The Randy Romance Novelist
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Authors: Meghan Quinn
The Randy Romance Novelist
MEGHAN QUINN
Published by Hot-Lanta Publishing
Copyright 2016
Cover design by Meghan Quinn
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected]
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Copyright © 2016 Meghan Quinn
All rights reserved.
This book is dedicated to all the wonderfully beautiful book nerds out there. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel bad for reading and getting lost in an imaginary world.
I hope you find your inner Rosie in this book. Much love and boob squeezes. B>>
Thank you to Debra Anastasia, Katie Ashley, Helena Hunting, Katherine Stevens, and Tara Sivec for letting me use your books and personalities in this crazy story.
I adore you.
Special thank you to all the fans of
The Virgin Romance Novelist
. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your love of Rosie and Henry. You’re the reason their story has continued.
ROSIE
It happened to me. I lost the big V, and I don’t mean Virginia; she was still intact. No, I lost my virginity . . . finally!
I had sexual intercourse, I did the dirty, I performed the sexuals, I horizontally twerked it.
Basically what happened was penis met vagina and had one hell of a party down at pleasure palace.
I did this all with my best friend, Henry, now the love of my life. I never thought I would find such an all-consuming love with someone I’ve known forever. It seemed like a fairy tale. I was finally able to hand my heart over to someone who would care for it as if it were their own.
Life after the big V was handed over wasn’t what I expected it to be. I’d watched several movies and I’d read thousands of books that faded into black after the big magical make-up kiss; none of them prepared me for what I was going through now.
In fictional stories, couples were catapulted into their happily ever after. In my mind, they were frolicking across prairies filled with daffodils, while they walked hand in hand, gazing up at each other through rose-colored glasses. The outside world was non-existent. Couples were trapped in a cocoon of love for the rest of their lives, never seeing a dark moment ever again.
This theory was rudely destroyed after I experienced the big kiss that faded into black. No one stopped to congratulate us on finding the person we were meant to spend the rest of our life with. There was no one to film us during our big kiss. Cameras didn’t travel in circles around us, our mouths melting into each other, sealing our love, like every epic romantic movie I’d ever watched.
No, the pretty picture I had in my head was a far cry from the real life one, which consisted of kissing Henry on the streets of New York with no film crew racing around us in a circle, playing catchy music like “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” Instead, there was a wheezy old man kicking us in the shins to get out of the way so he could throw out his expired coffee cup that carried pee in it rather than the day’s dark roast special.
Life as I knew it returned. I was forced to go back to work and write about litter boxes and clumping formula, while trying to hide from the man who’s chin I farted on, hoping and praying I didn’t run into him in the elevator. No one offered you discounts for being in love or finding your perfect soulmate. There was no spontaneous combustion of brilliant fireworks following me around every time I thought of Henry.
There was combustion all right, but it was the subway smell filtering up through the street grates mixed with yesterday’s trash simmering on the streets. Not the kind of epic love I expected.
Life after the mind-altering, scene ending, proclamation of love was just that . . . it was life. It traveled around like clockwork.
But there was one change, one single thing that shined like a beacon through the mud-filled day-to-day monotony. Instead of going home to an empty home, I went home to a pair of wide open arms and a smile designated only for me.
Love was waiting for me. Love was patiently and excitingly waiting for me to come home.
Henry waited for me.
ME!
The person who got a vibrator stuck in her vagina.
Life after the monumental confession of love wasn’t easy; it was only the beginning of the crazy up and down rollercoaster adventure we were embarking on together. Situations weren’t pretty; there were misunderstandings, fights, sleepless nights, and moments that were so electrically charged with stubbornness that I couldn’t think of one possible way we would get over our disagreement. But we did.
We said stupid things, and we did stupid things. Everyone was human, a lesson I learned rather quickly after the first time I forgot to tell Henry something important.
This isn’t a story of finding love, experiencing that kiss for the first time, or discovering the unyielding feeling of falling head over heels in love with someone.
This story is entirely different. This is what continued after the lights were turned off, the music died down, and the cameras stopped spinning in a cinematic dramatized way.
This is a story of struggle, of strength, of misunderstandings, and the forever bond of two individuals.
This is the story of my life after my happily ever after . . .
The Titanic
ROSIE
“Just sit still; if you move, the chair moves.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Henry asked, questioning my knowledge on The Titanic.
“I know how to do The Titanic. You just have to work with me.”
“Missionary is always a popular position, love. We can try that one out. You know missionary, right? We’ve done it a few times. It’s when you’re on your back and I’m plowing you between your legs.”
“I know what missionary is,” I chastised, irritated that he wouldn’t sit still. “You know I like to try positions from my books, though, so sit still while I grab my Kindle so I can make sure I’m doing this right.”
“Because that’s sexy,” Henry mumbled, as I removed my bottom half from his.
Naked, boobs slinging about, and white butt on display, I trotted over to my nightstand to grab my Kindle. The floor was cold under my feet and I was thankful I remembered to shut the blinds this go-around. I’ve been known to forget to cover the windows, and it wasn’t until the deed had been done that we realized there had been a gaggle of street youths, with binoculars pressed against their faces, getting an eye full of slapping body parts.
Walking down my block, making eye contact with said teenagers had been humiliating, to say the least. I swore I heard them call me Pinky. Henry thought I was delusional, but it was unmistakable. I thought it was because they’d seen the beautiful hue Virginia has to offer. Henry, if he chose to believe the nickname, said it had to do with my pink nipples.
Cue giggling like a school girl.
Kindle in hand, I walked back to Henry, who was waiting patiently on my office chair, in all his naked glory. I’ve only really been with one penis—you already knew this—so I might have been a little biased, but I wasn’t lying when I said Henry had a fantastic appendage.
Girth. Check!
Length. Check!
Hair. None!
Balls. Wrinkly and weird, but let’s be honest, they’re coin purses full of milky babies. Can’t really go right with those things.
Everything about Henry’s “junk” appealed to me.
“Are you reading or staring at my penis?”
“Reading!” I replied, scattering my thoughts away from the wiener between his thighs.
Nodding at my Kindle, hands crossed just above his pecker, he said, “Is that right? Then why is it closed?”
I looked down at my Kindle to see the top covering the screen. Huffing, I scoffed. “Mind your own business while I verify positions.”
The creak of the chair in the room clued me in to his slouching and attempt to get comfortable. From the corner of my eye, I could see his legs spread, boner on display touching his six pack with ease.
Pushing back the sigh that wanted to escape, I returned to my Kindle and opened it up to
Warning Track
by one of my favorite authors. There was a scene I read the other day where Jane, the main character, got it on with the oh-so-handsome Brady Matthews in a chair that just so happened to be in a baseball stadium. Who doesn’t like a hot sports romance? The author called the sex position The Titanic because at one point, Jane lifts her arms in the air, giving all her trust over to Brady while he maneuvered in and out of her. The minute I read the scene, I knew I had to try it with Henry.
Holding my Kindle in one hand, I scooted closer to Henry and positioned his feet so they were flat on the floor. “You have to be a sturdy foundation for us. Keep these feet glued to the floor, especially since we are on a spinny chair.”
With teasing eyebrows, Henry said, “I love it when you take charge in the bedroom.”
“This is serious!” I stomped my foot. “Get your sexy face on and stop joking. It’s time to make love.”
Henry held up his hands in defense. “Oh, excuse me, mistress.”
Pointing my finger at him, I said, “Don’t call me that. Now sit up. Look alive.” I looked down at his crotch and tapped it. “Come on fella, perk up.”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Love. For the love of God, do not call my penis, ‘fella.’ It’s not going to do much for motivation.”
“Sorry.” Straitening up, I quickly scanned the scene in the book and then proceeded to walk us through the steps. “I’m going to sit on you and you are going to have to hold onto my hips, balancing me. Can you handle that?”
“You insult me with your questions. Of course I can handle that.”
Smiling gratefully at the most handsome man I’ve ever known, I backed my caboose onto his lap, shifting just enough to cause a little friction between us.
“Uh, am I supposed to be inside of you? Or are you going to dry hump my log?” Henry asked, completely amused with this entire situation.
“Oh, um, inside me. Just stick it in there.”
A low rumble vibrated through Henry’s chest. “If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it. Put the Kindle down, grab hold of me, and fuck me, Rosie.”
A chill ran up my spine from his deep voice whispering across my back. Goosebumps scattered across my skin, causing me to obey his wishes. Putting the Kindle on the floor in front of me, and reaching behind me where I felt his length against my hand, I granted his wish.
From where he rested, I could feel the quick intake of breath as my hand connected with his arousal. His taut stomach flexed under my contact and his hands slowly slid down from my hips to my thighs, where he gripped them hard as I lifted up just barely enough to slip him in.
Shifting my hips, I pushed back against him, so he was completely inserted. Feeling full, I took a deep breath and then started to move my hips, but only ever so slightly. I wanted to feel his girth, but I didn’t want to forget the task at hand.
“Are we doing The Titanic?” Henry asked, pulling me into his chest so he could look over my shoulder.
“Not quite,” I breathed heavily, moving with him.
“Well, I’m satisfied with whatever this is.” His hands ran up my stomach, grazing my skin softly until he found my breasts. Cupping them, he kissed the side of my neck and continued to move his hips.