Elena in the Rain
Editor's Forward: This was based on a prompt that can be found here. I've added italics to that portion. I like the pacing on this one, but in the interest of full disclosure, there was a bit of guidance throughout. This was a combination of dialogue suggestion and A.I. response reloading until a better path was returned. I think it benefitted the story in the end.
A faint knock on the door interrupts you as you are just about to finish the last chapter of your book. You set the book down and rise from your spot in your chair by the fire. “Who would be out in this weather?” You think to yourself as you walk over to the door.
You unlatch the simple lock and open it up to see a pitiful sight standing on your doorstep. It is a young woman, dressed in thin, dirty clothes. You have no doubt that she is definitely a peasant, and most likely a very poor one. She is soaked to the bone and looks like she has been outside since the storm began. “E-Excuse m-m-me,” she stammers, her teeth chattering from the cold. “May I please come inside?”
“Oh of course. Come in, come in,” you say, motioning for her to hurry. She quickly steps inside, dripping all over the floor as you shut the door behind you.
“Thank you,” she says shyly, still shivering.
“Come see, let's get you dried off,” you say kindly, showing her to your bathroom. You take fluffy white towel and wrap it around her. She clutches it tightly, trying to warm herself up.
You take this as an opportunity to get a good look at her. She is red-haired and freckled. The more you stare at her, putting aside the little bits of dirt left behind on her face, the more you realize that she is indeed very beautiful.
Even with the towel and the warmth inside your home, her hair and clothes are still covered in dirt and soaked with freezing rainwater. “Maybe you should take a bath to warm up,” you suggest.
“A bath would be nice,” she says. You quickly fill up the bathtub with warm water, adding in a few flower petals for a nice touch. You catch a glimpse of blush spreading across her face, before she quickly hides it away. You smile and tell her, “My maids have all gone home, but I can get your clothes washed for you while you bathe, if that is alright.”
She blushes again but doesn't hide it. “That's alright. Um, could you turn around?” You shrug and turn away from her, you can hear her doing something, and when she tells you that you can look, you see that she is now standing there in nothing but a towel, her dirty clothes piled neatly on the floor. This time, you are the one who gets flushed.
She looks at you with a soft, innocent smile.
“You can turn around now.” She giggles. You can't help but giggle along with her.
You walk back over to the bathroom, blushing, and stand there as she steps inside. She hands you the towel and quickly dips below the surface before you get as much as a peak at her body. You quickly leave the bathroom and go back to your living room. You take a seat in your chair, enjoying the warmth. A short time passes and she softly walks into the parlor.
She is carrying a small bundle of clothes in her hands, which she sets on the table. You rise from your chair and walk over to her. “Here.”
“I'll have these washed up in no time,” you say. “I hope that robe is comfortable.” She blushes, but she can't hide it. “I mean, for a peasant.” You can hear a bit of laughter in her voice.
“It's quite nice.” She smiles, looking shyly at you. You can't help but stare at her pretty, rosy lips. You quickly pull yourself back, focusing on the task at hand.
“What had you stranded out there in this weather?” You ask, motioning for her to sit down. She sits there primly, head held high.
“I had gotten caught up in a storm, and had to spend the night outside.” She sighs and grips her robe tighter.
You take a seat in your chair. “I'm so sorry to hear that.” She shifts on the couch uncomfortably. “I hope you didn't get sick.” You're not sure if that's a concern of yours, but you go on. “Are you a traveler?”
She looks down at her lap, smiling in spite of her circumstances. “I am on my way to see my brother. He lives in the capital.” You nod. “I'm glad you're feeling better. Here, I'll have these washed up in no time.” You run the clothes to the wash and return. She is staring at your wall of books.
“May I?” she asks softly. You nod. She walks over, looking at the titles. “All fiction. I was wondering which one you prefer.” She turns to look at you.
“Fiction? I suppose the ones on the Holocaust,” you joke. She laughs softly. “I was actually thinking more along the lines of love stories.” You don't respond. “Don't you have a romance novel in mind?” she asks. You sigh.
“I suppose there is this one. I've never read it. It's... Well, let's just say you'll see.” You walk over and pick it up. She takes the book and looks it over. Her eyes widen as she reads the title page. “You wrote this?” she gasps. You nod. She looks up at you. “You are Mason, the famous writer?” You nod and she smiles, and says, “I must admit, it is nice to meet you in person.”
You return her smile and say, “It is nice to meet you too.”
She flips through the book, lingering on the pictures and descriptions, before setting the book down on your table. “Thank you so much for this.”
“Feel free to keep it,” you offer.
She smiles and says, “I think I will. Could you read me a passage? It would mean so much.”
You sigh. “I suppose. What passage would you like?”
She blushes. “Perhaps one that will warm me up the rest of the way.”
You chuckle. “How forward of you. Shall I read one now?”
“Please.”
You pick up the book and open it to a random page.
“Let me see... “You find a suitable page and read:
“And so, the poor girl rose, and her weary limbs supported her as she stood upon her feet. Her will was naught and her desire infinite; her heart beat at her bosom with wild and chaotic pulsations. An indescribable feeling of sadness and terror took possession of her; a sense of her loneliness was more than she could bear.
“‘Alas! Is it thus with me?' she cried. 'Must I, then, die a wretched creature, with no knowledge of what happiness is, in this world? Oh, no! I will not die! I cannot die! I have suffered too much already! I will not! I must, at least, live to be happy for a little while longer! But there is no hope—no help—no friend—and I must die! Oh, God! Oh, God be merciful to me!'”
The woman curls deeper into your studded armchair, devouring your every word. You stop and ask, “I've been very rude. I never asked your name.” You stand, extending a hand to her. She takes it gently and stands from the table, holding onto your hand tightly, almost imperceptibly.
“My name is Elena.”
“A pleasure to meet you Elena.” You bow your head slightly, gesturing for her to lead the way. “If you so desire, you are welcome to stay the night here.”
Elena tilts her head. “Do you really mean it?”
“I never joke about such things.”
“But... but...” she stammers.
“What is it you would like?” you ask.
“I want to stay here with you...”
“I see.” you say. “Well, that's certainly fine with me.”
“What will you do, Mason?”
“I will go get your things.”
She blinks. “Do you... do you have anything to eat?”
“The cook has retired for the night, but I’m sure I could fix something for you.”
“I could eat.”
You turn and walk down the hallway. You push open the kitchen door and see the chef, an old man with a wrinkled face, working over the stove. “My mistake. He is still here. Please get this young lady whatever she wishes.” He nods and continues cooking.
You close the door and turn to your right. You walk through the foyer and into the dining room. She follows and soon a platter is set before her. She digs in with much enthusiasm.
“This looks great!” she says between mouthfuls.
“I'll have some wine sent in.” An expensive bottle is set down in a silver bucket on the sideboard. You pour two glasses and join her.
“I'm glad you like it,” you say.
“What is the occasion?”
“You, of course.”
“Of course.”
You take another sip of wine. “So, you said you needed something?”
“I did. I was wondering if... if you would do me a favor.”
“Yes?”
“I... I was wondering if I might be a character in your next book...” she says.
You cock an eyebrow. “A character?”
“Yes. Would you like me to be in your next book?”
“I suppose I could use you.”
She lights up. “You could?”
“Well, I can't promise anything. But I will do what I can.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Of course. Now to do you justice, I would need to get to know a bit more about you,” you add.
“Like what?”
“Well, your likes and your dislikes. What you are good at and what you are not. Things of that nature.”
“I... I don't know if I'm comfortable sharing that sort of...” she says.
“Please, I promise you, it will only take a moment.”
Elena sighs. “Fine.”
“Thank you. Now, would you like to tell me a bit about yourself?”
She picks at a piece of meat. “I'm afraid I might disappoint you.”
“I'm not quite the dashing rogue you might be hoping for.”
“No, you're perfect,” she says.
“I'm not.”
“How so?”
“Because rogues are not dashing. They are not perfect. They have flaws. They have weaknesses. They have... imperfections.”
“I'm afraid you have me mistaken.”
“I do not,” you say. “I believe you may have just enough human flaw to be a believable character. So tell me: what flaw do you hide under that superficially perfect exterior?”
“I don't hide anything, at least not anything worth hiding. I'm just me.”
“I'm afraid you underestimate yourself. Tell me: do you think yourself worthy of being here?”
Elena laughs. “Here? In your mansion?”
“Yes.”
“Worthy? Of course I am. Why do you ask?”
“Because if you are worthy, then you must also believe you are perfect. If you believe you are perfect, then you must also believe you are incapable of doing anything worthy. And if you believe you are incapable of doing anything worthy, then you must also believe you are not capable.”
“You're wrong. I am capable of many things. Things worthy and things unworthy.”
“So tell me your flaw. Make me want to write your character.”
“You're really setting the bar here high, aren't you?” she chuckles.
“Very high. Now, think. What is it you do that makes you flawed?”
She considers. “Well, I suppose there’s the drinking. Not excessive, but... I overindulge from time to time. I suppose that makes me human.”
“Perfect! That will do.”
“And the gambling? I have a bit of a habit there. I suppose that makes me human, as well.”
“We'll leave that out. It doesn't make for good storytelling.”
“And the affairs? I've had a few, but nothing of great import.”
“Excellent. I do believe I'm making quite the character for you. Thank you. And is there anything else?”
“Other than a love of fine wine, gourmet food, and good literature? Not really. No.”
“I believe that is all I need,” you say. “Just one more thing...”
“Yes?”
“Would you be willing to... well, to model for me?”
“I suppose I could do that.”
“Wonderful.”
You stand and walk over to her. “Nothing lewd or offensive. I'm a classy author, of course.”
“Of course.”
You bend and lift her hair to reveal the nape of her neck. You slowly trace your fingers along her neck, down her arm, to her hand.
“Will I be on the cover?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.
“With your beautiful hair flowing behind you? I don't think so. No. I was thinking perhaps in the background, as if you were a painting in the distance.” She pouts. “Or perhaps holding the book you read, like a proud mother on the cover.”
“You're horrible,” she says.
“I know. Now, pose, would you?”
“With my clothes on?”
“Naturally.”
“Fine. Where?” she asks.
“How about here? This is a good place. Looks like you're having a seat. Relaxed, but still regal.” You point to a spot on the couch.
“How regal?”
“Like you own the place,” you say.
She laughs. “I do own the place.”
“Perfect. I'm going to go put on something more comfortable.”
You step into your walk-in closet and close the door. You normally wear your signature suit, but the hour is late. You pull on a pair of comfortable sweat pants and a loose tee and step into your loft. When you return, she is reclining of the couch. The robe is loose, revealing a hint of cleavage. She fidgets with the pearls at her neck, her eyes focused on the floor.
“Okay, are you comfortable?” you ask.
“More than I've been in days.”
“Good. Take a seat.” She does as she's told. You sit across from her. “Thank you for your time, miss...”
“Elena Michaels. Elena Michaels, at your service.”
You laugh. “A bit formal all of a sudden, aren't we?”
“I do try.”
You nod. Your gaze wanders over her form and you bite your lip. You have to stop looking at her like this.
“Are you going to photograph me?”
“No, I take mental snapshots,” you say.
“I didn't think so. I've had enough mental glimpses into your mind.”
“What do you want?” you say.
“I want you to roll over onto your stomach.”
“Me? You're the subject of this endeavor, my dear.”
“I know, but I'll be more comfortable if I'm on top.” You sit down and put some distance between the two of you. She's as fiery as her hair. She could be trouble.
“As you wish.” You roll over and she smiles. “Perfect,” she says. “Now, close your eyes.”
“What do you want me to envision?” you ask.
“Whatever you wish. A summer day. The ocean. Your beloved book.”
“The one about you?” you ask.
“Yes,” she says dreamily. “About me...” she whispers.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose. You feel the cool ocean air on your face. “I see a ravishing young woman. Red hair, green eyes. Seductive, yet sophisticated.”
She gasps. “I am sophisticated.”
“You are,” you agree.
She grips the arms of the couch so tightly her knuckles turn white. “So what do I do in this story?”
“Whatever you wish. You're the main character. You have free reign over the story.”
She turns her head to the side and looks at you. “I'm not the author...you are.”
“Correct.”
“I don't have...control...”
“You're the main character. You're in control.”
She stares at you, nodding slowly. “Fine. I'm a lonely girl, who knocks on the door to a mansion. A handsome man greets me and lets me in.”
“Yes.”
“We go to a bedroom. We...you...fuck. Is that a turn-on?”
“No,” you say. “It's too direct. Too cliché.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She bites her lip. Her eyes flicker to the side, then back to you. She's so young, so pretty. You almost don't want to photograph her anymore.
“Take it slow,” you suggest. “Your story needs to draw the reader in.”
“Can I trust you, Mason?”
You pause. Should you take advantage of her, or wait until she's more amenable?
Your eyes flick open. “You can trust me.”
She nods, looking into your eyes.
“Close your eyes,” you say.
“I can't take this,” she says.
You relax the ties on her robe, run a finger on the edges of her breasts, and then cover her back up. “See...seduction. Slow.”
“I'm sorry. I can't.”
You look down into her face. You have to decide.
She stares back at you.
You lean in and kiss her on the corner of her lips. She responds and you feel her tight nipples graze against your chest.
She breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath. “I can't do this.”
“It's okay. You don't have to.”
“How does this end?”
“I don't know yet. That's up to you.”
“I want it to end with us being together.”
“Are we still talking about your character...the novel...” you ask.
“Yes. Yes, we are.”
“Then that's how it'll end,” you say.
“But I don't know how.”
“Then that will be the fun part. The journey always is.”
After she recovers from the shock of you saying the journey always is, she asks, “Would you show me what you've done so far?”
You stand, motioning for her to follow. “Sure.”
You lead her through the house to the office. She walks with confidence, her head held high. You can see even though she has on a robe, she still thinks she's a tough boss. You have to respect that.
You open the office door and she steps inside.
“So far, I have the prologue, the first chapter, and the second chapter.”
She scowls. “You're shoehorning me into an existing novel.”
“It's not existing. It's a story I'm writing about you.”
She shakes her head.
“Do you think that your arrival here was an accident?” you ask. “That your presence here is by chance?”
“No.”
“So you knew you were going to end up here,” you say.
“Yes.”
“When did you know?” you ask.
“I had a vision of you.”
You ponder. “Interesting development. I'll have to note that.”
You grab a legal pad and a pen.
“So, what do I do now?” she asks.
“Well, I'd like you to tell me your story.”
“Our story.”
“Mmm, yes. Our story. I see now that I'm getting roped into this.”
“You could just start writing,” she suggests.
“So I can get on with the journey,” you say.
She smiles. “You know best.”
You nod. “Let's get started then.”
“What do I do?” she asks.
“Well, you can stand over there.” You point to a chair in the corner. “Or you can come over here.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I need to get a better look at you.”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?” she asks, her voice dripping with innuendo.
“Probably not, but let's do it anyway.”
She comes over and sits in the leather chair. You walk around to the other side of the desk. She looks so innocent, so desirable. You run a finger along the back of her leg and she jumps a little, giving you a glimpse of her bare thigh. She looks down at you and smiles seductively.
“Now, where were we?” you ask, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.
“I was about to tell you my story.”
“Oh, good. So go ahead.”
She bites her lip.
“I like it when you bite your lip,” you tell her.
“Please, don't make me talk. I don't like talking.”
“Not much of a story if you don't.”
“Don't make me laugh either.”
“Seduction never works if you don't have a sense of humor.”
She gives you a playful shove. “You're impossible.”
“Oh anything is possible. Even a romance between a literary mogul and a lovely young house guest. Continue that story, if you will.”
“I...”
You move closer and lean over her. You stare into her eyes, your mouth only inches away from her ear.
“What?” you ask.
“Stop...doing that.”
“Do what?” you say, innocently.
“That. You know.”
“That's not a thing. It's not seduction. It's...a connection.”
“Oh, God. You're impossible.”
“I'm just keeping the conversation going. We've been here for two hours. Is there anything you still haven't told me?”
She shakes her head.
“Then continue where we left.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again.
“I'll tell you mine first. Then you tell me yours.”
“Okay.”
“I like being pushed forward in the story.” You tuck a strand of her copper hair behind her ear. “I'm very curious to see where it goes.”
“We shouldn't...”
“We shouldn't what?” you say, innocently.
“We shouldn't be talking like this. We shouldn't be...doing this.”
“Well, it's just a story, right?”
She bites her lip again. “I...I think I need a moment.”
“No problem.”
She gets up from the chair, crosses to the door, and closes it. You exhale loudly. As much as you hate to admit it, you needed to pump the breaks. It's clear as day to see where you are headed, but your days as a novelist has taught you that you still have some distance to cover.
After a few minutes, the door swings open and she walks towards you.
“I need a favor,” she says, seriously.
“Anything.”
“I need you to stop writing this story. Can you do that?”
“I'm not sure what you're asking me.”
“I need you to...stop. Can you do that?”
“I'd have to talk to...”
She puts a finger to your lips, indicating that you should be quiet. “Stop pretending that this is just a novel. Stop pretending that we aren't just living our story this very moment.”
You look into her eyes and notice that they're shining. She's definitely on the verge of tears.
“I need you to promise me that this is real.”
“It is real.”
She collapses in your arms. You hold her tight.
“It is,” she says, through her tears. “I need to know that it's real. Please.”
“I promise.” You assure her.
“You must think I am a sorry sight. Crying for love.”
“You're a wonderful sight. Crying for love.”
She laughs, a quiet, sad sound. “You're too nice.”
“You're too beautiful.”
“You're too impulsive. You're too stubborn. You're too much of a goodie two shoes to be real.” You open her robe again, this time enough to display a hint of her rosy nipple.
“I'm real,” you say, kissing her.
“Promise me again.”
“I promise.”
You deepen your kiss. You feel her hand on your back. It sweeps under your shirt. “The novel may be over, but our story is beholden to the same rules. Slow. Seduction.” You kiss her again, harder. “There's no time limit on romance.”
She pulls your hand under her robe. “Feel me. Touch me, even if you can't see me.”
You slide your hand under her robe. You caress her warm skin. You follow the trail of her hair down to her mound.
“Please,” she says.
You tease, but never commit.
“If this is part of the story, I want to finish it with you.”
“Yes. Yes,” she says, breathlessly. “Now touch me.”
You slide your hand up her mound. You feel her wet heat.
“Yes, yes, continue,” she says, breathlessly.
You caress her mound. She moans. You slide your finger up inside her.
“If I don't continue the story, we don't have a chance in hell at this point. I can't afford to get cold feet.”
“I like cold feet,” she says, breathlessly.
You caress along the outside of her sex, and she bucks her hips.
“Please,” she says, breaking into a sweat.
“Please what?” you say, seductively.
“Can I...can I come for you?”
You lean in and kiss her. “I don't see why not.”
You begin to kiss your way up her belly to her breasts.
“I...I'm coming.”
She grips you with her fingers as she writhes with pleasure.
You kiss your way back down her mound and kiss her lips. You kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, her ears, and finally, her fingers.
“We should...we should stop.”
“Stop...no. Just begin Chapter 2.”
You smile, kiss her fingertips, and then turn her hand over so you can kiss the palm.
“Just go,” she says, laughing, relieved.
“I'm not going anywhere,” you say. “We have only just begun.”
You stand up and remove your shirt.
“Your turn,” she says, blushing.
“Soon.” You kiss her again. “But I want you first.”
You slide your hands under her robe. You caress her warm skin. You caress the curve of her ass. “My needs come last. I will have you satisfied completely before we start that chapter.”
She grins seductively. “I'm not waiting for the novel to do what it needs to do.”
“I'm not the one writing the rules.”
“Mm, good point.” She gets up and looks at the wall of books again. Elena grabs the sliding ladder and gives it a push, taking it for a ride in the process.
“We are in the library,” Elena says, as if in a daze. “This is where we write our story.”
“This is where we write our story.” She undoes her robe and lowers it halfway. You see her only from behind, her freckled back, partially covered in a wild mane of her reddish locks. You love her from behind. “I want you to make love to me here. In the library. Behind the desk. In front of the books.” She turns to face you, excitement written on her face.
“What about the pacing?” you ask. “Will you have me climax in the middle of a sentence?”
“If that's what you want.”
You chuckle. “That would be a unique spin on things.”
She smiles. “I like unique spins.” She steps out of her robe.
You look at her, at her freckles, her curves, and her smile. “This robe has played its part. We can still keep the fire burning slowly, but I won't be hiding any longer.”
“Slow is good.”
“We can keep that in mind.” You pull off your pants, and she turns to face you, raising her eyebrows.
“We should make direct eye contact when we do this.”
“Agreed.”
“I won't be able to stop myself from looking down your pants when we...”
She reaches out for the growth in your shorts. You deflect her attempt. “When we what?”
“When we...you know. Do it.” She's blushing.
“I'm not sure I'm-”
“Please,” she says, taking you by the hand, pulling you up from the desk, and leading you towards the nearest book shelf.
You don't stop walking until you find what you're looking for. “Ah, here's a novel that may guide us.” You rest the open book between her legs. “You like what you see so far?”
“I do.”
“So do I.”
You slide your fingers under the book. She's wet. Good. Perfect.
You step back and admire the creature that sits before you. The red-headed vixen that you've been searching for.
You lift her up and place her on top of the desk. “You'll have to leave your shorts on,” she says.
“Very well. This chapter is all about you.” You move the book and dip down to kiss her neck. “I'm going to make you cum so hard that the very walls of this library will shake.”
“I can't wait.”
You caress the outside of her naked thighs, moving your hands from her legs up to her ass.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Leaving no stone unturned,” you reply. “This is you, not me.”
You slide your hands under her ass and lift her up, so that she's sitting on the edge of the desk. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
She closes her eyes.
“Keep them closed.”
“Okay.”
You move your hand from her ass to her breast, squeezing it softly. You caress the bare skin of her inner thighs, moving your hand back up again. You move your fingers from between her legs and press them against the slick entrance of her vagina. She's soaking. Wet. Hot. She moans slightly.
You slide your fingers along her pussy, coating them with your arousal. You slide your fingers along her slit. A perfect triangle of copper points you in the right direction. You slide your fingers into her. She tightens her grip on the desk.
You enter her. She's tight. Warm. Tight. So tight that you have to fight the urge to climax yourself. Instead, you push forward. You dip in with your tongue. She gasps. You withdraw and dip back in, thrusting slightly. She gasps some more. You withdraw...
And thrust.
“Mason!” she cries out, her back arching as her orgasm takes her.
You grin and caress her ass, before dipping your face between her legs to capture her climax in your mouth. When she's finished, you slide down between her legs and kiss her deeply.
“I think that was a five out of five,” she says.
“For me, too.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I'm not much of a judge of these things, but I think this was a genuine five out of five.”
She laughs. “Okay then. So when do I get to see you? All of you.”
You grin and pull yourself up from the desk. “Whenever you want, wherever you want.
She smiles and stands up, grips your shorts and pulls them down. She likes what she sees. You can tell.
You stand and she steps back, admiring you.
It's been a long time since someone looked at you with such admiration and respect. It's a feeling you treasure.
“I'll see you tonight then,” she says.
“Absolutely.”
Elena turns to leave. “And Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't forget your pants.”
“Okay.”
You hear her footsteps as she leaves the library, and your eyes follow her till the door shuts. You head back to your desk and sit down, your mind flooded with...well, nothing.
It's a new feeling. So new, you're not quite sure what to make of it.
But for the moment, that feeling alone is more than enough to send you into a contented smile.
...
You wake on the couch. How the hell did that happen? The next thing you know, you're standing up and heading to the kitchen. You ask the cook where Elena is.
“She's in the shower room upstairs,” the cook replies.
You make your way up the stairs. You stop at the door of the shower room and listen. Soap. Water. Giggles. Someone laughing.
You knock on the door and hear Elena say, “You best be as naked as I am, if you plan to come in.”
You push the door open and slip inside.
“We'll have to take that chance,” you say, grinning.
Elena turns off the water and steps out of the shower. Steam fills the air. At first her shape slowly becomes clearer, giving you a view of her perfect butt. She turns around to show her equally flawless breasts and the rest below her stomach. Her arousal is evident. Then she steps forward, pulling you out of the door and holding you tight against her. Her lips find yours. Soft. Tender. Delicious.
Her hands caress your naked back. The water droplets cling to your skin. You slide your hands down her naked backside. Wet. Hot. So hot that you barely notice how cold the water is. You rub her ass. She moans. You grip her ass with both hands and squeeze it hard enough to hurt her. She yelps and pushes back against you, harder, and you feel her wet heat envelop your erection. You don't care. You slip a hand inside her soaking wet vagina. Wet. Hot. So hot. You slide your cock along the inside of her, the tip rubbing against her entrance. She whimpers.
“Chapter 3?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And how does that begin?”
“We're alone. You're kneeling in the bed, naked and ready. You want me. I can feel it.”
“God, you're sure about this?” she asks, her voice betraying hesitation.
“This is the conclusion. At least in the first book.”
“Mm. And what happens next?”
“You decide to go into the shower with me.”
“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that.”
“Trust me, in the next book, you love it.”
She nods. “I'll agree to that.”
You slide your hands up her naked skin and cup her breasts. She slides her fingers down your side, finding your erection. She grips it and you gasp.
“Shower together, or do you want me to come back downstairs?” she asks playfully.
“I'm not sure what you mean.”
“You have to decide. I'll be waiting for you to choose.”
She turns and steps into the shower, leaving you alone in the room.
You watch the shower. The water drenches you. You emerge. The steam obscures her figure, but you feel her. Her mouth around your penis, massaging it with her tongue. The sensation is overwhelming. In the shower, she's soft and innocent. Now she's a vixen. You're a beast. You grip the sides of the bathtub, trying to keep yourself from coming too early. You're not sure how long you can keep yourself from coming. You close your eyes and imagine Elena's naked body. It only accentuates the sensation. You slip your other hand down your stomach, gripping your balls. This is pure bliss.
This is how it ends: in the shower, naked, slippery, sizzling, exploding, collapsing in each other's arms. She stands up, letting your spent erection slip past her chin to between her breasts. She turns off the shower. You open your eyes. She's gazing down at you, eyes bright, a small smile on her face.
“I'll see you soon,” she whispers.
“I look forward to it,” you reply, grinning.
She leans in for a kiss. “I know you do.”
She blows you a kiss and leaves the room.
You wait for her to leave, waiting for the door to close. You can't help but wonder: will she even know where to find you?
She'll find you. You know she will.
Then again, it might be worth it to change your first ending. You could write something different, something more interesting:
You lie in the bed, naked, sweaty, spent. Yet still ready for another encounter with this vixen. You caress her, slide your hands down her soft, naked body. She turns over, and the sight of her nakedness, so fresh and unblemished, drives you wild. You caress her smooth skin and whisper to her. “Where do you want to start?”
She opens her eyes. They are bright, full of life. You move closer to her, pressing your naked body against hers, but you still your hands, awaiting her response.
“Wherever you want,” she murmurs.
You slide your hands up her naked skin, all the way to the top of her head, where you grip her hair hard. Then you slide your hands down, past her firm bottom, down to the wetness between her legs. Warm. Wet. So wet. You slide one finger into her slick heat. She moans. You caress her, and she caresses you.
Slowly, you enter her. She wraps her arms around you, and you thrust in deep, her wet heat gripping you. She's tight. So tight. You feel a shudder rack through your body, a desperate, yearning release. Your balls draw up tight, your loins tense. You're ready. You tense your asscheeks, wanting hers to meet you as you thrust. Faster. Deeper.
But she's already found her rhythm, pushing back against you, meeting you thrust for thrust. She's just as into it as you are. The movement of her hips is just as urgent as the movement of yours.
You're close. So, so close.
Elena wraps her legs around you. You thrust harder, more swiftly, deeper. You feel your breathing quicken, your heart hammering in your chest.
“I'm... coming...” you gasp.
“I know...” she breathes.
You release, shooting your seed into her, finding her G-spot, feeling her find hers. Your hips stop moving. Your muscles spasm. Your vision darkens. You collapse forward, embracing her, pulling her close.
Your head is spinning suddenly. You grip the side of the bed, trying to steady yourself. “That was... that was incredible.”
She laughs, nuzzling into you. “I agree.”
You collapse, your head on her chest, and she wraps an arm around you. You close your eyes.
Maybe, just maybe, you'll wake up in the morning and she'll be there. Naked. Warm. In your arms.
You fall asleep, content in the knowledge that she's waiting for you.
The next morning you wake up. She's right beside you in a sensual embrace. Your body is warm and alive, and you feel... incredible.
You slide out from under her, carrying her with you so you don't crush her, and you step into the shower. You can't help but wonder: will you ever find another woman who can match her?
Then again, are you even looking?
You know the only way to find out is to just go for it. You grab some clean clothes and head down to the poolside bar for some breakfast.
And just like that, you're a normal guy. A man. A husband. A father.
But for now, you're content to let her make the decisions.
The End
Editor's Thoughts: Sort of a nice ending. Again, there was a bit of response rereshing to keep it on track, but there was also a bit of interesting development as they wrote their fictional novel together, which eventually morphed into something real.