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Authors: Jade C. Jamison
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(and he almost was, really), but something rubbed me wrong—worse than I’d been rubbed in ages. My mind was foaming, trying to grab onto the right words, but there was a tiny voice at the back whispering the truth—that if Roman hadn’t distracted me the night before, I might have let Ridley’s indiscretion ride. And that knowledge made me even angrier, that I’d let this guy walk all over me just because he was gorgeous and available. Well, fuck that. “Ridley, love, you can have all the time you like.”
Another pause. Damn, I was on a roll today. His voice was softer, though. “Really?”
“Yeah. In fact, why don’t you take your whole goddamned life? I’ve got other things I need to focus on.”
“Oh, Lizzie— ” I have no idea what he said next, because I ended the call.
I had to give the guy credit—brass balls. He called right back. Oh, come on, Ridley. Don’t be thick. You don’t really think my provider dropped the call at the opportune moment, do you?
Turned out he wasn’t that dumb, because he didn’t try again after I didn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I’d once thought.
So why was I sad?
Chapter Nine
IT WAS MID-JUNE before I knew it. Classes were in full gear by then, so my writing time had decreased like it always did when I had lots of papers to grade.
Well, there was something else too. I was seeing Roman. A lot.
It was interesting. He still felt like just a friend and I think he felt the same way about me, because he’d start a lot of conversations off by saying, “Hey, I have an idea. Have you ever tried it this way before?” Use your imagination. When he’d say this way , he’d suggest a new sexual thing he and I hadn’t done—sometimes it was a different location; other times, it was an unusual position; a couple of times, it was a toy of some sort. We never did it in the same place or the same way twice.
I think that wa s why the friendship aspect of our relationship stayed strong. Our sexual moments, while hot and consuming, were almost like a business transaction. We’d even taken to talking about it afterward, and I’d tell him where I thought it would fit into a particular book.
But he was fucking me so much, my writing couldn’t keep up.
I wasn’t complaining, because I knew that whatever we did would go in my memory bank for reserve and I could pull something out of there later on for use. Or maybe there would wind up being one or two times just for me. Like my entire life, though, any and all experiences were up for grabs when it came to writing. Even the way a person looked at me or something someone said…maybe even a really cool outfit I wore—small or large, anything I lived could become an element of a story.
Sex, though…I’d always been afraid of sounding the same, so I needed to make damn sure all my sex scenes were different. And hot. I wanted them hot and sexy, because that was part of the reason I had faithful readers. They’d come to expect a certain level of heat from my books, and I didn’t plan to disappoint.
Once or twice, I felt like calling Ridley and setting him straight. Something I learned during that first thirty days with Roman was that I wasn’t vanilla. I might not have been pure chocolate, but I was most certainly not plain and boring. The couple of small discussions I’d had with Ridley about the matter, coupled with my insecurities as a lover, made me believe I was what most readers would consider vanilla, but after talking about it with my adventurous, highly educated friend, I started thinking not. Okay, yeah, so I wasn’t into BDSM or body fluid play or pain as pleasure, but lots of other things were up for grabs. I didn’t have to be in the missionary position, and I didn’t need the lights off. I didn’t mind some down and dirty, some experimentation with new things, a lot of the unusual. I also found
Another pause. Damn, I was on a roll today. His voice was softer, though. “Really?”
“Yeah. In fact, why don’t you take your whole goddamned life? I’ve got other things I need to focus on.”
“Oh, Lizzie— ” I have no idea what he said next, because I ended the call.
I had to give the guy credit—brass balls. He called right back. Oh, come on, Ridley. Don’t be thick. You don’t really think my provider dropped the call at the opportune moment, do you?
Turned out he wasn’t that dumb, because he didn’t try again after I didn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I’d once thought.
So why was I sad?
Chapter Nine
IT WAS MID-JUNE before I knew it. Classes were in full gear by then, so my writing time had decreased like it always did when I had lots of papers to grade.
Well, there was something else too. I was seeing Roman. A lot.
It was interesting. He still felt like just a friend and I think he felt the same way about me, because he’d start a lot of conversations off by saying, “Hey, I have an idea. Have you ever tried it this way before?” Use your imagination. When he’d say this way , he’d suggest a new sexual thing he and I hadn’t done—sometimes it was a different location; other times, it was an unusual position; a couple of times, it was a toy of some sort. We never did it in the same place or the same way twice.
I think that wa s why the friendship aspect of our relationship stayed strong. Our sexual moments, while hot and consuming, were almost like a business transaction. We’d even taken to talking about it afterward, and I’d tell him where I thought it would fit into a particular book.
But he was fucking me so much, my writing couldn’t keep up.
I wasn’t complaining, because I knew that whatever we did would go in my memory bank for reserve and I could pull something out of there later on for use. Or maybe there would wind up being one or two times just for me. Like my entire life, though, any and all experiences were up for grabs when it came to writing. Even the way a person looked at me or something someone said…maybe even a really cool outfit I wore—small or large, anything I lived could become an element of a story.
Sex, though…I’d always been afraid of sounding the same, so I needed to make damn sure all my sex scenes were different. And hot. I wanted them hot and sexy, because that was part of the reason I had faithful readers. They’d come to expect a certain level of heat from my books, and I didn’t plan to disappoint.
Once or twice, I felt like calling Ridley and setting him straight. Something I learned during that first thirty days with Roman was that I wasn’t vanilla. I might not have been pure chocolate, but I was most certainly not plain and boring. The couple of small discussions I’d had with Ridley about the matter, coupled with my insecurities as a lover, made me believe I was what most readers would consider vanilla, but after talking about it with my adventurous, highly educated friend, I started thinking not. Okay, yeah, so I wasn’t into BDSM or body fluid play or pain as pleasure, but lots of other things were up for grabs. I didn’t have to be in the missionary position, and I didn’t need the lights off. I didn’t mind some down and dirty, some experimentation with new things, a lot of the unusual. I also found
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