Sex And Writing|| 18+ [{Completed}]

1

11:00 p.m

"Jesus, Mercy! Just march over there, throw your panties in his lap, and fuck his writer's block away!" Yvette urged pointing toward the man at the bar.

I choked on my drink, the burning liquid flying up my nose, singeing everything in its path."Fucking hell, Yvette. I'm pretty sure that's not how it works!! You can't just hump someone's writer's block away." I cried out, knowing there was no way for it to work. It was about the inspiration, not the perspiration between two people.

"You never know until you try." Amanda piped in from across the booth, her eyes never leaving her brightly lit phone screen.

Yvette licked her lips. Brown eyes looking the slumped over man at the bar up and down like a piece of meat she wanted to sink her teeth into. Or her claws. "I would..." She breathed.

"Too bad you're almost married!" Yvette frowned, holding her diamond ring in the air pouting like a child.

"Aaron better appreciate how much I love him right now."

"You're the lucky ones. I still haven't found a dick in six months." I grumbled. I felt the intense heat in the coil of my abdomen begging for the sweet relief it desperately needed. I took another drink from my straw, hoping I wouldn't choke this time.

"Oh—ya know—fuck Neil for what he did to you and fuck him for... well who he is! But you've got to move on, explore bigger and better specimens." Yvette grinned, wiggling her eyebrows, eyeing the man slumped at the bar. The very-very sexy man at the bar. The very man every sexual being in a 50-foot radius wanted, but couldn't have. He was.......... unavailable, to say the least. Distant? Unapproachable? No words were good enough to describe C.J.--I write super-hot books—Cole.

"Wouldn't it be a conflict of interest? I mean, I work for his publisher, I edit....." I rambled, trying to find valid excuses not to approach him.

"It's C.J. fucking Cole, the man writes sex like a God. His books have sold millions...I mean---imagine what he's like in bed? His tong..."

"Yvette!!!" I interjected. Not wanting to fantasize about the sexy, indecent, positions I could find his tongue in. Literally in... my body.. on my body, all over my body.

Fuck.

"Keep it in your pants." Speak for yourself, idiot. "I'm serious, I can't! Plus—he never talks. I swear I have brought him coffee a few times at the office and the dude never speaks. He just stares at me, with those eyes...."

"Those 'see through your soul' eyes?" Amanda piped in again, finally putting her phone down onto the table.

"It's like he's staring into my soul...." I gushed. Giving in to the lust brewing in the back of my horny brain. Swirling with naughty thoughts about his tongue and where I could put it and how I could use it.

"Or mentally undressing you," Amanda muttered under her breath.

"Go talk to him! Don't be a pussy, think with it." Yvette said, elbowing me in the ribs trying to motivate me to move.

"You don't understand, he's scary—" My nerves prickled at the thought of talking to him here. At the office, he was gruff and unapproachable, almost mean. And I couldn't imagine what he'd be like here. In the wild, wild west of human interaction. Would he be nice to me?

"Go over there and show him a little Mercy," Yvette said through a sly grin, thinking she was so goddamn funny.

Curse my parents for naming me something so stupid.

"Oh—sooooo clever." Amanda squealed with pleasure, sipping her Cosmo. "Ya get it, Mer, mereccyy!!" She giggled, putting a finger over her lips falling victim to her alcohol.

"No—nu-huh, I can't. I don't even have a reason... plus, he looks like he wants to be alone." I pointed to him, convincing myself he didn't want company. Even if my brain wanted me to chance it and possibly hop into bed with him.

It's true. His head rested against the bar. His thick fingers wrapped around a watered-down glass of whiskey. And he hadn't moved for ages. The only sign he was still alive were the breaths rolling through his back.

Yvette reached over and poured the rest of my mixed drink down her throat, like a greedy baby at the tit.

"You have a reason now," she gave a sly grin, setting my glass back down in front of me. "You're all empty! Go get a refill." I rolled my eyes, glaring daggers into her evil, flirtatious soul."I hate when you vicariously live through me. I have a fat chance in Hell with C.J. fucking Cole." I grumbled, scooting out of the booth.

"But if you hit that, I want every dirty little detail!" I glared back at Yvette who had a stupid smile on her face. Her fingers gave me a small wave, like I was about to board the S.S. Cole. Fat chance in Hell, no one had had a civil conversation with the man in years. Like he'd let me board his lifeboat with no flotation device, I was about to drown at the hands of a merciless man.

God, if you're listening, give me strength.

"Don't hold your breath," I mumbled, making my way towards the bar. Right, where C.J. positioned himself on a bar stool with no other souls around to witness my foolishness. Thank God, no witnesses!

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart thud against the wall of my chest. Immense amounts of blood making its way into my ears, whooshing around. Mixing with my wild heart palpation, I'd go deaf before I said a word to him. Or die. I'd die of an anxiety attack. Or embarrassment.I had never said more than a handful of words to the man. 

Like:

'Here's your coffee, Mr. Cole! Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Cole,' and now what?

Take my panties, Mr. Cole?

Ugh. I wish.

I leaned against the sticky bar, standing over C.J.'s slumped over body. My eyes scanned the thick white scars lining the base of his neck. Covered by brightly colored tattoos. Never noticing the colors and shapes before. Reds, purples, and yellows ascended towards his ears. Spreading across the sides of his neck in intricate floral designs. Words wrapping around his flesh, covering every inch of his peach skin I could see.

My mind wandered to dangerous places. Thinking of my fingers running circles against his art, tracing the outlines of his work. His tongue in sinfully erotic places, like the characters in his erotic books.

I wondered where else the tattoos might lead on his chiseled body and how far south they ended up going. Possibly meeting the forbidden place between his legs. Spiraling exotic colors on his abdomen, making my mouth salivate at the mere image of him naked on top of me. Showing me his ink.

Fucking hell, Mercy, reign your wet pussy in. I grumbled to myself. My alcohol consumption working wonders on my severely, six-month, sex-deprived brain.

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat. Focusing in on the thick white scars near the base of his skull. They protruded through the colorful tattoos, as if the tattoos were a band aid concealing it. Trying to make out what could have caused such widespread damage to his flesh.