Whatever it is about him, it’s more than physical. There’s a stirring inside me that I can’t quite name. And to be quite frank, I’m a little scared to.
As I lay there, contemplating my life and whether I might need to hire a crane to hoist me up later, I can’t help but be amazed by Adam.
He’s like the hero from one of my steamier scenes, except he wears sexy tank tops that showcase his incredible arm muscles and doesn’t solely exist on a page.
And let’s be honest, no man in my books has ever made me feel like I need a safe word for stretching.
I chortle to myself at that thought but still don’t make a move to leave the warm embrace of my couch cushions.
I need to work—to write—but I’m not sure I’ve got it in me tonight. There’s a frantic energy—something building that needs release.
Staring at the ceiling, I huff a laugh.
Being hot and bothered is part of the job description. It’s how some of my steamiest scenes have become literary art.
So, begrudgingly, I stand up and walk over to my writing nook. I open my laptop, but the blank document stares back at me like the final round of a staring contest I’m about to lose.
Instead of typing, my mind does a backbend right into the memory of Club Nocté. The dim lights, the scent of mystery, and possibly too much cologne in the air—it’s all there.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the daydream.
It’s less of writing a scene and more of mentally choreographing one. And, boy, do the characters move in ways that would make tonight’s yoga instructor blush—or who knows, maybe she’d give me a high-five for imaginative flexibility.
The daydream spins out of control, and I’m caught in a whirlwind of ‘what-ifs’ that leave me wishing I had a way to bring it to life again.
The man at Nocté was so incredibly attentive. Sexy in a way I’ve never experienced and certainly built in a way that only Greek gods have been known to be. His muscles had muscles.
Never in a million years should I have been having sex with a man like him—and yet, that’s what we did.
All.
Night.
Long.
Like we were a couple of sex-deprived rabbits ready to repopulate the earth.
Every surface, every angle …
Lord, I did things that would make my characters clutch their pearls.
But the best part …
Not once did he make me feel out of place or too fat to fuck.
No, he made me feel like I was the air he desperately needed to breathe and every touch was something that could bring him to his knees.
He was sexy in a way I didn’teven knowexisted. And that’s saying something since I make a living dreaming up new ways for my characters to cop a feel.
In his eyes, that night I felt so sexy. So beautiful and intriguing. And I’ve never,everseen myself that way—but always wished I had.
I guess that’s all thanks to my Zoey persona.
I embraced all she is and stands for and definitely seized the moment—amongst other things. Large,girthythings.
An involuntary shudder skitters down my spine as I think about the rest of his physique hidden below the belt. His long, hard length in my hand, my mouth—hell,everywhere.
Whew, that night…