Bella Rose raised one eyebrow and turned back to the darkening skyline.
It was true what they said. Everything was bigger in Tulsa. And by everything what she really meant was Daxx’s huge, pulsating tool member phallus.
She thought she might quite like it.
I read my work back, feeling my cheeks flush slightly at the pure brazenness of the whole thing. It’s a good start, I think – but I’m not quite there yet. I still need to build the tension and come to the climax.
Of the plot, obviously.
On the one hand, this is some of my best writing to date. Binky wanted me to add more sex and I’ve literally written the actual word. I’m not even alluding to what’s about to happen – it’s utterly explicit, right there on the page and nobody can say that this isn’t provocative. It’s the perfect storm for sex – the dramatic cityscape, the naked skin, the smell of wealth coupled with a responsible, community-minded approach to taxes. That last one is important because I hate anything that jolts me out of the narrative and nothing would distract me more than thinking that Daxx was about to evade paying his taxes by having an off-shore tax haven in the Channel Islands.
It’s got almost everything that the reader of erotic fiction requires.
But something is still missing. If Valerie was reading this then I think she’d say that it could be even sexier. Despite my increased sexual vocabulary, I am not entirely convinced that it would get her hot under the collar. And even though just the thought of Daxx ravishing Bella Rose with only his brooding eyes makes me feel like I’m having a hot flush, I am easily cooled off again by the description of his stiffy. I take my hat off to erotica writers who manage to make this sound appealing, I really do.
I’m going to need to do more. But in the meantime, I might send Nick a text and see if there’s any chance of him knocking off at a decent time today and then maybe we can get rid of the kids and have an early night. Not all my research has to be done on my own, after all. And I think it might be time to use my new sexy-talk skills in the bedroom.
I’m ready to let Twinky Malone show me exactly what she’s capable of. Nick would be wise to hold onto his own hat.
Chapter Twelve
He fell asleep. After all the effort I went to, bribing Scarlet with money to go ten-pin bowling and then watching a hideously boring film about skateboarding with Benji so that I could get away with sending him to bed a bit earlier than normal, Nick bloody well fell asleep. I thought we could start with our regular, vanilla sex and then take it up a notch and things were looking promising at first. But as soon as our usual performance had ended he was out for the count without a glimmer of interest in an encore. I didn’t even manage to get my sensual candle lit or change into my sexy thong or start talking about anything even remotely throbbing before he was snoring. I was tempted to wake him up and yell at him but on reflection, decided that it wasn’t worth the bother. It wasn’t like it would enhance the erotic mood of the bedroom. And truthfully, it might not have been the best plan. I’d fondly imagined that Twinky Malone would be up for taking several curtain calls a night but it turns out that her stamina isn’t any better than Nick’s. Still, it would have been nice to have entertained the possibility.
So screw him. Or not. Whatever. Twinky Malone wouldn’t mope about, bemoaning her husband’s lack of interest in exploring new sexual dimensions. Hell no. She’d take matters into her own hands and that’s exactly what I intend to do, just as soon as I’ve written the next chapter of my book and figured out what exactly it will take to get Nick to realise that we are rapidly at risk of becoming old.
The Daily Grind is fairly empty at this time of day. I order my drink and take a seat at my usual table, settling down to enjoy the view.
‘Caramel latte?’
My first thought is that his voice is exactly how I imagined Daxx’s voice would be, if Daxx had been born in the East End of London and not, in fact, America. My second is that he smells like sex in a bottle. Not actual sex, obviously – that would be a bit disgusting – but more the concept of sex.
He places my coffee on the table and throws me a casual smile. My eyes alight on his name badge. Apparently he’s called Levi and he’s here to help. All I have to do is ask.
But I don’t want to ask. Not with words anyway. Sometimes these things can be discussed without anyone uttering a single word. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I stand and then I lower the zip on my waterproof jacket and shrug it seductively from my shoulders. It lands in a heap at my feet but I don’t bother to pick it up. Instead, I reach out and pick up the coffee cup, cradling it in my hands and peeping at him over the rim, my eyes wide with lust.
‘Is this roasted?’ I whisper, my voice dripping with desire.
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘But that can be arranged, Madam.’
I smile – and it’s the kind of smile that a female spider might give her mate after she’s done with him and is about to enjoy him for dessert because a) she’s fucking ravenous and b) why not?
‘The roasting can wait,’ I croon, crooking my index finger and beckoning him to come closer. ‘I have other needs that you can help me with right now.’
My hand twitches and I knock my cup, sending a bit of frothy milk onto the table.
‘I’ve seen you in here before,’ he says, whipping out a dishcloth and mopping up the spilt liquid. ‘You always look so focused on your work.’
I swallow loudly and give a quick nod, checking that my jacket is still zipped up to my neck. It’s hard to figure out if Twinky Malone is content with staying in my head or if she’s about to emerge, like in the film Alien, only instead of a baby Xenomorph it will be a fully-fledged Sex Goddess that bursts out of my chest.
‘Yep. I’m very focused. Totally focused.’
‘So what is it you’re doing then?’ he asks. ‘When you’re sitting here for hours?’
‘Nothing!’ I laugh nervously. ‘Just being focused, that’s all. On my work.’
‘Okay, then.’ He gives me a slightly quizzical look and backs away from the table as if I’m a dangerous animal.
Levi obviously has a good instinct for survival and I obviously have a teeny bit of a sex bubble problem. But everyone knows what you have to do with bubbles. Blow them.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do. But this time I won’t wait for Twinky Malone to emerge in time for dessert. This time she’s going to be there for the main course. Nick is not going to know what’s hit him.
Binky emails later on Friday afternoon with the details of the Real Sex Talk panel for Sex Con, which is still one month away but apparently ‘will be here before you know it’. It is probably not meant to sound as threatening as it does.
My attempts at Twinky-fying myself are off to an okay start (if I ignore my husband’s lack of interest and the potentially embarrassing sex bubble incidents), but I’m very aware that I’ve been mostly focusing on my attitude and state of mind and still have the pressing issue of my appearance to address. This in itself raises two major problems. The first is that there’s still been no mention of Nick’s new forestry contract and after the incident with the septic tank, the credit card is stretched out further than a bungee cord and so I haven’t got any money to waste; and the second is that I hate going clothes shopping. The lights are too bright and the mirrors too reflective and I always end up feeling hideous and filled with self-loathing. And right now, when I’m struggling with Dylan leaving home and Nick barely being here and a million different worries going through my head about the kids and money and my stupid job and writing Book Two (untitled), the last thing I need is more pressure.
I will deal with the situation another time, when I’m feeling slightly more confident and sure of exactly who it is that I want to be. What I need now is a calm, relaxing weekend so that I can reflect on my progress and figure out my next steps.
They say that when man makes plans, God laughs. What they are missing is that when woman makes plans, her teenagers
howl with merriment. After Dylan’s sliced thumb and Benji’s argument with Logan, which demanded numerous back-and-forths between me and Logan’s mother and has resulted in a much-anticipated sleepover at Logan’s house tonight, I am obviously ready for the next ambush, because only a fool wouldn’t anticipate that Scarlet was not yet done with the Thompson family drama-thon. At least I thought I was ready. Turns out that there are many different types of fool and none so foolish as the mother of a teenage girl who thinks she might have a handle on what to expect.
She waits until early on Friday evening when I have just poured myself a cheeky glass of wine and slumped down onto the sofa with the pure intent of losing myself in two hours of mindless Netflix viewing. Nick is down in his shed (quelle surprise) and I have the remote control all to myself.
‘So, how was your day, Mum?’
I am instantly on the alert and poised for battle. She never asks me this. I think she genuinely believes that I cease to exist when she doesn’t have a requirement for me.
‘What do you want?’ I ask, putting my glass down carefully and trying not to sigh. It has not been the easiest of weeks and I’ve earned this drink. I don’t want it being hijacked by my daughter. ‘I thought you were going out with Petra tonight?’
‘I want eighty quid.’ She flicks her hair over her shoulder and gets straight to the point. ‘Please. There’s a festival in the summer and we’re all going but I need to get my ticket now before they sell out.’
I shake my head. ‘Not happening, I’m afraid. Every penny we’ve got is paying for the septic tank disaster.’
‘God.’ Scarlet groans and rolls her eyes. ‘I hope I’m not this boring when I’m an adult. You guys have got way more cash than I have but you spend it on stuff that’s totally crap.’
‘Language,’ I tell her, although in this case she’s accurate. Never did I imagine that I would be dragging my sorry arse to work and slogging it out in the classroom three days a week just to pay to have the family’s poo deposits conveniently disposed of.
‘So can I have the money then?’ she asks, her voice filled with the blind optimism that only teenagers possess.
I could go easy on her but her comment about us having more cash than she does is rankling.
‘How much money do you have in your room right now?’ I ask casually. ‘Just as a matter of interest.’
She pauses, looking up at the ceiling and muttering under her breath while she figures it out, which is revealing in itself.
‘Dunno,’ she says eventually, shrugging. ‘I’ve got some birthday money left and the money I got from helping out at those weddings as a waitress – oh, and Granny gave me twenty quid last week. So maybe about two hundred pounds?’
I raise one eyebrow at her enquiringly and she smiles sweetly back.
‘I’ve got plans for that money,’ she informs me, giving a small laugh. ‘I can’t possibly spend it on festival tickets.’
‘Do you know how much I’ve got?’ I enquire, not leaving a gap for her to reply. ‘Let me enlighten you. My wallet currently has about four pounds in loose change which is all that was left after I had to buy food for Dogger and we ran out of washing powder and that isn’t cheap and then Miss Pritchard cornered me and forced me to pay my tea and coffee dues for the staffroom.’
Scarlet grimaces. ‘That’s what I’m talking about. I swear I’m not going to be this dull when I’m middle-aged. You need to get a life.’
I pick up my wine and slug back half the glass. The time for savouring the moment is well and truly out of the window. As is any desire to help my daughter out. It’s every woman for herself and I have just about had enough.
‘You can pay for your festival ticket yourself,’ I tell her.
Scarlet opens her mouth as if she’s about to protest but then wisely clamps it shut again and turns to leave the room.
I can’t resist one final last word.
‘Although whether we’ll actually let you go is another thing altogether.’
She spins round, her face registering her shock. ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ she states. ‘But while I’m here, how would you feel if I went out with someone who owns a motorbike?’
It’s a feeble attempt to regain the upper hand. She’s clearly off her game this evening.
‘I’d feel sorry for his mother,’ I tell her.
‘Mum!’ Her indignant shriek makes my ears ring. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’
‘Not because he was going out with you,’ I clarify. ‘I’d be sorry for her because she’d be constantly stressed out at the thought of her child on one of those death machines. Also, where’s my scarf after you borrowed it without asking?’
‘So you haven’t changed your mind about me going on a motorbike then?’
I raise an eyebrow at my daughter. ‘My scarf?’
Scarlet exhales loudly (actually she sighs, but I’m trying to reframe her more challenging behavior in a positive light in a pathetic attempt to retain my sanity) and stomps out of the room. Everyone has their limits and I have just been pushed beyond mine. I am no longer prepared to be written off as a boring middle-aged mother. I will fight against a world (and a daughter) that expects me conform to its outdated expectations and I will spend some of my hard-earned cash on myself for a change. If my attitude isn’t enough to signal my new persona then I’m going to have to get more explicit.
It’s time to go sexy shopping – but I don’t want to do it on my own.
This calls for the kind of loyalty that only a best friend can provide and so I text Cassie that I’ve got a crisis and arrange to meet her tomorrow evening at the new wine bar in town. I’m fairly sure that Twinky Malone would not be seen dead in the tatty, stinky pub that we usually frequent and if I’m going to get into character then I need to do this properly.
Not that I necessarily have to wait until tomorrow to get more explicit. The house is empty. Now is the perfect time to carry out some research for my next scene with Daxx and Bella Rose while also showing Nick that we can rock the changes. Pouring myself another teeny glass of wine I pull my laptop towards me and open the lid. I may have been a little hasty giving away Kama Sutra: Three hundred and sixty-five positions but it doesn’t matter. There is a wealth of information on the Internet. A person just has to know where to look and fortunately, I am the mistress of Google.
I type my key words into the search engine and then click on images.
Fuck me. My eyes widen as the screen fills with pictures of people engaged in what can only be described as shagging. For some reason I wasn’t expecting them to be so realistic and I look frantically for the ClipArt versions in the hope that they might feel less pornographic, before clicking back to the information screen. I didn’t really think that through. I am clearly more of a text-based learner than a pervy-photo kind of learner.
Taking a breath, I try again, scanning down the list of suggestions in front of me. One in particular leaps out and after a quick scan of the instructions, I’m good to go. I just need Nick because I might be a burgeoning Sex Goddess now, but even I can’t pull this off on my own.
It takes me a few minutes to prepare myself but by the time I hear the back door open I am ready and in position. Nick’s footsteps heading up the stairs match the thumping of my heart and by the time he opens the bedroom door I am almost breathless with anticipation.
‘Hey,’ he says, his eyes lighting up as he sees what I’m wearing. ‘You should have told me that you were ready to go to bed. I could have come sooner.’
I give him my sexiest smile. ‘That’s the last thing that I want you to do,’ I purr. ‘Tonight is all about sensual exploration. It’s about pushing our limits and facing our fears. How far are you prepared to go, Nicholas?’
His face drops and he looks hurriedly around the room. ‘What do you mean? Facing what fears?’ He takes a step back. ‘Is this another one of your weird attempts to get me over my phobia, Hannah? Because I don’t care how sexy you look – I am not holdin
g a spider.’
‘No!’ I gesture to my almost entirely naked body, showing him that I do not have a stash of arachnids hidden about my person. ‘There are no spiders. What do you take me for?’
His head is still darting around the room suspiciously. ‘So what fears am I supposed to be facing then? You’re acting very strangely and that usually means that you’re plotting something.’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything about facing any fears,’ I placate, trying not to sigh. ‘It was a figure of speech. Now can we get on with our evening of sensuality, please?’ I pat the bed next to me. ‘You’re over-dressed.’
It’s a good job that I didn’t choose position five from my Google list. He’d have been put off sex for life if I’d suggested that we attempt to reenact The Spider.
Once Nick is assured that he is not about to ambushed by a cluster of tarantulas, he relaxes slightly. It takes him seconds to disrobe and then he walks across the room towards me.
‘The kids are all out, yeah?’ he confirms, giving me his sexiest smile. ‘It’s just you and me tonight?’
I nod and push myself off the bed, stopping him before he can sink down next to me.
‘It’s just you and me,’ I confirm. ‘And we have all night if we need it. Which we may very well do because what I have in mind is possibly going to take a few goes.’
Nick’s face drops. ‘Oh god, no. Tell me that this isn’t going to be another Kama Sutra fiasco because honestly, Hannah – my knee has only just recovered from last time.’
I laugh seductively and shake my head. ‘This isn’t anything to do with the Kama Sutra. And your knees are going to be fine. Now, if you lie down on the carpet I can get myself into position and we can take it from there. You’ll love it.’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 12