do I?” I ask.

  He sets the suitcase on the floor, sits next to me, and we start the conversation we should’ve had a long time ago.

  “If you’re asking if I’m happy, the answer’s no. This isn’t the relationship I want. You’re my wife, Tori, and you can’t even hold my hand without making me feel like I repulse you.”

  His words tear me wide open. I thought he couldn’t tell. I thought I was doing a good job at faking it.

  “You just lie there while we’re having sex. Like all you want is for it to be over with.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say as a year’s worth of hidden pain falls from my eyes.

  “I haven’t felt your love in a really long time.” His voice cracks
as his own tears spill over. “Tell me what’s going on because I’ve been feeling you drifting for months now. I’ve been scared to say anything for fear that you’d run. But I feel like I’m the only one trying to hold us together, and I’m so tired, Tor. I’m so fucking worn out.”

  We’ve been slowly slipping this whole year, and now, we’re no longer lovers—we’re roommates.

  I need to be honest and selfless, so I dig deep and grab on to what little strength I have left, and tell him, “You deserve to be with someone who can make you happy.”

  “I want to be with you, Tori. You’re my wife.” His voice is thick with emotion.

  “But you’re not happy.”

  “Because I don’t feel your heart is in this anymore. I don’t need much to make me happy, just you. A wife who lets me touch her. A wife who wants to make love to me. A wife who wants to sit next to me on the couch instead of running away to be alone in the bedroom. I don’t think I’m asking for much, but I need to feel that you love me.”

  Heartbreak drips from my chin and falls onto his hands that are now holding mine. I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eyes when I admit, “I know, but I . . .” I take my hands from his because he shouldn’t be touching a monster like me. “The thing is . . . I don’t want to try.”

  Landon’s head falls into his hands. His cries are painful to listen to. “Why are you doing this to us? What is it that you need? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lifting his head, he looks at me. “What are you trying to say? Do you want out?”

  And here it is, my moment to give him the words I’ve been too afraid to say for all this time. I take attempt to take a deep breath, but I can’t. The hurt is too much. “I think another woman could make you happier than I can.”

  “I don’t want another fucking woman. I want you!”

  “I wish I could love you like you deserve to be loved,” I cry, hating myself for doing this to him.