28. Grace
Chapter 28
Grace
A couple days later, I find myself on the sofa, alone in the living room.
In my hands is my story from high school. The one that Hendrix saved.
My heart thuds as I stare down at it. I haven’t read this since I threw it in the trash that fateful day so long ago. I didn’t even let myself think about it afterward. I threw the knowledge of it into the back of my mind just like I threw the literal story in the can.
But now Hendrix has given it back to me from where he saved it in a drawer with some other prized possessions, and I feel I have an obligation to read it. If only so I can appreciate the gesture that he made. Clearly this story means a lot to him.
Personally I think it’s because I wrote it. I was a teenager when I wrote this story, it can’t be all that good. But it’s sweet that because I was the author, Hendrix values it.
I take a deep breath, open it, and read.
Oh man. I remember the inspiration for this story.
It was my crush on Jesse, and my determination to go up to him as soon as I was eighteen and ask him to take my virginity. The story was a fictionalized version of how I hoped things would go.
I hadn’t intended to write just plain smut when I was a teenager. I’d tried to go for more of a women’s magazine feel, something literary—exploring what it felt like to give one’s self over to another person that way. The trust involved. The rite of passage into adulthood.
Reading it now as an adult, I can see the parts where it’s very clearly written by a teenager. The sex parts make me cringe and I’m glad I didn’t try to go into too much detail. And yet…
Maybe I’m crazy. But my heart races as I consider that this story might be better than I thought it was. Maybe there is some hidden potential in here.
It’s about a one night stand, after all. In the story, the main character approaches her best friend’s older brother—I switched the relationships around a bit in the story so that nobody would realize I was drawing so closely from real life—and asks him to help her learn about sex.
As I read through it now, the words remind me so much of what actually happened. How Jesse turned me down, and the honorable intentions behind it. The misinterpretation. It makes me wonder about what would’ve happened if he’d said yes. What might’ve followed.
How fun it would be to explore that ‘might have been’ through the lens of these characters.
I bite my lip. I focused so hard on the business side of the publishing industry. Not as a writer. I put those dreams aside. For good reason, I thought. But I really do love to write, and now… now I’m an Omega. Everything about my life is changing, anyway. I have no idea where my career is going to go or how my office will treat me with my new status.
Maybe if I do want to try writing, now’s the best time. I have nothing really to lose.
There’s no harm in writing it for fun and seeing where it goes, I tell myself sternly, giving myself a pep talk.
I go upstairs to my room and settle in at the desk set against one wall, hoping that being so close to my nest will help me feel cozy and confident. Maybe even a little sexy, given all that went on in this room. Maybe it will give me some subconscious inspiration.
Then I start writing.
Well… I try.
I glare at the document on my laptop screen. If this were a movie, I would sit down and the words would burst out of me, and it would turn out that inspiration was waiting inside me all along. I’d realize how good I am and how easy this all is.
But instead of anything magical like that, I can’t think of a single word to write.
Great. I already have writer’s block .
Okay, well, this original short story was based in part on real life. Maybe I can draw on real life again for this initial scene, just to help myself along. I can write the sex scene, but just write down some actual sex I had in my heat. Practice describing it, transposing those feelings and emotions for the reader.
My face heats up with embarrassment and arousal as I start typing. Remembering all the ways the men made me orgasm, and how good they made me feel, has me getting a little wet.
“Hey, princess, I—whoa.”
Easton stops as he enters the room, his eyebrows shooting as I slam my laptop closed. I can feel my face on fire, and I know I’m blushing.
He cocks his head slightly, studying me with a curious look. “Uh, are you shopping for more toys?”
“Haha.” I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Good. I’d hate to think you can’t come to one of us to… take care of things.” Easton’s voice is dripping with promise, and my thighs clench in response.
I swallow. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“Then what are you working on?”
I take a deep breath. If I try to lie or deflect, he’ll just tease me more and get more suspicious. “I’m writing something, actually.”
His face lights up with excitement. “You are? That’s great!” His enthusiasm makes my heart melt. “What are you writing?”
“Uh…” Heat rises up my face again, for an entirely different reason this time.
As if he can read my mind, Easton smirks. “What were you writing, Miss Whitmore?”
“N-nothing.”
He saunters over, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, I think it’s something.” He leans closer to the desk, petting my thigh. “You’re so flushed. That’s definitely not from nothing.”
I whimper as his fingers brush higher. “I—I was working on a sex scene.”
“Is that so? Can I read it?”
My heart skips a beat, a rush of nerves filling me. “I… I guess so.”
Easton smiles, drawing his hand away to take the laptop from me and read what I’ve written. His gaze burns as his eyes scan the screen.
My face catches fire as I watch him read, because I know all the dirty things that are on the screen. He’s already seen me naked and done some pretty dirty things with me himself, so it shouldn’t be embarrassing, but even though I trust him and he’s proven he’ll take care of me, this still kind of feels like someone reading my diary over my shoulder as I write it.
It’s weird.
After what feels like an eternity, Easton glances away from the screen and grins at me.
“It’s amazing,” he says, and I’m instantly conscious of how close he is. His face is only a few inches away from mine, so close I can feel and hear him breathing. It’s elevated.
“Really?” I ask, my face flaming.
“Definitely, even though it’s a cliffhanger. What happens next?”
“Good question. I hit a bad stretch of writer’s block and I’m just not sure where to take it from there.” Easton grins and a teasing glint sparkles in his gray eyes. I love this side of him. He’s much more playful and lighthearted than I thought he was before I knew him as well as I do now. “What are you smirking about?”
“I can help if you want. You know, give you some inspiration.” He winks at me, and my cheeks burn.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Easton chuckles. “Okay. Then go ahead and keep writing.” I rest my fingers on the keyboard, but no matter how hard I try to think, words won’t come. Easton rests his hand on one of my shoulders. “It’s okay. Just pretend I’m not here.”
“Trust me, that’s much easier said than done.”
He trails one finger from my shoulder all the way down my arm to the tender patch of skin between my bicep and forearm. A chill ripples through me. “That’s not helping me think.”
“No? How about this?” he whispers as he moves closer, his lips hovering less than an inch away from my neck. He lets out a long, slow exhale, sending his hot breath cascading down my torso, and I shudder. “Write what I’m doing to you.”
My body thrums. The suggestion is hot as hell and perfect for where the story stopped. Like they’re suddenly possessed, my fingers start flying across the keyboard, depicting everything he’s doing in painstaking detail. I describe the warmth and moistness of his breath on my neck, the way it makes all the hairs stand straight up when he breathes or speaks, and the tantalizing tickle of his fingertips brushing up and down my arm.
“There you go,” he mutters, his lips fluttering against my earlobe and making me sigh. It’s hard to concentrate on writing when what he’s doing to me feels so damn good. I’d much rather close the laptop and go to bed with him, but I want to finish this scene.
And who says I can’t do both?
Easton’s hands drape over my shoulders, snaking down my chest to my breasts. He cups one in each hand, giving them a gentle squeeze, and I squirm under him as I keep writing. His thumbs flick across my nipples, hardening them, and I chew my lip to keep my focus despite the tingle he’s causing in me.
“Write how good I’m making you feel. I want to see it,” Easton whispers in my ear before he nibbles on the lobe. I shudder and write something without looking at the screen, so for all I know it’s gibberish, but it’s hard to care with his hands all over me like this.
“There you go. Just like that.” One of his hands moves farther down my body, lodging itself between my legs. I’m already a little wet, but feeling his fingers there is only making it worse. “Would your character like this?”
“She’d be crazy not to,” I mutter back.
“Then write it. Just like I’m doing to you now,” he says as he snakes his fingers into my shorts and pulls my panties aside. They glide across my lips, making me shudder. “How would it feel for her to have this happen?”
“Like she’s dancing on a knife’s edge of desire,” I say as I write the same words, barely able to get them out. “She’s overcome with it. It’s all she can think about, a compulsion. A need.”
“Go on.”
“Like she can barely stand the anticipation, the teasing of his fingers against her pussy, knowing that what she really wants is something more. Something deeper. And that, if she plays her cards right, it’s exactly what he’ll give her.”
“Mm, I love the sound of that too,” Easton says and plants a kiss at the base of my neck where it meets my shoulder. “How would it make her feel if this happened?” He pushes a finger into me, and I can’t stop a gasp from hitching in my throat.
“Electric,” I say, breathless. My fingers are still moving across the keyboard, but even I don’t have a clue what they’re writing. And it’s getting harder and harder to care. But Easton drags his finger out of me, surprising me just as much as when he put it in.
“Stand up,” he orders gently. I push back from the desk, making the chair groan with the movement, and stand. “Good. Now keep your fingers on the keyboard.” I stay bent over, my back slightly arched, as he reaches around me to unbutton my shorts.
Desire rushes through me as he unzips them then drags them down to my ankles along with my panties, but I keep writing, describing each of his movements and touches.
“How is she feeling now? The character in your story?”
“Exposed. But she trusts him. She knows he’s going to take care of her in the way that only he knows how,” I answer and write the words at the same time.
“She’s exactly right. And he wants it just as badly as she does,” he says, and I hear him unzipping his pants behind me. My toes curl in anticipation as I narrate what he’s doing in the text. Easton wedges his cock between my lips and starts to push to part them. “Tell me, how does this feel for her? I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Like her entire body is lighting up and coming to life for him,” I say around a moan as he keeps pushing into me. My eyes flutter shut, and my fingers press into the keys. I’m probably littering the document with random key presses, but I don’t give a damn. I’ll clean them up later.
“Stay focused now, princess,” Easton reminds me as he pauses with his cock halfway inside me. He pushes my shirt up my back and rubs my lower back affectionately. “I’ll give you a second to catch up. I don’t want your readers missing out on any little detail.”
“R-right,” I stammer, trying to collect my thoughts.
“Write how it feels to open up like this. To take a man’s cock.”
“It feels like opening up, stretching. Like this is what her body was made for, and his cock was made to fit her perfectly.”
“Mm, I love the sound of that.” My back arches farther as Easton pushes the rest of the way into me. I rock onto my tiptoes as his hips meet mine and let out the breath I’ve been holding. “How does that feel?”
“Complete. Whole.” I try to write, but he starts pulling backward from me and my eyes flutter. My fingers go limp against the keys, and when Easton drives into me again, bottoming out, I whimper. His hands find my waist, holding me still so he can drag himself out. I claw at the keys, struggling to stay focused.
But Easton seems to be losing his concentration to the feeling too. His thrusts quicken, each needier than the last. And when I steal a glance over my shoulder at him, I find his head hanging and his eyes focused on watching his cock disappear in and out of me. His technique is unique compared to the other Alphas, gentler and more tender, but no less intense.
“Are you feeling inspired now?” he asks when he catches me watching him. A smirk splits his face.
“Oh, I’m full of inspiration.” I wink at him, and his smirk turns into a look of determination as he takes a sharp thrust into me. I gasp in surprise and pleasure, and his smirk returns.
“That’s not the only thing you’re about to be full of.”
“Give it to me. Please,” I beg, and it must be all he needs to hear because he grips my hips and starts to drive into me. The room fills with the sound of our bodies clapping together, and I almost feel like we’re racing each other, trying to see who can get to the finish line first.
My head falls forward as my eyes squeeze shut. The pleasure he’s giving me is almost too much to bear. I feel my fingers pressing random keys every time he drives into me, rocking my whole body forward, but I’m too turned on to care.
Eventually, I can’t stand the tension anymore and reach down for my clit, dragging my palm against it in time with his thrusts and turning my breath ragged. It only takes a few passes for my body to tense, and Easton must notice I’m getting close because he goes even faster.
“Show me how good I make you feel, princess,” he encourages as my breath catches and my fingers smash the keyboard. The computer beeps at me, screaming about incorrect inputs, but it’s drowned out by my moaning as I clench around Easton and shudder into release. I’m not even halfway through the coursing feeling when Easton grunts and goes rigid against me. I feel him pulsing inside me, followed by the increasingly familiar stretching of his knot as he expands and locks us together.
We stand frozen in place, each of us trying to catch our breath, until Easton laughs. “What is it?” I ask, and he nods at the computer because it’s still screeching at me. “Oh, oops.” I take my hands off the keys, using the desk to hold myself up, and snort when I see what my writing turned into during our romp:
Fffffffffffffffhhgggglllllllllhhjtjrrrr335555tf222
“What a masterpiece,” Easton says, and we burst out laughing together. Then he lifts me up against him, my back to his chest, and kisses me. “Maybe I wasn’t as much of a help as I meant to be.”
I turn enough to lock eyes with him and grin. “It was worth it.”