A tub!

Last night I didn’t see enough of his room to get a glimpse of it, but there it was. A tub right there in front of the window on full display for anyone to see while you lather up. What is it with this hotel?

Naturally, my mind gravitates toward Rhys, specifically his body. I’ve always thought that a man taking a bath, rather than a shower, was rather effeminate and just plain silly. Now, I’m picturing Rhys’s body lying prone in that large tub, glistening shoulders and arms draped over the edge, soapy water slithering across his abs, the white bubbles barely hiding what lies underneath the surface….

Just like a bubble, those thoughts pop out of existence when I remind myself that he’s currently critiquing my hard work. I think about my precious labor of love being scrutinized by Rhys’s critical eye and my chest tightens. I’ve always loved writing, penning out silly little stories when I could get a moment or two to myself back home. Thanks to my upbringing, my literary influences were severely limited. Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen were about as provocative as it got. TV and movies were the same.

It was only when I finally arrived in New York and got both a library card and unfiltered internet access that I was finally exposed to just how much more…more it could be. I devoured every romance and erotic novel I could get my hands on, loving every sinful word of it. It was a far cry from Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice, which are both wonderful reads, but only ever hinted at sex, if that.

I’m lying on my back staring at the ceiling, wondering what Rhys thinks about my work, when I’m startled by a knock on the door. It can only be him. I sit up and stare at the door with a sudden onset of panic. I shouldn’t have let him read it. He’s probably ready to tear it apart. Laugh at my attempt at writing. Critique every word. Every sex scene.

Maybe even discover my secret.

But if I’m going to eventually make a living at this, I need to put on my big girl pants and suck up every word of criticism. This is a good thing! I quickly roll off the bed and jog toward the door. I stop briefly to collect myself and take one quick look in the mirror.

I check the peephole to make sure it’s actually him. He’s still wearing nothing but a towel. I smile as I peek through, waiting just a bit, if only to make him sweat. A wrinkle comes to his brow and he knocks again. I hold back a laugh, then open the door.

“You couldn’t be bothered to get dressed?”

“And ruin what we have?” he responds, casually walking past me, holding my laptop in his hands.

I look incredulously at his back as he looks around my room. “I see you like to do it in the dark.”

I flick on the lights. “Better? I know you only like it when you’re on display.”

He gives me a grin, then holds up the laptop. “Ready?”

I take a deep breath then nod. Before he can plop himself down on the bed, I deliberately head over to my little table with two chairs and pull one out for him. He gives me an indulgent smile, then takes a seat.

“Let’s get started.”

I watch with anxious anticipation as he thoughtfully thumbs his lower lip with a look of concentration on his face. Without all the teasing grins and flirtatious smirks, he looks even more handsome in a polished sort of way. He has the demeanor of a businessman reviewing notes for a board meeting, or a lawyer researching a case, or a politician preparing for a debate. Or, at least he would if he was wearing more than just a towel.

“So…what did you think of it?” I ask warily.

“Well, you’re characters are definitely well developed. I could actually picture them and what they’re like in real life.”

I smile, relaxing a bit.

“Your dialogue is decent, or realistic. Not necessarily what I’d call romantic or sexy.”

A slight frown comes to my face. “What does that mean?”

He gives me a considering look and I know the hammer is about to fall.

“It’s just…I don’t feel the passion either in their actions or their words.”

“What does that mean?” I repeat, straightening up in my seat defensively.

“There’s no heat.”

“Just because they don’t jump into bed with one another at the drop of a hat—”

He puts a hand up to stop me, laughing lightly. “I’m not talking about just sexual situations, Prynne, though that’s another area that could use some serious help.”

I feel my cheeks burn with anger.

“I mean, I see how they are starting to grow together, but it’s almost like—and don’t get offended—two kids who are mimicking what they see in the movies. Maybe even a bit mechanical, like you’re transcribing a user’s manual instead of reality.”

“It’s not that bad,” I instinctively retort, feeling like a five-year-old on a playground.

He gives me an impassive shrug. “Maybe it will get better as you finish up the story, but right now, I just don’t see it.”

I calm down a bit, realizing that he’s only trying to help me. “So what would you suggest?” I ask, trying to keep the resentment out of my voice.

“Write what you know. Write about how their bodies react to one another. Does her mouth go dry, or does it salivate at the prospect of being with him? Do her nipples get so hard that it causes her to moan? Does his dick throb, twitch, get rock hard? Does her pussy get wet at the prospect of him just touching her?”

He’s inched closer and closer to me as he speaks in a softer and more intimate voice. I’m paralyzed by his coarse language draped in that sensual voice of his. Each vulgar word is like an eruption of lava inside me, sending vapors of heat through my body.

“Speaking of which, what’s your objection to the words dick and pussy, maybe even the occasional cunt?”

My mouth falls open in shock. “I…I….” I can’t even speak.

He’s so close to me I can actually feel the breath of his words on my face. He smiles. “Let me hear you say them. Dick. Pussy. Cunt.”

The words are bad enough, but coming from his mouth, with that voice, I feel like I’ve actually fallen into a den of iniquity. I almost twist my head to look around furtively, like I used to do back home when I was on the lookout for Mama and Daddy while I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.

“I…no,” I say, shaking myself free of his hypnotic voice. “It’s not that I’m opposed to those words, I just…. I think my terms are perfectly fine.”

He pulls back and shrugs. “If you want to write purple prose or clean romance, that’s all well and good. I’ve heard Amish is a big thing in romance. But based on what I’ve read so far, I don’t sense that’s the direction in which you want to go.”

“Thank you for your input,” I say curtly. I’ve gone back to being defensive and rude, allowing my bruised ego to take the wheel.

“I’m just saying, it reads like the Kidz Bop version of smut. You have your foot in both worlds, Prynne. You’ve got to pick one. Seriously, try drawing from your own experiences.”

Once again, that one hits a bit too close to home.

He leans back in again and lowers his voice as he stares at me intently. “What does it feel like when a man is inside of you?”

I go rigid with embarrassment, unable to even get my vocal cords to work.

“Better yet, think of the best foreplay you’ve had: his fingers stroking you, his tongue swirling around your clit, his mouth surrounding your nipples.”

My God, I can actually feel everything he’s describing as though it’s actually happening. Maybe it’s that infuriatingly sexy voice. His words are like caresses, slinking across my body as he utters them.

“I think you should go,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed and flush with…something.

He just smiles with a satisfied air. “There. That’s the look.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, a shiver of horror running through me. By now, I sound like a broken record asking the same question over and over.

“Use that feeling you have right now in your book.” He leans in with a grin. “That is what women want to experience.”

I just stare at him as he rises from his seat.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He actually bows before heading toward the door.

I can’t even reply as I watch him walk off and leave the room. The second the door closes I fall back into my seat and exhale. My body feels raw and there are still residual tingles running through it. Is this what it feels like after sex?

Try drawing from my experiences, he said. How the heck can I?

I’m still a virgin.