by Alexis Angel
She had a lot of preconceived notions about sex and romance but, slowly, all that is being replaced with a new and much more improved world view. I mean, fuck, I wasn’t going to put down my name on a book cover if the writing wasn’t top notch, right? Besides, although the words don’t come as easily for me, I think we make a killer team. Especially because we always end up fucking whenever we finish a chapter, which means we’re always in a hurry to finish a chapter.
“So, how’s the book coming along?” CJ asks us both, but I notice her looking at me from the corner of her eyes. I think she’s still impressed by the fact that I haven’t fucked this up yet… But I can tell that she’s waiting for the whole thing to blow up. Yeah, so much for trusting me.
Can’t fucking blame her though. A part of me is waiting to fuck this up myself.
“It’s going great, CJ,” I say, looking at her and pouring some red wine into her glass. Drink up, my dear agent, I’m not a lost cause.
“Yeah?” Cheryl asks me, and I flash her a smile and pour some red wine into her glass as well.
“Yeah,” Abby says, reaching for my hand under the table and giving it a squeeze. “The first draft is almost ready. And, I don’t mean to brag but… I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.”
“It is,” I agree, leaning back against my chair as two waiters make their way to our table and start piling up a variety of dishes in front of us. I order one more bottle of red wine—the first one is already empty—and then turn my attention back to Cheryl and CJ. “I know that the two of you are worried about this book, but I think that what we have is pretty good.”
“Well, as long as you know that both of your careers are at stake…” CJ says, exchanging a glance with Cheryl. Great.
“Thanks for being the ray of sunshine, babe,” Abby says, sticking her tongue out at her PA.
Underneath the table she takes my hand in hers.
I think that they’re finally starting to realize that this collaboration might turn into a win for everyone involved. And thank God for that; the last thing I want is to go back to some seedy gym on the outskirts of fucking Queens.
Still, I know that deep down both the PA’s are fucking worried. They don’t know how to act around Abby and I, partly because we don’t make a secret out of what’s going on between us—whatever it is. Both Cheryl and CJ know that Abby spends most nights at my place and, even though we always use the “late night writing” excuse, it’s pretty clear to everyone involved what’s going on. But while our PA’s think our personal relationship puts the working one at risk, I know that it’s exactly the opposite: our personal relationship is what’s fueling our writing. And when I say ‘fuel’, I mean that when we finally ship this thing out, the book will be so scorching hot readers will need to wear protective gloves when handling it. We pulled no fucking punches in this one; every word is brimming with raw sexual energy.
“To our careers, then,” I say out loud, raising my glass. The girls all do the same, and that initial awkwardness fades away like it was never there in the first place.
“To our careers,” Abby repeats, and I notice Cheryl looking at her with a satisfied look on her face. No wonder—Abby has changed a lot since we met, and Cheryl has already realized that. No more man hating, and a new outlook on sex. If you wanna use an expensive fucking word to describe what this collaboration is doing to her, I’d use ‘catharsis’. Yeah, I might look like the reincarnation of Apollo himself, but I also have a brain and know how to use it, even though I mostly use it to think of Abby’s naked body, and all of the deliciously wicked things I want to do to her.
To be honest, writing is as tough as chewing nails; it seems that I can’t even write a paltry one hundred words without being distracted by the smooth curve of her hips. Maybe that’s why we fuck away most of our productive hours. It’s a wonder our first draft is almost done.
“By the way, I’ve booked a session with Mistress Strokes for you,” CJ tells me, devouring the sweet potatoes on her plate. She might be skinny, but she eats almost as much as I do. The wonders of metabolism, I guess.
“The photographer, right? When?”
“Next week,” she says, and then turns to Abby. “I think you should go with him, Abby. Since we’re going the self-publishing route, I think it’d be nice to have your input on all aspects of this production.”
“Makes sense,” she replies, looking at me with that irresistible smile of hers. Fuck, thank God Cheryl and CJ are here with us, or else I think I’d just get up grabbing Abby and bending her over the table.
“Well, I’m glad we’re all getting along,” CJ continues, but I notice a slight hesitation in her voice. No matter how great things are going, I guess she still can’t fucking shake off the feeling that everything’s going to implode sooner or later. I can’t really blame her, though; I’ve been wrecking every single connection in the publishing industry, and she has a hard time believing that trend is going to change. It’s my job to prove her wrong, and I’ll do it, trust me. “It’s going to take a few more weeks, but I figure we’ll be ready for launch in no time.”
I look at her, letting her words sink in. I’m actually publishing a book; can you believe this shit? I never asked for it; I was happy enough with my job, which was to get people to press Buy, but I’m actually glad I had the chance to do this. Writing is more enjoyable than I assumed it’d be and, more important than that, it was what made Abby and I cross paths.
The only drawback to all this? In a few weeks we’re going to be done with the novel, and then… Well, fuck me if I know, but I’m not looking forward to the moment when we go our separate ways.
Abby
“Your shirt, take it off,” Mistress Strokes says flatly, casually adjusting the lens in one of the dozens of cameras laid in a half-circle. Aidan walks in front of the large white canvas hanging from the wall and, grabbing his shirt, pulls it over his head.
The blue-haired woman goes to the wall, the one opposite to where I’m standing, and fumbles around with the electrical board, flipping up the switches. The overhead light projectors turn on, and Aidan’s ripped muscles gleam under the bright lights. He stretches lazily, his pectorals and washboard abs pushing against his skin and making my heart beat faster. It doesn’t matter how many times I see his naked body… I just can’t get enough.
I look at Mistress Strokes, the photographer, wondering why she isn’t paying any attention to Aidan. I mean, if it were me, I’d be ogling him like crazy. But she’s more concerned with her cameras than with Aidan’s body and, if you ask me that works just fine. I’m not the jealous type, but I prefer to have no competition.
“Alright, show time,” she tells Aidan, hunched behind a camera and peering through the lens. “Let’s do a trial run, you know how this goes,” she continues, this time snapping picture after picture.
My eyes are glued to Aidan now, watching every move of his. He flows from pose to pose gracefully, exposing his muscles from different angles. Even though there’s a serious, don’t-fuck-with-me expression on his face, I can tell he’s glad to be back in the studio. He took to writing pretty easily, but modeling was his bread-and-butter for a long time.
“Alright, good,” Mistress Strokes whispers to herself, going up to her feet and turning to me. “Abby, right?” She turns to me and offers me her hand, a kind smile dawning on her lips. I take her hand, shaking it, and nod. “Big fan,” she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly, and then she clears her throat. “Anyway, how do you want to handle this? Have you decided on a theme?”
“Yeah, the theme has to be scorching hot,” Aidan cuts in, walking over to us with a gait to his step. “There’s going to be a lot of fire in the novel, and we want the cover to reflect that.”
“I see…” Mistress Strokes trails off, looking up at the ceiling deep in thought, a lock of blue hair tumbling down her forehead. She brushes it to the side and tucks it over her ear, narrowing her eyes and looking at the cameras she has set up there.
Still with an expression of deep focus, she saunters over to one of the tripods and yanks the camera off, grabbing it with both hands. “I figure we need to go the intimate route, then,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to us or to herself. She’s looking down at the camera, fumbling with the lens and pressing button after button in quick succession.
I just stare at her completely dumbfounded, having no idea about how a photo session is supposed to go. My publisher always handled this side of the business; all I had to do was put the words down on the page. Lucky for me, Aidan took the reigns here; he knew exactly what he had to say to the photographer, and I agreed with every single word of his. Although, I admit, I have no idea how that’ll translate into a better photo. I figure that scorching hot means Aidan will be revealing a lot more of his crotch.
“Your jacket, take it off,” Mistress Strokes suddenly says, the lens of her camera trained on me.
“Me?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.
“You,” she smiles, lowering her camera. Even though her expression is a serious one most of the time, I can’t help but notice how much prettier she becomes when she smiles. “Your PA’s told me you’re going in a new direction with your books and, judging from what Aidan's told me, it really seems like it… So why is he the only one on the cover?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find the right words. She’s right but… me? As a model? No way.
“I… I don’t have the clothes to --”
“Forget it,” she tells me, still smiling, and waving at me with one hand. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s about who you are. Embrace it.”
I stare at Mistress Strokes.
“The sex advances the romance in your books, yes?” the Mistress asks me, stepping closer.
I nod.
“And what, do you know about the sex, child?” the elegant blue-haired woman asks me, her eyes piercing into my soul.
“She’s right,” Aidan says, coming up to me and gently laying his hands on my shoulders. He pulls my jacket off and I just let him do it, standing there in my tight blouse. God, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
Grabbing me by the hand, Aidan leads me to the shooting area and, looking into my eyes, he smiles. “We’re ready,” he says, never taking his eyes off of me. Unblinking, I just look back at him as the noise of the camera shutter fills the whole studio.
“See, it’s easy,” he whispers, sliding his hands down the side of my body. My skin prickles as his fingertips find the naked skin between my blouse and skirt. Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab my blouse by its hemline and pull it over my head, Aidan’s smile turning into a wild grin.
“That’s good. Really good,” I hear Mistress Strokes’ voice as she comes closer to us, the camera’s shutter working more quickly now. Breathing hard, I place my hands on Aidan’s waist and pull him into me, a shiver of excitement going up my spine as I feel his hard-on.
I look at Mistress Strokes, embarrassed, but she just keeps on snapping picture after picture, a big smile on her face. Closing in on us, she goes down on her knees, pointing up with her camera, and that’s when Aidan tangles his fingers in my hair and leans in to kiss me. His free hand goes down to my ass and he grabs a handful, squeezing it.
Instinct taking over me, I let one hand go around his waist and then I flatten the palm of my hand against his crotch, curling my fingers around his cock and feeling it pulse against me.
Moving at the same time, Aidan places one hand just above my right knee and, slowly, runs it up to the hemline of my skirt. He doesn’t stop there, though: he slides his finger over my naked skin and under the fabric of my skirt, going straight for my wet thong. I gasp as I feel his touch on my pussy, and only then do I realize there’s a deafening silence in the studio, the noise of the camera shutter now absent.
I look toward Mistress Strokes just in time to see her lowering her camera, her lips slightly apart as she goes up to her feet. “Now this is some chemistry…” she whispers, propping the camera on its tripod and turning to face us.
She’s slightly flushed and, when she runs her tongue between her lips, I realize that she’s enjoying this as much as we are—if not more.
“C’mere,” Aidan whispers, reaching for her and grabbing her hand. He pulls her close, and she closes the distance between us immediately, walking as if she’s in a trance. She looks into my eyes then, and I realize that my heart is racing now, pumping boiling blood toward my pussy and making it even wetter than before.
Mistress Strokes raises her hand and, turning it around, caresses my cheek softly, moving her thumb over my lips. I let her do it, my eyes never leaving hers, and then she leans into me.
I close my eyes as I feel her lips on mine, and I hold my breath as she lingers there. “I had to,” she whispers after taking her mouth out of mine, her wide eyes telling me that she’s as wet as I am right now.
“I know,” I reply and, before I think it through, I lean into her and kiss her again, my body still pressed against Aidan’s. Oh God, is this really happening? I look from Mistress Strokes to Aidan, but he just looks at me and smiles.
“If you’re going to write about the sex, then you must know the sex, Abby,” Mistress Strokes says to me. I look at Aidan with one last fearful glance. The glance where I’m not sure if I want to share him.
“It’s alright,” he grins, pressing his fingers harder against my pussy.
“It is,” Mistress Strokes agrees, sliding her hand under my skirt and replacing Aidan’s. “He’s handsome, but the one I’m focused on is you.”
I watch her as Mistress Strokes puts her hand on my sex. “I don’t want to share your man,” she whispers. “I want to make you cum.”
I gasp again, feeling her small fingers over the fabric of my thong, and I know that now there’ll be no stopping this. “If the two of you are going to be on the cover, you deserve this,” she continues, and her words rumble inside my head like a thunderstorm.
I know exactly what she means by ‘this’.
Abby
Her lips are on mine again, and my brain almost melts inside my skull. I’m actually kissing a woman—now here’s a first. And, to be honest, it’s better than I imagined it would be. Not as good as Aidan’s kisses, that’s for sure, but Mistress Strokes knows what she’s doing too. I don’t know anything about her, but she must have an interesting past; you don’t get to be a good kisser without an interesting past.
She pushes her tongue inside my mouth and I just surrender to it, making my tongue dance around hers in a frenzy. I feel one of Aidan’s hands going down the side of my body, and he takes it to my ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing one cheek.
Instinct fueling me, I place one hand on Mistress Stroke’s waist and go for her ass, feeling the smooth curve of her cheeks under my fingers. Grabbing her, I pull her into me, my skin prickling as I feel her breasts pressing against mine.
Hesitantly, I pull back from her kiss and look from her to Aidan, my heart beating so fast it might break a few ribs.
“Just let go,” Mistress Strokes whispers against my ear, her plump lips brushing over my skin, and I close my eyes in response. Just let go. I can do that; I can let go. The old Abby wouldn’t be able to, but we’re talking about the new Abby. And the new Abby can do a lot more things than the old one could, including letting go.
“I can do that,” I whisper back at Mistress Strokes, voicing my thoughts while narrowing my eyes and really looking at her for the first time since I entered her studio. Although her bright blue hair is her most striking feature, her big eyes are a close second: they’re brimming with a childlike curiosity of the world around her, although deep down there’s a hint of sorrow. Whoever she is, and wherever she came from, there are only two words to describe her: a beautiful puzzle.
“Let’s have some fun, then,” Aidan says, his fingers running over my back and looking for the clasp on my bra. With a quick flick, he unhooks it, and then pushes the
straps down my shoulders. The cups droop over my breasts, and I hold my breath as Aidan and Mistress Strokes pull the bra off at the same time.
My legs are weak right now, and I have no idea how I’m even standing. I’m nervous and anxious and, at the same time, more excited than I’ve ever been. It seems that every time I have sex with Aidan there’s a new barrier to break, but I thought that he no longer had anything new to show me. I was wrong—oh, so wrong.
I close my eyes as Mistress Strokes reaches for my right breast; cupping it, she squeezes it softly, and Aidan does the same on my left one.
“Is this really happening?” I ask to no one in particular, my voice thick and quivering.
“This is real. Very real,” Aidan assures me, his voice caressing my eardrums and blanketing my mind. Opening my eyes, I look into his and smile, allowing the reality of it all to sink in.
Mistress Strokes goes to her knees by my side, her small fingers resting over my inner thigh. She grabs the zipper on my skirt and, looking up at me, pulls it down. My skin prickles as I feel my skirt becoming looser over my waist, and then she just tugs on it, sending it down to my ankles. I step out of the bunched-up fabric and take a step back, now wearing only my heels and thong.
“And now the rest,” she purrs, running her hands up my legs and grabbing at my thong. Pulling on it, she slides it down my legs and I do the rest, kicking it to a faraway corner of the studio. If this were the old Abby, I’d be embarrassed right now, but I’m an improved version.
I look down at Mistress Strokes and, grinning, I join her on the floor, kneeling by her side. “Come here,” I whisper at Aidan, and he grins back at me and takes one step forward. I reach for his crotch, softly laying the palm of my hand against his hard cock, and then unbuckle his belt; I bite my lower lip as I hear the metallic clink of the buckle as it comes undone, and then I go straight for the zipper. Pulling it down, I don’t even blink as my eyes swallow up the sight of his cock straining against his boxer briefs, its thick shape pulsing with a kind of raw fury.