The truth was, I felt protective of Sam, and I wanted to do what I could to make sure this city didn’t swallow her up.
I told her I’d call her as soon as I heard back on meeting with her new agent, and she kissed me on the cheek and drove away. It was time to get down to business. I had a lot of writing to do…
Chapter 4: The Conquest
It took me a full two weeks to finish the project, but when I handed it over to the editor, she gushed about my brilliant work. I was just glad to have it out of my hands, even though I had begun to realize that women could be attractive. In fact, after setting Sam up and getting her signed with Paragon, we’d seen each other twice, repeating our phenomenal sexual encounter and honing our skills. I’d used that to fuel the story, taking advantage of the first-hand knowledge I’d gained from the experience.
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue on that path. I really liked Sam, but for the sake of our friendship, we needed to break off the romantic stuff – and that meant sexual things too. Things were in danger of getting too messy otherwise, and with my lifestyle, attachment tended to be bad news.
So, I decided to taper things off with her, and move onto my next project as soon as possible. I told my editor I wasn’t up for another lesbian story, no matter how well I’d pulled it off the first time, and that I had some ideas for a new story – something different, something I didn’t want to discuss just yet. This wasn’t exactly true, but it gave me a good excuse to spend time doing research on my own terms and get my editor off my back.
The only thing I needed now was an idea. I was sure I could come up with something…
I started by going back to the coffee shop, experimenting with some story starter ideas. I thought about club settings, bars, workplace romance, and every other cliché that was popular in the industry, but I just couldn’t seem to come up with a creative new twist on two people meeting, being instantly attracted to each other, and getting down and dirty.
It was a little frustrating, and I quickly found myself doing more people-watching than actual writing. I told myself that I was waiting for what might be a prospective muse for a male lead, as men came in and out of the coffee shop. There were a few decent looking men who came in, but no one seemed quite right. Several guys were in a hurry, one was yelling into his cell phone about missing a project deadline, and the one I actually talked to turned out to be gay. The day seemed to drag on and on, with nothing of use being served up.
Just when I started to pack up my laptop, I froze and stared at the doorway. For at that moment, my storybook character – the dreamboat I’d seen here the other morning – walked through the door. It was too weird to be a coincidence. I’d never seen him in this coffee shop for the three years I’d been coming here, and yet he suddenly now seemed to be showing up every time I turned around. Of course, this was only the second time I saw him, and I was being a little melodramatic in feeling like he was everywhere.
My second shock: he recognized me. As he passed my table, he turned slightly and gave a little mock salute. I jumped into frantic movement, knowing I needed to get out of there immediately. I grabbed my bag and practically ran out the door, not stopping to glance back.
What was going on with me? I wasn’t sure, but something about the guy set me on edge, made me uneasy. All I knew was that right now, I didn’t want to be in the same zip code as him.
Back at home I was able to relax, and I laughed at myself for my overreaction. I’d been irritated by my lack of productivity, and it had me turning into some sort of conspiracy theorist. That’s all it was. And tomorrow, I’d be able to move on and get some writing done.
No biggie. Right?
Trying to put a nail in that coffin and move on, I crashed down onto the couch and grabbed the remote. But no sooner had I sat down than my phone rang. I frowned, seeing it was Sam and not particularly wanting to answer it.
Still, she’d gotten me through a rough assignment, and the least I could do was talk to her. With a deep breath to prepare myself, I hit the ‘talk’ button. “Hello?”
“Hey, Tasha, how’s it going?” She was perky and energetic, like always.
“Good,” I said non-committedly. “Other than the fact I haven’t done any writing today and don’t have any good ideas. How about you?”
“Well, that’s actually why I called,” she replied. “There’s an event tonight, and I have a plus-one with no date. There’ll be lots of good-looking men there – actor types, you know? – and I thought maybe you’d want to come, find your next inspiration.”
Not the invitation I’d expected, and it threw me off balance for a moment, forcing me to take a seat and consider what she’d said. “Really? That’s…um…thoughtful of you… you don’t think you’d feel weird going with me?”
She laughed. “Of course not! Look, Tasha, we had our fun, but let’s get real. Neither of us really likes women, and once I’m done with this role, I’m turning straight again. You finished your story, so I figure you’re ready to get back in the game.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the logic, which was flawless. “Okay. So, tell me what I should wear.”
The event turned out to be a meet and greet between some of the clients at the agency and a few big players in the industry, including producers, directors, and casting directors. It was business-casual, but I was going for a different purpose, one that didn’t include looking professional. I pulled my favorite little black dress out of the closet, added some wrist bangles and a silver chain around my neck, and a pair of sensible but sexy pumps. I touched up my look with a little makeup that brought out my eyes and brought out my cheekbones, and I sprayed the perfume that seemed to be a magnet for the type of guy I was hunting. I checked myself out in the mirror, and nodded approvingly. “Well hello, darling,” I said to my reflection. “You look ravishing. Let’s go cause some trouble, shall we?”
Sam picked me up at seven, and we were at the lounge by eight. “You look like a vixen,” she told me as we stepped out of the car and headed for the entrance.
I grinned. “That’s the point. And hey, you don’t look too bad yourself.” She’d donned a baby blue skirt and cream colored blouse with a pair of casual sandals. She waved her invitation at the door and the guards nodded, stepping out of the way, allowing us entrance into the grand ballroom.
She was right – the entire venue was packed with GQ and Abercrombie types, models and actors just getting started and working hard to have ‘the look’. Interesting how that ‘look’ was so similar to the characters I loved to write about…
I spotted a tall, muscular guy in the corner with shaggy brown hair, wearing a pair of casual grey slacks and a black button down shirt with white embroidery of a skull’s head on the back. The outfit was borderline-feminine, but his body and facial expression gave him a dark, brooding manliness.
Promising, I thought.
“Watch this,” I told Sam, full of confidence, and she gave me a thumbs up when I pointed out my target. I strode over, head held high, a swagger in my walk and a swing in my hips, and he looked my way, his eyebrows raising in appreciation as I approached him. That was my cue, and I gave him the mischievous, seductive smile that made men like him salivate.
I walked right up to him and simply said, “Hi.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Great pickup line.”
I shrugged. “It’s better than ‘you must’ve fallen from heaven’, and it got your attention, so it must not be too bad.”
“True enough,” he conceded and held out a hand. “Jamie.”
I took his hand firmly in mine, caressing his knuckles with my thumb to let him know what was on my mind. “Natasha. Pleasure.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked, playful grin. “Is that a greeting? Or a demand?”
That was perhaps the best comeback I’d heard in a while, and I let out a surprised laugh. “Take it in whatever context you like.” I motioned the bartender over and ordered a cherry vodka
sour, leaning on the bar and facing Jamie head-on. After the day I’d had, Jamie was a godsend, and I planned to get something out of this – since, after all, I had dressed up for the occasion.
“On my tab,” he told the bartender when the drink was delivered. Wow, another signal – we were already on cue number two, and it had been less than five minutes. This would be easier than I thought.
“Thanks,” I told him, toasting him. “So, what’s your flavor? Actor? Model? Musician? Undecided?”
He chuckled again, a low deep sound coming from somewhere down low in his chest. When I looked in his eyes, I saw they were a crazy, deep color somewhere between green and blue. “I’m an actor, though I’ve been doing some modeling shoots to pay the bills till I land a ‘real’ acting gig. What about you? What’s your industry?”
I waved off the question as though it was meaningless. “I came with a friend. I’m not exactly in the entertainment business, though I am a writer.”
“Very cool,” he nodded. He stood up as I drained my drink. “Care to dance?”
I looked back at Sam, who was pretending not to watch us. I winked at her, and she grinned. Oh, yeah. This was shaping up to be a very good night.
I followed Jamie to the dance floor, where conversation stopped and bumping and grinding began. This was more my style – finding my inspiration didn’t require getting to know anyone. I could see my storyline already: girl accompanies friend to first Hollywood party nervously, only to hook up with an up and coming actor.
Perfect.
After a few dances and a lot of hands exploring various body parts, I excused myself for a moment to find Sam, asking Jamie to grab me another drink and telling him I’d meet him at the bar. I didn’t spot her at first, but I shouldn’t have worried. She was chatting up some young, fresh-faced guy across the room. I apologized for interrupting, and pulled her aside.
“Looks like you’ve found a winner, too.”
She shrugged, smiling shyly. “Actually, I met him on the set. We work together. I really like him, and he seems interested… but I dunno. We’ll see.” She motioned toward where Jamie stood at the bar, waiting coolly for the bartender to bring his order. “He certainly seems to be into you. I take it things are going well?”
“Better than well. Would you be okay if I skipped out and, you know, got a ride home?” I didn’t want to abandon her if she wanted a wingman, but I had the feeling things with Jamie were going to progress rather quickly – if our dirty dancing had been any indication.
“Go for it! Just make sure you dedicate your next story to me.” She laughed and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning back to her coworker. “Have fun.”
I strutted back to Jamie leisurely, in no hurry and knowing he was watching my movements with growing interest. It was my job to make that interest explode.
“Who’s your friend??” he asked, motioning toward Sam.
“Someone I recommended to the agency. She’ll be hot stuff soon; she’s got a lot of talent.” He handed me my drink, and we toasted. “To making new acquaintances.”
He chuckled. “And to becoming fast friends.” We put down the drinks quickly, and he gave me that look, the one I’d been waiting for.
“This place is a little lame,” he said. “You want to get out of here, go somewhere a little less over-the-top?”
Translation: I want you, and I’m hoping you’ll take me home. If only he knew me better, he wouldn’t need to be so coy…
I nodded. “Yes, that would be great. This is so not my scene.” I sent a quick text to Sam on the way out, just a single word, “Score.”
I turned off my phone as we climbed into Jamie’s SUV, a generic something that resembled almost every other car on the road. But it was decked out, with heated seats and a thumping sound system.
“Nice ride,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat.
He smiled. “Thanks. I’d rather spend the money to deck it out than buy some overpriced, overrated new wheels.” I liked that, and I gave him directions to get back to my place, making assumptions I knew weren’t misplaced.
When he pulled up in the driveway, he just sat there for a minute, idling. I turned to him expectantly. “Well, are you coming in for a drink or not?”
He instantly killed the engine and stepped out. I opened the door and let us both in, kicking off my pumps and plodding barefoot to the kitchen.
“What’s your poison?” I asked, sensing his presence behind me.
“Whiskey, if you have it. On the rocks.”
I nodded and poured, handing him the drink across the island in my kitchen. I leaned on it and sipped my own glass for a moment, just watching him and waiting to see if he was going to make the first move or if I was going to have to play the aggressor. Sure, I’d had to invite him in, but the reaction always varied once they were in my domain.
“I take it you live alone,” he hedged, one hand in his pocket as he tried to sound casual.
I nodded. “I don’t want to have to answer to anyone when I make choices, so I’ve never had a roommate. It’s not like I can’t afford my own place. What about you?”
He nodded. “I was with a roommate, but things have been going well for me at work, and I got a place about two months ago.” He laughed, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s kind of bare right now. I’m slowly furnishing it.” Finally, he sat down his glass, mostly empty, and moved around the end of the island until he stood beside me. This type of flirting could quickly turn awkward, but I knew what I was doing. I was totally comfortable, and I felt wholly in my element. I was interested in gauging how he felt. I continued to lean on the counter, playing the waiting game, waiting to see what he would do next.
He cleared his throat and I turned only my head to him, raising an eyebrow in question. His half-smile was definitely a turn on, but I kept a cool expression on my face. But his words, when they came, surprised me.
“Look,” he said, “I get it. I can totally play the game. I could grab you right now, press against you, and kiss you until you’re begging me for more.” It sounded like a good idea to me. “But I don’t work like that. I prefer to let things build up a bit. I’d rather come over here, push a strand of hair back behind your ear, letting my fingers linger on your skin for a few seconds…”
He trailed off and did exactly what he said, and I felt a quick rush of warmth at his touch, my nipples hardening into taut peaks. His smile grew. “Then, I can take your hand, turn you so you’re facing me…” he continued to mimic his words with his motions, and turned me towards him.
“…And now I can kiss you.”
With one hand on my cheek and the other at the small of my back, pressing me to him, he lowered his lips to mine, first brushing them ever so softly, like a teasing wind. I sighed against his mouth as he used gentle pressure to pry them open, his tongue instantly delving with short, slow, breathtaking strokes inside my mouth. I met his with mine, interweaving and dancing with each other.
He was right; his methods worked just as well if not better than the average guy’s, and I would have to remember through the fog of arousal now covering me exactly what he’d said so I could use it in my books. Now, though, I concentrated on the sensation within me, letting his attentions drive me to the point of being the aggressor. I’d been trying to avoid the tendency to lead the way for many years now, and it was still a struggle. I know guys liked girls to play the submissive, and I definitely liked that too – but still, I often found myself leaning toward the dominant side.
Something about the way Jamie approached the situation – without hesitation, but with gentlemanly courtesy that sparked a light in me – kept me off-balance and guessing, and I waited with anticipation to see what he would do next.
His hand tugged at the skirt of my dress, hiking it higher and higher on my leg until he could reach under and bury his hand in my pussy, which was flooded and burning with desire. He caressed gently on the outside of my panties, tickling in a maddening way. But bef
ore I could whimper and ask for more, he growled against my cheek, “May I touch you there?”
He pressed his hand hard against my pussy, and I froze, wanting to rock against it but holding back.
I nodded vigorously, and my voice came out like a frightened child. “Yes, please.” With my confirmation, he pushed my panties aside and stroked methodically over my clit and down to where he could tease at the opening so ready to take his fingers inside. Now, I couldn’t help but buck against his hand, rubbing myself shamelessly against him as he continued to kiss me and suck at my lips, bite at them with precision so it only heightened my growing arousal.
He smiled, and I could feel the upturn of his lips, the stretch of his cheeks on my mouth. “I take it you like my methods.”
The Girl Who Wrote Erotica, Book One: The Method (Contemporary Romance) Page 3