Chapter 26
GRACE
For the first time in nearly seven months, I write.
After guzzling down a coffee from Lisette and eating nothing but a single piece of toast this morning, I sat down at my desk, looking out at the magnificent view of the city from Asher's guest–my–bedroom and opened a blank document.
I pulled up the notes app on my phone, going over the list I’ve been keeping since Kacey’s suggestion to use this year for inspiration.
I’ve jotted things down over the last couple of months, ideas for a contemporary romance, but last night sparked a whole new idea, and my fingers are itching to write it.
I start at the beginning, and before I know it, the words are flowing.
I try to convince myself that this story is different, not based on my current experiences, but I realize that's a lie as soon as the main character ventures into a BDSM club and meets a dominant who wants to teach her about kink.
Okay, so maybe I'm writing a fictionalized version of my current reality… but at least I'm writing. So I decide not to question it and keep going.
Time is lost to me as my fingers dance along the keyboard.
I've always described writing as an addiction.
That when you get lost in it, drawn into this other world and the words come to you easily, it's like a high.
A drug that hits so nicely. But that perfect high is far and few between.
When the words don't come and the task becomes painful, you keep doing it, keep going back, because one of these times, you'll get that magical feeling again. And that high feels so worth it.
At some point, Lisette brings me a sandwich that I scarf down, leaving crumbs on the keyboard before I go back to writing. She comes back later with water, and when I ask for coffee, she frowns at me and tells me to drink the water. Bossy, I think, like Asher. And then I write the first sex scene.
My historical romance didn't have spice quite like this. That was soft and sweet. Gentle caresses, light kisses. What I write is darker, edgier. I take a break in the afternoon, only to watch Fifty Shades of Grey on my laptop, not wanting Lisette to see my "research."
And then I put that research to work by re-opening my document and writing two more chapters. I realize I've written more in a single day than I ever have before, and I'm beaming with pride when Asher knocks on my door that evening.
It's only when he walks in that I realize my neck and shoulders ache and my wrist has a shooting pain.
Asher looks at me curiously when I open the door, eyes glancing around the room and landing on my laptop for a brief moment. He's wearing his suit pants and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. He must have taken off his jacket somewhere along the way to my room and lost his tie.
"Lisette says you didn't leave your room all day." There's concern in his tone, a frown on his face.
I'm suddenly aware of my appearance. Luckily, I at least showered this morning, so I'm not dirty…
but I did proceed to put back on another pair of sleep shorts, a ratty old t-shirt, and a robe that's hanging open.
I write best in pajamas, and that's what I planned on doing today.
My hair is tied up in a messy knot, my face unmade.
"I was writing."
“Do you normally lose track of time and forget to leave your room when you write?”
I twist my fingers in my hair, feeling slightly scolded. “I started something new, and I was just really focused, I guess.”
He takes a step farther into my room, walking toward the laptop.
"Wait." I reach out, grabbing the sleeve of his dress shirt. "You can't just— It's not ready."
Asher studies me and then looks back over to my laptop. When his gaze comes back to mine, his lips lift into a slight grin.
"Sugar…" His voice deepens to that octave that makes my insides melt. "Are you writing about us?"
My cheeks heat. "No," I sputter out, but Asher's grin only widens.
"You are."
He steps closer to me, his arms coming around my body and pulling me against him.
It's strange, this level of intimacy when we've barely touched in the months we've been together.
But then again, that was me trying to avoid him.
Trying to stay far away from any touch that could make me feel anything.
But I had no idea it could feel like this.
"It's okay, Sugar." He sounds cocky now, his chin dipping to look down at me. "I like knowing that I inspired you."
I can feel my entire body buzzing under his gaze, those words rattling through my head.
I'm writing erotica inspired by Asher Caine, and I haven’t even seen his dick yet.
"Would you like more inspiration?" Asher's still looking down at me, and my mouth goes dry.
When I nod, he frowns, his fingers scaling up the side of my body and gripping my chin. This time, it's harder than it was last night. His grip bites into my flesh and startles me.
"How do you answer?" He's being stern. So fucking stern. Because he wants my words; that was one of the expectations he laid out last night.
"W-With my words," I stutter, and his grip loosens on my chin. "Yes, Sir." Holding his eye contact, I watch the way they glow when I please him. It sends another wave of warmth through me.
"First, Sugar, have you eaten today?" The question surprises me. I was expecting him to tell me to drop to my knees and for me to obey him like the horny slut I am right now. But instead, he's wondering if I've eaten.
"Uh, Lisette brought me a sandwich earlier."
Asher frowns. "It's seven p.m. Are you saying that all you've eaten today is a sandwich?"
His tone makes me not want to answer. He doesn't seem happy about that. And now that he mentions it, my stomach growls, and I realize that I'm starving.
"Yes," I say sheepishly.
Asher sighs. "Sugar, I'm happy that you're inspired, but you have to take care of yourself during the day. Understood."
I've never had anyone talk to me like this before.
Asher's staring at me, and I realize that he's waiting for me to respond. "Understood," I repeat.
And then he takes my hand and leads me out to the kitchen to feed me.