Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Whoa,” Britney says, also coming to her feet. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
“I—Me? Nothing. Just…” I dig in my clutch. Where is that damn cortisone? “I just need to run upstairs. I think I left—I’ll be back.”
“Do you need me to come with you?”
“No, no, I’m—”
“Steve-O!” I see James approaching, appearing even drunker than he was before. His wife, Audrey, is with him. Her makeup is smeared and James has his pants unbuttoned for some reason.
Steve looks at me and says, “I’ll go. I forgot something upstairs too. Come on.” He takes me by the hand, which is… unexpected, obviously, and says, “That itch looks like it’s getting worse. You should get some cortisone.”
And before I know what’s happening, I’m being led out of the lounge, past an effulgence of romance writers, as James Saint yells in our direction, “Ha! Yeah! Time to puh-lay, right? My bro-buddy, bro-buddy, bro bro bro?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I have her hand. It was unexpected. Just an instinct, really. But now that we’re in the elevator, it feels right.
Suddenly, her fingers wiggle and then… damn. She lets go of me. I glance down with just my eyes and catch her wiping her palm on her dress.
“Sorry if I was weird back there—”
“No.” I put up a hand to stop her from further apologizing.
“It’s just… I’m… itchy. And I know that’s gross, but I’m starting to think I lost my little tube of cortisone, because I’m a hundred-percent sure that I put it in my purse, but of course I can’t find it, so…”
I stop listening there. Not because it’s gross, but because I think I have a solution. I pull out my phone, access the Aria-adjacent app, SparkleNight DreamWeaver’s WishMaker, and smile when Gregory’s cartoon face greets me with a text balloon. How can I help you, Steve Smith?
I press the little microphone icon and put the phone up to my mouth. “I need cortisone, Gregory. Stat.”
“W-what?”
Gregory dings out a “10-4” while I look down at lovely Cordelia, who is looking up at me with those milk-chocolate eyes of hers. Poor, poor Cordelia. She’s itchy, and she’s wearing the wrong dress, and she’s having a little panic attack about… what was that about? The book? It must’ve been the book. She’s terrified of my critique.
Well, she need not be afraid. I reach down and slide a piece of wayward hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Gregory is gonna take care of everything, sweet Cordelia.”
Her brow furrows and her pouty mouth makes a frown. “Who?”
I get lost in the shape of her lips as they form the word. I picture what it would be like to kiss her. To bite that bottom lip of hers. Tenderly, of course, but not timidly. In control, and with authority, but not enough to cause pain. Then I start thinking of other things I might want to do with that mouth. Put a sucker in it. Feed it strawberries. Lower it slowly down onto my…
Oh, my God. Am I reliving a scene from Master Choke?
I am.
And that was a really good scene. Fuck yeah, it was. And it was smokin’ hot, man. Like dirty as fuck.
Back in those days the dirtier the sex, the more the readers gushed. Mmm. Does that sentence work? Gush is soooooo… descriptive. It really conjures up a solid image that should be used sparingly.
The more the readers… talked amongst themselves and spread the word.
Better.
Well, no. That’s stupid, Steve. Really fuckin’ stupid. Now you’re censoring yourself. Talked amongst themselves? Spread the word? Who cares? That’s dumb! Not even relevant.
‘Gushed’ really is the right word here and I should never second-guess myself again. The ladies were fascinated with Master Choke. They loved him. He didn’t get the title ‘Master’ for being an amateur in the BDSM scene. Let’s just say there was more than one mention of a panty-change in more than one review. ‘One-handed read’ was another top contender. That was from Smutty Sunshine’s Filthy Reads Book Blog. I’m pretty sure that’s still the number one review on Nile for Master Choke. The last time I looked that review had two hundred thirty-seven likes. It’ll probably be number one for all eternity.
“Steve?”
When I drag my gaze up, she’s looking at me expectantly. “Oh, right. Gregory.” I hold my phone up so she can see Gregory’s cartoon face. “He’s my virtual concierge while I’m at the Aria.”
“Huh. What’s he do?”
“Anything I want. He’s bringing you cortisone.”
She smiles. “He is?”
I smile back, feeling a little warm and tingly inside when I realize I’ve made her happy. “He is. I told him to. And he does everything I tell him to.”
“Everything?”
“Anything. Wanna try him out?”
The elevator dings and we exit. I put my hand on the small of her back, directing her down the hallway to my room.
“Well, what would I ask him for?”