24 Inches (Size Matters 2) - Page 12

“T-thank you…” I whisper, reaching for my own glass and taking a sip. I don’t know about him, but my body temperature is rising, and it’s rising fast. I’m struggling to think of what my next words are going to be when the waiter pops up out of nowhere, eager to take our orders. We order ‘oysters and pearls,’ one of the most popular dishes at Per Se, and then Anders takes control of the conversation.

He keeps on talking about The Virgin Market, raving about it as if my manuscript was the best thing he had ever read. With him sitting across from me, his lips moving so seductively, I can barely register whatever he’s saying… But the glint in his eyes, the sweet tone of his voice—that’s enough for me to know that The Virgin Market really moved him.

You know, to move someone because of something you wrote, it’s… magical. It’s a writer’s dream come true.

“There was something primal about it, you know?” he continues, his eyes locked on mine. “Most of the stuff you read nowadays is just too plain… But this was raw. It was fucking intense. The kind of sex you had in here, you know… It’s going to be a hit, I can tell.”

“It’s… nothing special,” I try and act humble because, really, I don’t know what to say. “I just wrote these scenes because … they work for me, you know? I figured that if that worked for me, maybe it’d work for readers as well.”

“And you’re right about that,” he smiles, nodding at the waiter as he arrives with our plates. “At least it worked for me.”

I look down at my plate, feeling boiling blood once more reaching toward my face. I can’t help but imagine him reading my manuscript, his cock growing hard as he reads the sex I wrote… In a way, I should be embarrassed; instead, I just feel horny as hell.

“I’m glad it worked for you,” I finally find the courage to say. “Most people think books like these are a woman’s domain, but I think they’re wrong. Men can enjoy it as well.”

“I couldn’t agree more… After all, sex is a team effort, right?” I raise my gaze to meet his, and my heart skips a beat as I see something glint in his eyes. What’s that? Lust? No, no, it can’t be. But, whatever it is in the way he’s looking at me, it’s making my thong grow damp.

“It’s definitely a team effort,” I reply with a whisper, taking one more sip of wine as I imagine what a brilliant team effort I could make with Anders right now.

The conversation veers into more relaxed territory as we eat, and I end up telling him all about my dream of becoming a writer. I tell him all about the short stories I wrote when I was just a young girl, and I recount the way I secured my job at Naughty Angel Publishing. I don’t know, but there’s something about Anders that just makes me want to tell him all these things. Around him, I feel safe and secure … and, in a weird way, I trust him.

“You’re following your dream, that’s good,” he replies after my five-minute monologue. “Most people just settle in life, you know? My parents and friends thought I was insane when I decided I wanted to be a model, but I did it all the same, and it paid off.”

“It sure did…” I nod. After all, Anders used to be one of the most sought-after models in the industry. And I say used to because, a few months ago, he started appearing less and less. “But you’re not doing covers nowadays, are you?”

“No,” he tells me, leaning back against his seat and offering me his smile. “I did that for a long, long time, and now I’ve been trying to get into producing and publishing.”

“Oh,” I merely say, not having the courage to tell him that it’s a complete shame that I won’t be able to look at his ripped body on the covers of romance novels anymore.

“But,” he cuts in, almost as if he could read my thoughts, “your book really gave me an itch. It made me want to take my shirt off.”

Now, instead of simply skipping a beat

, my heart skips thousands of them. It stops dead in my chest, and all words I could offer him become trapped in my throat. My book made him want to take his shirt off … oh God, what does he mean by that? Does he want to model for The Virgin Market, or does he…?

“I could see that working,” I start to say, a plan taking shape inside my mind. “But I think I’d need to audition you first.” The moment the words leave my mouth, it’s as if time stands still. I just look into his eyes, waiting for his reaction; in a deep corner of my mind, I almost expect him to be shocked and reject me right off the bat. Instead, that’s not what happens.

“My limo is just around the corner. Why don’t we take care of that right now?”

10

Anders

Like I told you, I don’t normally get so worked up over a book like this, but talking with Lana and hearing her passion for the story got me all worked up in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Again.

More so than I did after I finished the shit.

Holy shit, I even offered to do the cover. I haven’t done a cover in forever. I'm just bowled over by her intensity.

Speaking of intensity, she's practically dragging me to the limo. I swear, if she's like this in the car there is no way we are going to make it all the way to the hotel room with our clothes still on. I'm trying to keep pace, but the idea of a naked Lana sucking my cock in the back of the limo, or even better that amazing ass bent over the seat as I pound away at her pussy while we watch the city pass by, makes me lose a step.

“Come on,” she urges and I redouble my efforts to not be left behind. This is one ride I wouldn’t miss for a million bucks.

Thank God the driver has the door open for us as we reach the curb. I don’t think she looked before she dove headlong into the car. Lana drags me with her. I just barely get my head low enough to miss the top of the door frame. I think a massive head wound would really put a damper on what is about to happen.

“Where to, sir?” The driver asks after me ducking just a bit to peer into the car.

“Uh, the hotel…eventually,” I hurriedly get out as she tugs at my tie.

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