Chapter 35
Rosie
I watch Alex as he returns to me, his steps confident, a satisfied smile on his face. I can hardly believe how good I feel with him, how well we fit together, and how much I still want him. I’m pulled from my thoughts when I realize he’s up to something… he has that look, his classic “Alex the cowboy”
expression.
In his hands, there’s a dark blue notebook, worn at the corners, and a pen. He sits down behind me, his legs framing mine, and wraps me in his arms. The warmth of his chest against my back gives me a sense of security that still surprises me. I can’t believe he practically asked for permission to hold me like this. That, beneath all that bravado, there’s so much uncertainty. That after everything we’ve shared, he’d still ask for permission to do something so simple… it’s endearing, making the moment feel even more intimate.
“Princess… how about we write something?”
he says, using that gentle tone he always adopts when he knows I’m about to panic. That tone that tries to ease even the most intense situations.
A lump forms in my throat. Has he really been mulling this over all this time? I’d told him about my childhood dream, about the hours I used to spend creating stories in my notebooks, about how I’d chosen the “safe”
path instead of following the desire that burned inside me. But then… caught up in the moment, I’d let it slip from my mind.
“Alex…”
I whisper, my hands trembling slightly. “I haven’t written in years. I was never even good at it.”
He hugs me a little tighter, as if he’s trying to lend me his courage through that embrace.
“I’m right here with you, princess. You don’t have to do it alone. Just start by having fun with it. Write something about this magical place, about what’s around you… about how you feel. I think it might be a great starting point for a beautiful story. Don’t you think?”
I stare at the notebook he’s holding out to me. It’s a simple dark blue book, but it suddenly feels like the most intimidating object in the world. That part of me—the little girl who dreamed of telling stories—I had locked her away long ago. I’d done it carefully, like folding away winter clothes at the arrival of summer, convincing myself it was the right thing to do.
“Alex… I…”
My voice comes out smaller than I’d like, and I’m not even sure what to say.
Great, Rosie, that’s definitely proof you’re not cut out to be a writer.
“Let’s make it a game, princess. You start writing, and for every page you fill, I’ll reward you,”
he says, with a playful grin.
“It doesn’t work like that… I can’t just write on command,”
I reply, my voice slightly shaky.
“Then I think you might need a little encouragement.”
Without another word, he leans down and starts planting small, maddeningly slow kisses along my neck, and within half a second, I’m covered in goosebumps.
He trails his way down my spine and then back up, grazing my skin with gentle bites until he reaches my ear. In his rough, thrilling whisper, he says, “Now start by describing what it’s like to be in a cowboy’s arms. There’s an orgasm waiting for you for every page.”