And you know what? As dirty and sinful as this moment might be, it’s one of the most beautiful moments of my life. More than being about sex, this moment is about release and acceptance. There’s no one in here to judge us but ourselves, and none of us are interested in judgment. No, the only thing we’re interested in is pleasure.
“We should definitely act out the rest of the book…” Logan says, pulling back from me and smiling. I smile back at him, watching his lips glisten from all the cum there. Then I turn to Anders and offer him the same smile, the intensity of the moment still forcing my heart to thump fast inside my chest.
You know what? I always thought that being a writer, despite it being my dream, was a lonely and thankless job. But I was wrong; being a writer is fun.
Especially when you can act out your favorite scenes.
24
Logan
Well, I’m back at the bar.
Except, this time, I’m not alone. Nope, I’ve brought a little something with me: Lana’s manuscript. I’ve chosen a small booth at the corner, far from all the confusion surrounding the counter, and I’m nursing an aged Macallan while I think of everything going on in my life right now, which is a fucking lot, by the way.
“Another one,” I ask a waiter as he passes by, and it takes him half a minute to return to my table with the bottle. He pours some more whisky into my glass and, before he can leave, I just tell him to leave the bottle.
“Are… you sure?” he asks me hesitantly, his eyes dancing from mine to the label on the bottle.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I know that’s an expensive bottle, but I can afford it. I’m a fucking legend in the industry; remember that? And being a fucking legend pays handsomely.
“Very well, sir,” the waiter says, placing the bottle down on my table and then turning on his heels. With a sigh, I take the glass to my lips and take a small sip; then, I just throw my head back and down the whole thing at once, the burning scotch settling in my stomach like fucking TNT.
Like I told you before, I’m not that big of a drinker, but this time I really need a fucking drink. Well, drinks. I just can’t get Lana out of my fucking head. She’s in my thoughts and dreams, whether I’m asleep or awake. She has wormed her way into my mind and soul, and I simply can’t shake her off.
Every waking minute I’m thinking of her.
And after the conversation I had with Anders, I can’t stop feeling like a giant piece of shit. I’m falling for the most beautiful and gentle woman I’ve ever met, while at the same time I’m working behind her back, conspiring with that fucking bastard Grady.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, a fucking headache already brewing inside my skull. Opening my eyes, I stare at the manuscript next to the bottle, and I stare at the title for what seems like an eternity.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve already flipped the page and started reading.
What happens next blows me out of the fucking water.
I completely forget where I am, and the words seem to jump out of the paper and right into my mind. Why the fuck didn’t I read this before? Two glasses later and I’ve rolled up the sleeves on my button up shirt, and I’m completely devouring Lana’s book. I sit on my booth, completely oblivious to the band playing on the small stage, and I even forget about the Macallan bottle. I lose track of time, and I only stop when I read the words The End.
Fuck.
This book… It’s a fucking masterpiece. No wonder everyone’s going crazy about it. This is a complete game-changer. Whoever gets his hands on The Virgin Market is going to make a fucking killing. Even though the market isn’t that receptive to dark romance novels, Lana’s book is going to flip the script on that.
Fuck, I can’t make her sign with Grady. I can’t make her give something like this on a silver platter to that fucking asshole. But I don’t have a fucking choice!
Wait.
Hold on.
Maybe there’s a way out of this mess I’m in. There’s someone who can help me out: the one who has been writing my checks for these past months. You know who I’m talking about, right? None other than one of the titans in the industry, Abby Cleveland.
I go up to my feet in a hurry and almost run toward the counter. There, I pay my tab and the bartender behind the counter hands me my helmet. Nodding my thanks at him, I rush out of the bar and make my way toward my motorcycle, parked right in front of the bar.
I put my helmet on and jump on top of the bike, revving up the engine in a hurry. I know I’ve already had a few drinks, but this is fucking important. I need to see Abby right now. I need to show her Lana’s book, and I need to tell how important it is for her to publish it.
If Abby agrees to publish it, then the whole thing is out of my hands. There’s nothing I can do despite his threats. And then, if he wants to ruin me with the pictures he has taken of me… Well, so fucking be it.
I swerve in and out of New York’s traffic, making my way toward the penthouse where Abby lives in downtown Manhattan. I drive so fast it feels like I’m flying over the road, the two wheels burning the pavement under them.
It takes me less than ten minutes to halt to a stop in front of Abby’s apartment building, a tower that seems to be reaching for the skies. Jumping off of my bike, I take off my helmet and enter the building, completely disregarding the doorman.