Page 43 of The Loves We Lost

16

VIOLA

Something is happening.

Maybe it’s because I’m a writer that I sense this. I’m used to observing the world, from seats in coffee shops to eavesdropping on conversations in line at the store. There is an undercurrent, an eddy flowing in the opposite direction to the mainstream. From my spot in the clubhouse kitchen the following day, I can feel it.

Tensions are increasing.

Avery is sitting across from me at the kitchen counter. She’s coloring a mermaid picture in shades of blue and green. Her tongue pokes out of the right side of her mouth as she concentrates.

But the men of the Iron Outlaws, they’re busy. Whispered conversations seem serious. Furrowed brows and muttered curses give them away.

I look back down at my manuscript and try to focus.

I thought this hero, Bounce, was going to be a sweet talker, at least that’s what I wrote in my notes, but as I glance down at the last paragraph I’ve written, I see that’s not the case.

He has me pinned up against the wall, his cock so deep inside me, I wonder if I’ll ever feel this full again. A calloused hand closes around my throat.

“If I squeeze hard enough, will you pass out for me when you come?”

I shake my head, even as I feel myself tighten around him with a heady cross between excitement and fear.

“Your cunt said yes.”

“No,” I say. “I . . .”

He squeezes a little tighter. The world goes a little blurry around the edges.

“What’s your safe word?” he asks.

“Buttercup,” I say.

Shit. I must have me and Miles on my mind. And I already used buttercup as my heroine’s safe word in Fortune’s story. I delete it, glance over at Avery’s drawing, and replace it withmermaid. I add a note on the sidebar to go back and add that the hero compares her hair to a mermaid’s to explain why the safe word is relevant. Oh, and a note to make her hair a little longer and blonder than it was in the opening description of her.

Feeling good about the switch, I keep reading.

“Use it,” he commands.

But I can’t. Because deep down, I know I want what he is offering.

Worse, I need it.

His hand tightens around my neck, and I struggle for air. It’s a—

“You like that, Vi?” Miles’s words, softly uttered, are so close to my ear that I jump.

I slam my laptop shut and turn on my stool to face him.

He grins as he places his hands on either side of me on the counter, trapping me in place. Heat fills my cheeks. I’m not embarrassed by what I write. I’m an unapologetic romanceauthor who has absolutely no problems writing sex scenes like this. But under Miles’s gaze, I can’t seem to find that confidence.

His eyes are narrowed, focused on mine as he bites down on his lower lip. “You know,” he says, his voice low and gruff, made worse by the fact he’s whispering so Avery can’t hear, “I’d be happy to help with any ... research.”

Warm breath flutters over my ear, his lips brushing the tender lobe. I shiver, even as I try to remind myself this isn’t why we’re here. I place a palm on his chest and shove lightly. Miles doesn’t resist and steps back.

“I didn’t come here for research; I came here for answers.”

Miles laughs. “I’m capable of both. Call it my full-service offering.” He winks. And I think back to the day he asked me out. After weeks of not-so-subtle flirting with me, he asked me to get dinner with him. When I said yes, he called me a good girl and winked. We grabbed pizza and ate it in the flat bed of his truck near a lake.