I opened the journal and looked at the pages. Poetry. Lots of it, and all with recent dates.
“Wait a minute, this journal starts with the day I moved in.” I leaned against the doorway and turned to the next poem without even reading the first one.
The new poem had an explanation in parenthesis written in blue ink.
Carmen,
I wrote this poem after I finished your final book. I read them all in a month, by the way. Your words had me addicted. I just wanted you to know what you do to me.”
And then I read his poem.
Mind Sex
Her words were chaos against my skin,
lyrical thrusts
that
triggered warmth
in the most intimate places.
She was beauty and the beast.
She ensnared my mind
and encased my flesh with hunger.
Intoxicating.
Wisps of lavender and rose.
My surroundings darkened to a black tunnel
where she stood at the brightened end.
No one else existed.
What was once a crowded life
now withered away.
If this was a hunt,
then she’d captured me.
If she prowled the land as a predator,
then I would lie down in front of Carmen,
and be her prey.
I gulped in my shock and closed the journal with shaking hands. My whole body rocked with turbulence—my brain clouded, heart raced, and sweat beaded around my forehead. Nothing entered a lover like words; not tongue, cock, or skilled fingers. The sweetest sentence could make me come if said exactly right. Adrian’s poem was foreplay—the writing flickered against my nipples as if he’d lapped at those points himself.
How is he able to keep me unbalanced?
Something else hit me. A hard truth. I reread the poem. Wait a minute. Anytime I read, I studied the words, learned the author’s cadence, and could pick out the author’s work from a few lines.
“Nick never wrote that poetry.” I closed my eyes. “Adrian did. Every last damn poem was his.”
My body tensed.
“Is he Catharsis?”
No one knew the poet’s identity, although he’d been publishing for years. The poet’s bio picture was a black crow perched on top of the world. Had he gotten the image of the crow from his love of Edgar Allen Poe?
Could Adrian be Catharsis?
Anyone could hide his or her identity from the public for a short amount of time, but to be so well hidden for five years—that took money.
“He just might be Catharsis.”
Excitement surged through my veins. A grin replaced my smile. Warmth crept into all the naughtiest places.
Adrian is Catharsis! Okay. Calm down. It might not even be him. Relax. So what if it’s him? You’re not a groupie.
But in actuality, I’d been in love with Catharsis since his first book. The man could write. There was no denying it. And he looked at things deeper than most—dissecting life like a scientist diced microorganisms in his lab. I had all of his books—The Keeper, Silence, The Blood-Drenched Mother, and even Lonely Heart. A few times I bought extra copies and gave them away as gifts.
Too bad Catharsis was Adrian.
It might have been shocking to admit out loud, but I would lie down in any bed and ride Catharsis until his brains exploded. But that was something I couldn’t do with Adrian. He was Nick’s son. It would be wrong and make everything way too complicated. It didn’t matter that his father was a liar and probably couldn’t give two shits about me. I didn’t fuck my lover’s sons. That just wasn’t right.
But why did Adrian give me his poetry to read?
I blew out a long breath. “And the plot thickens.”
Chapter 6
Here goes nothing
Adrian
I sat at the table right as Carmen strolled into the dining room with a smile on her face and one of my journals in her hand.
Okay. That may or may not be a good sign that she’s holding my poetry.
Many possibilities ran through my brain. Perhaps she planned to knock me over my head. It could’ve been why her smile symbolized happiness. I’d earned a good knocking about after all the things I’d done. Many things she had no idea about.
I’ve read enough to know how this ends. The hero never gets the girl when the hero gets caught jacking off in the girl’s room. Many things could happen to him, but not a happily ever after.
Carmen placed the notebook on the table and eased herself into her seat.
I probably should have left her alone and just ate my meal in peace, but I couldn’t be so close to her without at least hearing her voice. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Very sorry.”
Nodding her head, she grabbed the napkin off the table and laid it on her lap. “We’re fine. I assume you won’t be in my room again like a pervert, right?”
Not unless you ask me to come into your room. Then baby, I’m your man.
Luckily, I wasn’t stupid enough to say that all out loud. “You’re correct. I’ll be good from now on.”