I was still in that blissful delirium you felt after an orgasm, and it had been three days.

I had been writing ever since.

Drew had fucked me like the men I read about in books. The men I write about. A romance hero. Hard and confident. Serene and sure. Glorious.

I had concluded that sex was the answer to writer’s block. I certainly had my writing mojo back. The words had been flowing through my fingers like his cock had flowed through me. Three sex scenes had been added and I was well onto my way to smashing 60,000 words. By the time Christmas Day arrived, I was hoping to have finished the first draft and could then start editing in the comfort of my bed with a packet of biscuits and Drew between my thighs as an incentive.

But I wasn’t sure that was going to be a reality. I hadn’t seen a lot of Drew since he staggered home, jeans still unbuttoned, his hair messy and wild, just before his face fell as he remembered we hadn’t used a condom. I reassured him across the driveway that I was on the pill and had a clean bill of health at my last gynecological appointment. He confirmed he hadn’t had sex since Meghan and we waved to each other as he shut his door.

Not exactly how I was going to wrap up my novel.

He left a breakfast basket outside the door the next morning with a note telling me he couldn’t stop thinking about me. But I couldn’t eat. The basket was still sitting on the kitchen worktop at lunchtime in the hope he’d come back for it. Eventually he did, and fucked me where the basket had been for most of the day. After, he read aloud the first few chapters of A Christmas Carol because we were creating our own tradition and didn’t need to wait until Christmas Eve. Naked and wrapped in a duvet in front of the wood burner, he kissed me gently before he left. The same night, we played the familiar game of no, you shut the curtains first, and I wrote another 5,000 words before I went to sleep.

There was still something rattling through his thoughts and tormenting him. I could see that he was in a battle with himself. The idea of letting someone in was a big ask, and he was unable to hide that he was still terrified. He was a contradiction, and that scared me. Hurt and disappointment felt only a breath away.

The writing had been my excuse for not thinking about Drew. My deadline was something I was thankful for because it gave me a focus. I had a telephone meeting scheduled with Gerry to discuss my progress. I was even considering sending him the first few chapters for feedback and just as I was about to prep for the phone call by reading through them again, Melissa popped up in a little window on my laptop.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked, her head on her hand.

‘I’ve been locked in the writing cave. I’m almost done.’ I couldn’t keep the smile off my face because the image of Drew pushing me against the wall, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me tight was replaying every time I blinked.

She peered into the screen and pushed her thick, black-rimmed glasses to the bottom of her nose. ‘Hmm, mmm. You’ve been fucked. Fucked gooood,’ she replied. I smiled in confirmation and she fell back into her chair, clapping. ‘I need all the details, honey. Start with the first thrust. ’

‘Melissa, I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Not even close.’

‘The ex-pilot woodcutting pizza maker has skills! No wonder you’ve been writing like a demon. Sex scenes?’ she asked.

‘Three.’

She laughed again. ‘Girl, fuck the scenery! You needed a different kind of inspiration.’

‘He’s giving it.’

‘Isn’t he just?’ she replied. ‘So, has he got over his love-fright? This has moved very fast.’

‘Not exactly. I’m trying to ignore his rabbit-in-the-headlights look. I figured taking it an hour at a time is the best thing,’ I replied. ‘Oh, before I forget. I read the chapters you sent me last night. I want to send you some feedback, but I loved it. I can’t believe you aren’t taking a break after your release.’ I was a critique partner for Melissa. She would send me chapters of her work in progress and I’d send notes back to her.

‘Oh, breaks are overrated,’ she replied wafting her hand. ‘I had an idea and ran with it. Sometimes that’s the best way.’

‘I’m about to talk to my publisher, but later today can I send you what I’ve written of my novel so far?’

‘Here for you, babycakes.’

‘Talk later.’

No sooner had I stopped talking to Melissa and the phone rang.

‘Cal speaking,’ I held the phone under my chin as I opened the word document.

‘Cal! How are you?’ Gerry said, his booming voice filling the room.

‘Good. Really good.’

‘I got your email this morning and boy did that put a smile on my face.’

‘I’m making progress. I’m hoping to have the first draft finished by next week,’ I replied.

‘That’s great news, Cal. What did I tell you? You just needed to be inspired. I’m going to talk to Drew about having a regular contract for the cottage. The place is magic,’ he said, coughing down the phone. I held it away from my ear.

‘It certainly is.’ I got up to close the curtains and saw Drew with Archie. He was throwing him a ball that was almost flattened when he brought it back. ‘So much inspiration.’

‘Give me the general gist,’ he said. ‘Trope, character references, plot-twists.’ I could hear him opening drawers and rifling through papers. I tried not to let it distract me.

‘Well, it’s friends to lovers.’

‘Cute.’

‘He’s an ex-pilot who was jilted by his fiancé—he found her with his step-dad.’

‘Messy. I like it.’

‘He’s hurting and humiliated. He wants to hide away from the scrutiny of what happened, so he becomes a recluse living in a cabin in the mountains. He completely changes his lifestyle, cuts off all interaction with the world, social media. Everything. He has to learn how to fend for himself in the wild. Chopping trees for firewood, hunting for food, essentially learning how to live again.’

‘Woodcutter. Recluse. Fends for himself,’ he repeated. I could hear the scratches of his pen as he jotted it all down.

‘The heroine, Kari, is a journalist and has been given a project on outdoor living, a city girl feeling at one with nature. She rents a cabin and goes exploring, only to find the recluse chopping trees. Shirtless and brooding and wham! She’s knocked for six. He’s a gorgeous specimen of all things manly and hot. She wants to see his thighs. She wants to mount him against a tree. He’s having none of it. He’s been jilted. He doesn’t want his heart to break again. How could he survive? But he can’t help but be taken by the attractive blonde writer and her womanly wiles. Or something like that.’

‘You’ve nailed the blurb,’ he snorted.

‘Oh, thank Christ,’ I replied twirling the telephone cord around my finger. ‘I hate those things.’ I shivered. Give me a novel to write over a blurb any day. Those things would have flummoxed Jane Austen.

‘You’ve piqued my interest,’ Gerry said. ‘I’m on board with the whole shirtless and brooding woodcutter. I can see the cover now.’

‘Really? I’m not sure the flavour of the book tallies with a shirtless hunk, though. I’m thinking more a couple in an embrace, trees in the background? Perhaps red lettering for the title. A clean, black font for my name?’

‘I’ll talk to the designers and send you some proofs,’ he replied, completely ignoring me. ‘I’m excited about this one, Cal!’

‘Yay. Great!’ I said, trying to match his tone. ‘Remember, I want classy and clean.’

‘We want what sells,’ he replied. ‘The keywords that stood out to me are shirtless and brooding. Leave it with me.’

‘I can talk to the designers. Ask them to give me a call, OK?’

‘Send me the first few chapters by tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And Cal?’

‘Still here.’ Bloody hell, he was getting this all wrong.

‘Happy writing.’