She moaned at the delicate touch, slowly coming undone with the need to have him completely. To feel him inside her.
"Come here. Come with me," he said, pulling her towards the bathroom.
It was a grand space, a huge tub, double-wide shower, granite floors and marble vanity. Lacy had spared no expense when she picked the hotel for Rayne, and briefly, she wondered what she would have thought had she known what Rayne was up to. Knowing Lacy, Rayne knew she'd be the one cheering her on, telling her to go for it. To let go of any lingering reservations she might have.
Cole pulled at the button on her jeans and gradually eased the fly open. The sound echoed throughout the space as he took the moment further by slipping his hands down and over her backside. He gripped her tightly but then pushed his hands even lower until he'd pulled her pants to the floor. Cole then kneeled in front of her. Rayne lifted up her foot, letting him remove her heels, one at time. He gave her toes a gentle massage. Who knew something so simple could feel so good, Rayne wondered, trying to beg with her eyes for more. Instead, he smiled back, leaning towards her, kissing each of her knees.
His kisses trailed up one leg and over her hipbone, across her torso and navel, and down the other. But where Rayne really wanted to be kissed, where all the feelings inside her were concentrated, was the one place he seemed to be avoiding. If only to tease her further.
He had to have known what she wanted. Rayne wanted to break the silence and tell him. Tell him she wanted more, but she didn't trust her voice. She may have seemed assertive, but in reality, she was far from it. She settled for the only thing she could. Rayne opened her mouth and said, "Please." It was all she could manage and was more of a moan than a word. But Cole took the request—a challenge, perhaps—as he peppered kisses back over her torso and down the front of her panties, sliding them down.
She wasn't bare, but thankful she had kept herself neatly trimmed as Cole took his hand and pushed her legs further apart. Rayne closed her eyes as he pressed his palm against her core, and then slipped a finger between her, rubbing slow and deliberate circles around her clitoris.
Rayne's breath hitched as she felt herself begin to swell, wetness slicking his finger. She placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her nails into his shoulders, forcing herself to stay upright.
Her knees wobbled as Cole said, "Can I taste you, Rayne?" And she opened her eyes in time to see him take his finger, rub it over his lips, and then slip it into his mouth. "Delicious,” he hummed with a smile of undeniable admiration.
At the sight before her, Rayne shuddered, her entire body becoming rigid as an orgasm took over fast and abrupt, a sensation that had her nearly falling over. She blushed profusely, barely able to look Cole in the eyes. He'd barely touched her, and yet, she was overwhelmed.
"Mmm. You look beautiful when you come. I'd very much like to see that expression again."
Rayne gulped in a breath of air. She nodded, as another build-up of pressure had already begun to take control of her. Cole stood and kissed the grin from her face before pulling back and turning his attention to the shower. He turned the lever and sent a spray of water to spill from the showerhead. He kicked off his boots, taking the time to slip his pants off, revealing a pair of black boxers. His very evident erection sprang free from its confines as he pulled them down, lastly removing his socks.
Cole's hard-on was impressive, and Rayne couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have it inside her, gorging her.
"Are you coming?"
For a second, Rayne didn't understand the question. She blinked a few times. Not yet, she thought with a smile, but then realized he had stepped into the shower and was beckoning her to follow his lead. She was quick to reach behind and unclasp her bra, the remaining article that stood between them. Cole reached for her hand and helped her in. She shivered as the warm water rushed over her cool skin, causing her nipples to tighten.
"I'd like to wash you, Rayne. Would that be okay?"
"Yes. Please. Touch me,” she exhaled.
Cole was leisure in his movements as he lathered a loofa with soap, and then gently smoothed it over Rayne's skin. He started with her arms, one at a time, and then her legs. He turned her around, concentrating on her back and her bottom. There he was, teasing her again, avoiding the only areas she truly wanted to feel his touch.
When Cole reached up and cupped both of Rayne's breasts in his hands, having discarded the soapy loofa, she whimpered. He pressed his erection against her back, and kissed the curves of her neck as he pinched and teased her nipples. She couldn't take much more, she knew, and craned her head over her shoulder. He crushed his lips against hers, holding her in place. One hand traveled to her neck, the other skimmed over her, all the way down, until he buried his finger inside her. Rayne let out a muffled cry, relishing in the delightful feel as he thrust in and out of her, the water and her ever-growing wetness providing the right amount of lubricant.
He broke their kiss and whispered in her ear. "You can come for me again. I know you want to."
Though she knew she didn't need his permission, she tensed at his words, as his thumb rubbed against her swollen clit until it was too much. Rayne couldn't hold the climax at bay, and instead, let it take over. Cole stilled his movements, palming her, letting her ride out her orgasm.
"Mmm. I think it's my turn," Rayne said. She turned and dropped to her knees and took him into her hand. Carefully she moved her grasp up and down the length of his hard, yet soft, erection. She did that for a few minutes as Cole thrust his fingers into the wet strands of her hair. When she had worked up more courage, she leaned in and placed her mouth over the tip and teased him with her lips. A moment later, she drew as much of his length into her mouth as she could, sucking and swirling her tongue. Cole groaned and pulled on her hair. Eventually, she felt him swell inside her mouth, and she knew she had a quick decision to make. But when she opened her eyes and saw that he was staring intensely at her, the jade of them showed her more love than she could have expected. She needed to do this for him, and so she sucked harder, faster, adding her hand to the rhythm of her sliding mouth and twirling tongue, until she felt his release. It was warm and salty, and she swallowed, sucking every last drop that he eased into her mouth.
The whisper of the story Rayne knew she was supposed be working on grew loud in her ears as she lay on the bed, Cole before her. She would have never thought it possible but she knew, without a doubt, that he was crumbling her writer's block. In turn, infusing her with the lust and desire she knew she needed in order to create Dexter and Clara's novel. She wasn't ready to let go of Cole or the night, yet. There were still pieces of the puzzle that were eluding her and she hoped that as Cole continued to ravage her, they would become clearer.
Cole was hovering over her, kissing her lips, sweetly, his tongue asking permission to enter her mouth. She parted and found her own tongue was just as eager. He tasted of mint, still, and she loved how his kisses were soft. He seemed to be pouring into them all the passion he could, making sure she knew what the moment meant to him.
"I want you inside me," she said through a moan as his pressed against her, on the cusp of melding their bodies together. "Please."
Lifting up, Cole grinned. He rolled back on his heels sitting upright, and then, he lifted Rayne's hips, and guided her towards him, wrapping her legs around his torso.
"I missed that expression last time. I won't miss it again."
Cole lightly pressed into her. She gasped and gripped the sheets in her hands, arching her back towards him. He waited a second, slid himself out, only to push in deeper with the next thrust, his hands still pressed tightly to her hips. But as he continued the motion, he pulled her breast into his hand, squeezing it with just the right amount of pressure, as he rolled her nipple between his fingers.
The moment, for Rayne, wasn't going to last long as he was able to push himself deep within her. Teasing her breasts only heightened her arousal even more. What threw her into a
frenzy were his fingers sliding down, engaging her further as he caressed her most responsive spot.
Heat boiled her blood, as electricity sizzled through her veins. It clutched her heart, burned her lungs, and then, all at once, she felt the onslaught of the most demanding orgasm she'd ever felt. It carried her over the edge. She cried out, yet forced her eyes to stay open. Locked on Cole. So they could be wrapped up in each other completely. He didn't turn away, not even when his movements became erratic, forceful. He grunted, pounding into her. Rayne felt herself clench tightly around his throbbing erection. They rode the last waves of their climax together, sweat glistening their skin, breaths coming fast and shallow.
Lying in each other's arms, Cole said, "That's what they need. They need to be devoted to each other. You need to give them that obsessive lust, their ultimate desires."
Consumed by exhaustion, Rayne mumbled something incoherent as Cole squeezed her tighter. She knew what they needed. She'd been beating around the bush with their attraction and need for each other through two books. Rayne had brought Clara to Dexter when he was wounded and incapable of loving her back. He'd walked away in the first book. But Clara hadn't given up in the second. She knew what she wanted. And though the timing wasn't right for their epic love, it was time now. They were better off together than they were apart.
The novel Rayne had been worried about writing finally had a storyline. She now knew what it was like to be in love with the idea of the perfect romance. Though she knew this moment with Cole wouldn't last, she at least felt utterly satisfied with how it turned out. He had done just what she’d needed. He somehow took away the block in her brain and opened up her heart.
Maybe she hadn't been able to give Clara and Dexter the happy ending they deserved because she didn't know how. She'd never had her own. Never felt bliss in a way that still ached between her legs and plagued her heart with the need for more. That was part of what love was.
"Thank you," Rayne said. She tried to fight off the sleep that beckoned her, not wanting her perfect night with Cole to end. "You took it away. I feel, for the first time, that I could get up and write a dozen pages without a thought."
"I didn't do anything. Not really. You were the one blocking yourself and your emotions. I just helped you to let go of them."
"Mmm," she said. "You're real, right? Not just my imagination?"
Kissing her temple, Cole said, "I'm as real as you want me to be."
It wasn't the answer Rayne wanted, but she knew that sometimes the muse, the whisper that helps with the stories, comes from all things. For some, it's a beautiful picture hung on the wall of a museum. Others hear it in the words of a song, the melody flowing the ideas they need. For Rayne, her ultimate muse came from a man she didn't know completely but fell for deeply. He became the whisper that continued to weave together the end of her love story. And was the last voice she heard when sleep finally pulled her in.
That, and the sound of a penny whistling through the air.
* * *
When Rayne woke in the morning, her body hurt, but in all the right places. She didn't mind. She remembered what had caused the ache between her legs and smiled. She'd fallen asleep in Cole's arms, feeling his heart beat against her back, his warm breath over her skin.
But when she rolled over, he was gone.
"Cole?" She called out, but when she sat up and saw the shiny penny left on the nightstand, she knew he wouldn't reply. There was a messily scrawled note, and Rayne pick it up, holding it between her fingers as she pushed away the need to well with tears, the loss she felt. She knew her time with Cole had a deadline, just like the novel she had to write.
Rayne,
A penny for your thoughts and good luck along the way.
Yours,
Cole
Rayne clutched the note to her heart, the penny in her hand. She stared at the empty hotel room for a few minutes before she gathered her wits and slipped from the bed. Not bothering to get dressed, the sheet her only cover, she sat at the desk and pulled out her computer. She began to write, Cole's voice guiding her forward, helping her decide the twists and turns Clara and Dexter needed to take. She poured everything she felt into the manuscript, drawing her own emotions forward and letting them slip through her fingers, into the keys she pressed.
* * *
By the end of Rayne's week in the sleepy ocean-side town, she had produced what she was sure was her best manuscript yet. She felt proud and knew the story had always been there, she just needed the courage to write it down. As it turned out, one night where she forgot it all and got caught up in a little romance of her own, was just what she needed. It broke down the imaginary walls and released the muse within.
The thud the manuscript made on Lacy's desk was liberating.
Lacy looked from the pages to Rayne, amazed. "How the hell—"
"Seems I just needed a vacation."
But Lacy saw through Rayne. She knew. "No, what you needed was a good fuck. You're always wound up so tight. But whatever. I don't care how it happened. I'm just... Shit. I can't wait to read it."
"It's the impressive conclusion that Dexter and Clara deserve," Rayne said with a smile.
"Great. Should we talk about a spin-off? There's whispers that Grant and Leah's story should be told next. Have any ideas?"
Rayne closed her eyes. They were the best friends of the main characters she had spent the last several years with, and to her delight, she could hear her muse, Cole, murmuring in her ear. "Maybe. But I just got back from vacation. And wrote an entire manuscript in a week, how many of your authors have done that?"
"Just you, honey, just you."
When Rayne left the building, she took the penny from her pocket and rested it on her thumb. Though she wasn't nearly as talented, she was able to flip the lucky penny in the air and catch it before putting it back into her pocket for safe keeping.
Tires screeched, and the sound of a horn wailed through the air. Rayne looked up. Across the street stood a man, tall, and from here she knew he had the most enchanting green eyes she'd ever seen. She smiled. He winked. When she refocused, he was gone.
But like the penny in her pocket, and the voice in her head, she knew that wasn't going to be the last she saw of him. He would always be as real to her as she wanted him to be.
Dances with Muses
MOLLY WAITED patiently for her boyfriend, Ryan, to pass out. When he had come home from work, temper flaring, she was all too happy to pop the top off a beer and hand it to him. In fact, she was the perfect girlfriend and brought him cold beer after cold beer, just to keep him content. It was better he drowned himself in the frothy amber ale, staring for hours at the TV, than turning his attention and residual anger he felt after a hard day's work, on her.
She didn't think she could take one more night of his shit. Molly had put up with a lot over the years with the hope that he'd get better. Appreciate her more. Become the boyfriend she was sure—at times—she deserved. But most love stories are a lie. Real life is never like that. And Molly was trapped. Making excuses for him time and time again.
Once in a while, she'd see the glimmer of the man he used to be, still there. Ryan would show up with a bouquet of flowers; a new notebook wrapped in fancy paper, complete with a bow. Sometimes he took Molly out dancing—though usually that kind of night started out well but ended with his fist in some guy’s face. But he had tried. Most times, that was all she expected of him.
Things could always be worse, and Molly knew that. So she took those moments, no matter how fleeting, and held them close. She knew you couldn't change a man, but that didn't stop her from hoping.
On the nights when things got particularly bad; when he'd taken to breaking a lamp, or tossing a dish on the floor, or grabbing at her in a way that made her feel cheap, she wrote. Aspiring author wasn't the right word. As she knew, most of what she penned in her notebooks, or typed out in a document, hidden deep within her hard drive, was really only meant for her.
<
br /> She lacked the confidence to make something of the tales she'd begun to invent. That might have been some of Ryan's doing; saying she'd been silly to think it was anything more than a hobby. An author had to have graduated from high school—Molly hadn't, having dropped out before she got her cap and gown. Writers needed a college education—Molly had taken a few courses, after getting her GED, but couldn't seem to make it stick. That also might have had something to do with Ryan, who couldn't manage her away from the house for more than a few hours. He was fiercely overprotective. After the fourth or fifth time of him creating a scene outside the doors of the evening classes she was taking, Molly was so embarrassed she could never bring herself to go back. Ryan had also told her an author had to be good, that what they wrote had to be entertaining. She'd made the mistake, one time, of sharing with him a few stories she'd produced. She’d been excited, proud, and feeling over the moon at having created something worth sharing. However, Ryan read, frowned and criticized. For a time, she let him shatter any thought she might have had about being any good. She hadn't been willing to give up that easily. Instead, waiting until he was asleep or passed out, or not even home, before she pulled out her laptop and began to write, keeping it hidden.
As it were, the more she wrote, the more she loved it. Molly had begun to crave the release it gave her. An outlet for all the disappointment in her life. She'd be the first to admit she'd made a few wrong turns along the way, which added to her unhappiness and feeling of not ever being able to do better. Because as Ryan criticized her story, he had done the same to her, over and over again. She’d felt worthless; even more, she believed she wasn't desirable to anyone but him. There would never be another man in her life who would put up with her quirks, financially support her, and love her. If what Ryan truly felt was adoration. Convenience, maybe. But love? She couldn't imagine why someone who supposedly felt that way would treat her so poorly. And yet, she was no better. Because she still found, when she dug deep, that she loved Ryan, at least a little bit.
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