The Randy Romance Novelist (2 page)

His fingers played with my nipples, tantalizing them to small little peaks, and for a brief moment in time, my mind went blank and I was lost in the moment. It wasn’t until Henry groaned in my ear that I was brought back to what I was trying to accomplish.

“As good as this feels, this isn’t The Titanic.” I sat up, and pushed down on Henry’s lap, causing another groan to come from his chest.

“Easy, love.”

“Listen up. If we are going to do this, we’re going to do this right. Grab hold of my hips and plant your feet on the ground, so I can hook my feet around them.”

“Okay,” Henry said skeptically, shifting beneath me.

Once in position, I wrapped my feet around his calves and steadied myself. “Make sure you have a good grip on me.” He obliged my command, and when I felt secure, I lifted my hands up into the air, spreading them to my full wingspan. Channeling Kate Winslet, I pushed my head back, stuck my nips out, and tried to feel the “breeze” in my face, aka the fan I set up beforehand.

Henry sat there silent for a second before he said, “This is cool and all, having your hair blow in my mouth, but maybe we can start moving again?”

“Yes, proceed,” I answered him, still in the moment, pretending I was on the bow of a boat with Leonardo DiCaprio behind me.

“Just move my hips . . . with you, like that?”

“Yes, cue the thrusting.”

Awkwardly, Henry tried to move in and out of me while I balanced on his rickety legs, swaying back and forth, side to side, catching myself occasionly from slamming my head onto the desk that rested right next to us.

“This is a good time.” I could sense the annoyed tone in Henry’s voice.

“Thrust, Henry. Just thrust.”

Struggling, he said, “It’s hard to thrust when I’m having to balance a naked woman while I’m sitting in a desk chair that refuses to stay still.”

“Plant your feet. Are your feet planted?”

“Yes, they’re planted. If they weren’t planted, then I would probably be probing you on the ground right about now.”

“Hmm, maybe we’re doing it wrong. Let me check my Kindle.”

Before Henry could stop me, I leaned forward, grinding my butt against his lap. With my feet still hooked behind his calves, I balanced my body as I leaned forward, reaching for my Kindle. Just as I was about to reach it, Henry’s feet slipped off the ground, sending me flying onto the floor face first, ass up like an ostrich, and head buried under the rug in front of me.

If he wanted a good view of the great and powerful asshole, then he got one.

From behind, I could hear Henry’s sexy laugh filter through the room, but instead of his chuckle making me all gooey inside like it normally would, it fueled the rage that was starting to boil inside of me.

“Henry!” I screeched, trying to sit up, but failing miserably from being caught up in the tightly braided rug that cloaked me.

His laughter continued.

Struggling to find some dignity, I rolled on the ground until the rug canoodled me like a cocoon. Sporting the floor warmer tightly around my body, I lifted my chest and looked up at my handsome boyfriend. There was a giant smile decorating his face and an adoring look in his eyes. Damn him!

“This isn’t funny,” I snapped at him, trying to show my disappointment.

“It kind of is,” he said, falling to the ground with me.

Naked parts were flying around all over the place.

“You didn’t take me seriously enough. You have to take me seriously if our experiments are going to work.” I pouted, pulling the rug ends closer together to cover my exposed nakedness.

Henry placed his hand on my face and forced me to look at him. “Love, any time I’m with you, I take it seriously. Do you know why?”

He was trying to sweet talk me, and I let him.

I played with the tassels on my rug, trying to avoid eye contact. “Because you like to fornicate?”

“No,” he laughed. “Because I’ve spent so much time waiting for the moment where I could finally call you mine that now, I make sure to cherish every fucking moment I have with you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

Yup, you guessed it, butterflies took flight in my stomach. He was really good at the sweet talking.

“Man, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, even after she went all ostrich on you moments before.”

“I liked the ostrich,” he chuckled. “Got a great view. Maybe instead of trying to emulate a scene in a book, we can make our own material?”

I cringed. “The Ostrich is not something I find appealing.”

“And The Titanic is?”

“You can’t tell me you’ve never had a Titanic fantasy. Kate Winslet . . . boobies.”

“Boobies are great, but no fantasies there. Honestly, I just want to make love to you on this floor, right here, right now.”

“With me wrapped in a rug?” I asked. I felt disgust on my face.

“Not much into fucking rugs, so you’re going to have to ditch the threads, love.”

Without giving me an option, Henry grabbed the rug, unraveled me, and tossed it to the side. His hand wrapped around my neck, pulling me into him, where he lowered me gently onto the cold hardwood floor. My back lifted off the ground for a short second before it became accustomed to the temperature.

“You’re so fucking beautiful; do you know that?” Henry asked, staring me in the eyes. “Every day, I wake up with you in my arms, thanking whoever wants to listen for letting you be mine.”

I was speechless as he cupped my face and slowly entered me, one inch at a time. Taking a deep breath, I adjusted to his size and waited for him to start moving, but he didn’t. Instead, he kissed me, deeply, as if he was starving for my kisses, completely desperate for them. His fingers caressed my cheeks while my hardened nipples danced with his bare chest. The friction only intensified the burn that was starting to build up in the pit of my stomach, that wonderful, all consuming, mind-blowing, life-altering burn.

“I love you so fucking much,” Henry whispered in my ear, just as he worked his hips, thrusting in and out of me.

My heart felt like it was about to rip out of my chest from the intimacy beaming between Henry and me, from the unbreakable connection we’d formed over the past two months.

Little moans escaped from my lips, a light sheen of sweat broke out over my skin, and my toes started to curl. My impending orgasm started to slowly prepare to rip through my body.

“Fuck,” Henry said in a husky tone, straight into my ear, sending another bout of chills down my body. “You make me lose control.”

Pumping harder, Henry continued to kiss up and down my neck, his body hovering just slightly above mine. I watched his arms flex with his movements, marveling in the way his hard body tightened with each thrust.

“Love, are you going to come? Tell me you’re right there with me. I want to hear you scream my name when I come inside of you.”

Dirty talk pretty much did it for me.

Instead of answering, my eyes immediately closed as my orgasm tore through my body, from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head, pure and utter satisfaction collided in my very core, sending my brain into a fit of black. From a distance, I could hear Henry call out my name in undeniable ecstasy.

There was nothing I enjoyed more than hearing Henry say my name in the throes of passion. I knew he was in love with me, that I was his girl, but there was something about having sex with the love of my life, and pleasing him to the point of completion that put a smile on my face.

I did that; I was able to turn on this sexy man to the point that he lost all self-control.

Sex to me wasn’t just about poking each other with private parts, trying to see who could seek out an orgasm first. Sex, to me, was a moment in time where I could truly share the same space, the same air, with the one person I would bet my entire life on. And, let’s be honest, having my clit scream its little four-inch head off—yes, four inches long—was always a bonus.

Resting his head on my shoulder, Henry breathed out a long sigh before lying down on the floor next to me and cradling my body into his. “See, nothing wrong with missionary, love.”

“I guess not,” I laughed into his shoulder.

His hands lightly ran across my skin as he spoke. “As much as I want to just stay here with you all night, Delaney and Derk are coming over, so we should be good hosts and put some clothes on.”

I was about to answer when our front door opened and Delaney’s voice rang through our apartment. “Hey, hooker, I brought margarita mix; you better have tequila.”

“Shit,” Henry breathed, quickly lifting us both up off the floor.

“Ugh, are you two doing it?” Delaney called out, her voice now booming through the bedroom door.

I was just quick enough to grab the rug that’d once cocooned me off the floor to drape over my body and stand in front of Henry before Delaney walked in. She had zero personal space awareness.

Shaking her head and pointing at our naked bodies, barely covered by a rug, she said, “Should have known. You horn dogs are at it again. The first time was cute when I walked in, Rosie with her pink nipples in the air, shining for all the street youths to see, but the twentieth time is starting to get old.” Delaney looked over at the office chair and then back at us. “Did you try The Titanic?”

Shifting in place, I nodded my head. “Yeah, didn’t work very well.”

“Did Henry plant his feet? That’s important, you have to plant your feet.”

“My feet were planted!” Henry answered, exasperated, hands in the air.

Glancing down, Delaney surveyed Henry’s legs. “Hmm, your calves actually are kind of small. I never noticed that. Derk has some pretty strong calves, so I think that’s why he was so successful.”

“You were able to do The Titanic?” I asked with jealousy.

Delaney leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed. “Of course, it was simple. I Kate Winsleted Derk’s penis like it was my job. And when I came, I screamed, ‘I’m flying.’ It was a raw and emotional moment.”

Derk came jogging up behind Delaney, breathing heavily with an annoyed look on his face. “Seriously, babe, what is your obsession with catching them in the middle of having sex?” Derk took in the scene and shook his head.

“They tried to do The Titanic,” Delaney said, ignoring Derk’s question.

Derk looked up at Henry and asked, “Did you plant your feet?”

“Yes!” Henry practically yelled before stomping off toward the bathroom, giving both Delaney and Derk a beautiful look at his bare butt.

“Man, he’s sensitive,” Delaney said. Nodding at the rug, Delaney asked, “You going to wear a tapestry while we discuss wedding plans or are you going to get changed?”

“If you give me some privacy, I’ll get changed, but I’m not about to give you a naked lady show.”

“Suit yourself. You have five minutes; the bridezilla has spoken.”

With that, Delaney turned on her heel and shut the door. I walked over to Henry, who was combing his hair in the mirror, and kissed his shoulder.

He gave me a defeated smile before saying, “My feet were fucking planted.”

Laughing and patting his shoulder, I said, “I know, Henry. I know.”

***

PLOP!

Henry and I were sitting across from Delaney and Derk just as she slammed a giant folder on the table. The four-inch binder was busting from the seams, pamphlets poking out from every direction, dividers clearly labeling each section, and page protectors guarding what I could only assume were her favorite ideas for the wedding.

The bridezilla had awakened.

The last two months, Delaney and Derk haven’t even talked about the wedding; they’ve enjoyed their engagement, actually . . . they’ve enjoyed each other’s bodies. They decided to give in and finally move in together. Let’s just say we haven’t seen much of them, but then again, Henry and I have been in the same kind of fornication fog.

The other night, after I took great notes on a sex scene I was thinking about writing—thank you, Henry for riding out the falling-off-the-bed mishap—Delaney called me and demanded a wedding meeting. We were both to be present, clothed, and excited to help plan.

Henry was ready to dig his claws into some wedding cake and tuxedos, but me, on the other hand, I knew nothing when it came to wedding planning. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be much of a help other than emotional support, and I guess by the sounds of her frantic voice on the phone the other night, she was going to need a lot of that.

“Nice binder,” Henry complimented Delaney with a smile, as his hand grazed my inner thigh.

“Stop stroking her!” Delaney shouted. “You think because you’re at a table I can’t see you moving your hand up and down her thigh? This is neither the time nor the place.” Under her breath, she mumbled, “Pervert.”

“Babe, calm down,” Derk soothed, visibly relaxing Delaney with a touch of his hand to her shoulder.

Delaney placed her hands on the table and stared us down. “The time has come. Rosie and Henry, you two are the most important people in our lives, and we would love for you to be our maid of honor and best man.”

“Man, that’s awesome. Thank you for asking,” Henry replied, but Delaney held up her hand to silence him.

“We’re not asking, Henry. You have no choice in the matter. You will be the bridal party.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Gee, thanks.”

“Are you going to not fulfill your best friend responsibilities?”

“No, I will. It’s just nice to have the option.”

“There is no option in this wedding dictatorship.” Delaney flipped her hair to the side and grabbed the binder. “Now that you both have been told your roles, we must get down to business. Yesterday, Derk and I put down the deposit for a wedding venue out in Long Island . . .”

“Long Island?” Henry mocked.

Instinctively, I slapped Henry on the stomach without even thinking.

“Do you have a problem with Long Island?” Delaney asked, her eyes looking a little wild. “Your girlfriend is from Long Island, you can find the best bagels in the world on Long Island, and you know what, Henry? It’s where the Long Island Median resides, and that’s just cool shit. Plus, it’s cheaper to have a wedding there than in the city, and unless you’re planning on trading in your stylish penny loafers for a deposit on some overly processed banquet meat and an open bar, then your opinion on the location can be found at the intersection of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ and ‘shut the hell up, you whore’.”