Writers Block Ch 07

My dear readers... sorry for the wait...

He kissed me deeply and I felt his free hand close around my own, gently prying the condom from my grip.

"I'll be careful, Sweetness, I promise."

Sim's pants and boxers disappeared. I vaguely remember him moving to take them off, but I was so wrapped up in the nervous expectancy of it all that I barely had time to miss his presence beside me before he returned to continue the plunge of his fingers into me and the gentle rasp of his thumb against my clit.

He pressed against me, warm, solid, and heavy as he stole another kiss. My arms came up to wind around his neck, desperate for something to anchor me and keep me from floating away in bliss.

When Sim shifted his weight to settle between my legs it seemed like the most natural thing in the world and as I tripped along on another orgasm I could feel his cock nestle itself against me. For a brief second my heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat. I clawed a little at the back of Sim's neck, but I couldn't have told you if it was out of fear or excitement.

"Look at me," he whispered and I tore my gaze from the spot over Sim's shoulder to the warm chocolate of his eyes.

Concern overlaid the flicker of desire I saw there and there was a moment when I thought he might change his mind and decide that I wasn't worth the bother.

"Don't look away, Imogen. This is who you are, who you deserve to be. There's nothing to be scared of." Sim leaned down to brush his lips gently against my own. "If I hurt you a little I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I promise you that I'll make it up to you."

"You already have made it up to me," I gasped as he shifted.

Sim entered me slowly with a gentleness that brought tears to my eyes. The chorus in my head sang a litany of

hurry, hurry, hurry

and my impatience must have shown because he laughed as he kissed me deeply.

It seemed to take forever for Sim to fill me completely. I expected pain like there'd been the first time all those years ago, but there was nothing except a strange sense of fullness.

Until Sim moved.

"Breathe Sweetness," Sim murmured into my ear. "Don't forget to breathe." His own breath was hot against my neck, short and fast. I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget the sensation. Pleasure danced behind my eyes. I could feel them widen as he drew himself gently outward, only to plunge back deeply to the rhythm of my gasps.

It was everything I wanted it to be and nothing like I thought it would be. There was only Sim and it felt like he was in every pore of my being. It was a world of heat and slick sensation that drove me out of my mind.

My name poured from Sim's mouth in a guttural groan and I heard myself respond in kind, my voice a tiny echo, as if from far away.

Matching his movements somehow came naturally to me, and I rose to meet him as he crashed upon me like waves on the shore - every bit as natural and powerful, every bit as beautiful. There was an intense look on Sim's face as he raised himself up on his arms, cupped the back of my neck with one large hand, and stared at me. It was a look I'd never seen before and somehow I knew that I was seeing him as he really was, without the sarcastic sense of humour and without the wall of bravado - Simeon Forster in all his raw, breathtaking power.

He'd reminded me to breathe, but I'd forgotten how. There wasn't room in my body for air anyway, not with him there. As it was, I didn't need oxygen, I only needed Sim and everything was alright.

I came hard. Harder than I ever had. Harder than I ever thought possible. When the building sensation in my belly crested, Sim's name was on my lips, loud and clear and definite. He chuckled and followed, his body tense with pleasure. My fingernails dug into his arms, desperate to hold on to him for just a moment longer.

Sim collapsed on top of me with an outward gust of air that blew the mussed waves of hair from my sweaty neck. Inside of me the last few contractions of his satisfaction were echoed by my own body. The only sound in the room was the ragged music of our breathing, and from far away the consistent hum of the lawnmower outside.

I wasn't sure what to say and anyway, there weren't words for what I was feeling. Half of me regretted taking so long to discover such joy, half of me was unspeakably thankful I'd waited for Sim to be the one to show me. I was so relaxed I could have melted into the mattress like a puddle of butter.

"You okay?" Sim asked into my hair. I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak quite yet. He slid off of me and wrapped me up against him in one smooth movement.

"Stay here tonight," he whispered. "Stay with me. It's Jude's turn to cook and he's pretty decent at it. After dinner we'll curl up with some of the manuscripts I've unearthed and maybe actually get some work done. And then we can come back up here and have another lesson or two."

I smiled into the snug curve of his neck. "Sure," I murmured thickly into his musky skin. "But I have to warn you, I've never slept in the same bed as anyone before. I could kick, or worse, I could snore."

Sim chuckled. "I'm sure you don't snore," he laughed. "And besides, even if you do, I guarantee you're so cute when you do it, I won't mind."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Brat," Sim mumbled with a happy, sated smile. We were companionably silent for a moment. I kept replaying the events of the afternoon in my head so I could file them away like precious little secrets. I didn't want to forget a moment of it.

"Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows," Sim said after a while.

I propped myself up on my elbow so I could look at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I just want to know you better Imogen. You tell me something and then I'll tell you something."

I watched him for a moment, taking in the laugh lines around his chocolate eyes, the strong slash of his dark eyebrows, and the soft upturn of his lips.

"Okay," I consented. "Something about me no one else knows?"

Sim nodded. He rolled to his side so we were facing each other. His hand rested on my hip, stroking the curve gently.

"Every time I go into a bookstore or to the library I always end up going to the spot where my books would be kept once they've been written and published." I closed my eyes and laughed, knowing how silly I sounded. "Then in that space where I'd fall alphabetically I clear a little space, just and inch or two, you know, to make room for my books."

Sim chuckled. "Even though they haven't been published yet? Or written?" he teased.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me with an amused expression. I laughed. "Yeah, even though they haven't been written yet. I just feel like I should make room for them. And it makes me... satisfied, I guess... to see where I'll fit in on that shelf."

"It's how you define yourself," Sim said. "Imogen Wallis: Author."

"And how does Simeon Forster Junior define himself?" I prompted. "Editor? Teacher? Damn good... kisser?"

He laughed and leaned down to nip playfully at my neck. "Simeon Forster Junior... Dreamer," he filled in. "Not that it matters, I hate labels."

I shook my head. "You're not actually real, are you? I'm going to wake up tomorrow and find that this has all been just a lovely fantasy and that I've been the dreamer, not you."

"Simeon Forster Junior... fantasy man... I like the ring of that," he laughed. "I should get business cards drawn up."

"So you can pass them out to all the ladies you want to sleep with?" I teased.

Sim chuckled. "And what are

you

going to do with 1000 business cards with my name on them?"

"Me?"

Sim reached over and tweaked the end of my nose. "You. Imogen Wallis - the

one

woman I want to sleep with."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. It was all too absolutely perfect. Sim was too absolutely perfect. I really was going to have to come down to earth at some point, but it was so warm and intimate being curled up naked in the late afternoon sun with Sim that I pushed reality further back in my mind. I'd deal with that later. At the moment there wasn't anything that could interfere with the lovely little cocoon the two of us were wrapped up in.

Sim's stomach growled loudly.

Okay, maybe there was

one

thing.

"And that, Sweetness, is something no one knows about me," Sim chuckled as he detangled himself from me and rose from the bed. "After all this physical activity I have to have a sandwich or I'll waste away to nothing."

I giggled and made no move to hide my appraisal of Sim as he dressed. "Be serious," I chided. "I told you something. You promised and it

was

your idea."

He leaned down and kissed my bare shoulder.

"I'm afraid of thunderstorms."

I almost laughed but then I caught a glimpse of a dark and fearful shadow cross his face before he turned away and I knew Sim was being truthful.

"I've always been scared of them, for as long as I could remember. When I was a kid Mom used to come into my room during storms and stay with me so I wouldn't be scared. And it worked having her there. I felt safe and I could sleep. But since she died...," he trailed off as I tried to swallow the huge, aching lump in my throat.

"Since she died all those fears have come back. She isn't here to keep me safe through the storms anymore. So I lie awake like a scared six year-old boy." Sim closed his hand around the doorknob and opened the door. Cool fresh air rushed in and goosebumps covered me.

I sat up, pulling the rumpled sheets around me. Sim cast a look over his shoulder. His shaggy brown hair fell over one eye. I could feel my cheeks wet with tears I didn't know I'd shed.

"And that's the one thing about me no one else knows," he admitted. "I'll go grab your dress and be right back."

He closed the door as he stepped out into the hall, leaving me alone in a room which suddenly felt cold and empty. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them before I rested my chin on my knee and let the tears come.

It seemed to be forever before I heard Sim come back up the stairs. I brushed ineffectually at the dampness on my cheeks and fled to the privacy of his ensuite bathroom before he reentered the room. A splash of cool water helped a little. My eyes were still a bit red but at least I wasn't too blotchy from crying.

How was I supposed to explain my tears to Sim? How could I when I wasn't certain what had upset me in the first place? It wasn't regret, I knew that much. There wasn't a single cell in my body that regretted what we'd just done. I'd remember that afternoon forever, and already it seemed magical, like a faraway dream, like something that had happened to another lucky girl and not to me.

I supposed I was crying for him. For the crappy events of his life. For his mother and for the loss of her. I'd never been that close to my own mother, and yet it was difficult to think of what my life would be like without her. Sim had obviously learned a lot from his mother. It sounded to me like she'd been a remarkable woman. I wished I could have met her.

When I exited the bathroom my dress was folded neatly on the foot of Sim's bed, but he was nowhere in sight. I dressed swiftly and fixed my hair as best I could. I didn't for a moment think that Jude wouldn't know exactly what Sim and I had been doing upstairs for all that time, but I could at least make the effort not to look like I'd just spent the last hour in bed.

Sim and Jude were seated at the kitchen table when I rejoined them. Jude looked freshly showered; his dark hair was sleek against his head and his cheeks rosy. He shot me a knowing grin before he rose from the table. I know I blushed twenty different shades of red.

Sim ignored his little brother and gave me a welcoming smile.

"I was just telling Jude about our project for the publishing house," Sim said with a laugh. "Strangely enough, he wants in."

"Are you a writer?" I asked, surprised. I slid into the chair Jude had made empty.

Sim's little brother shook his head. "Not in the least, not unless you count essays about history. But you can't blame me for an interest in the topic."

I laughed. "I guess not."

"I also told Jude," Sim continued with an almost cold edge in his voice. "That we don't need an assistant."

Jude opened the fridge and popped open a beer before leaning against the kitchen counter and grinning down at the two of us. "And I know when I've been told to 'butt out'," he chuckled.

"There is a pretty major pile of manuscripts sitting in your livingroom," I reminded Sim gently. "We could use help going through them all."

Sim's little brother grinned pleadingly at him, but Sim shook his dark head. "No way. Besides, I'm certain Jude has articles which need to be read for his classes tomorrow." He turned his attention from me to the younger man across the room. "You're not going to pass your upcoming exams by reading erotica."

There was a charming, somewhat excessive grimace on Jude's face. "Sadly, no," he capitulated. "I suppose I'll just have to leave the smut to the two of you and immerse myself once more in the thrilling world that is Canadian constitutional history."

It was my turn to pull a face and the brothers laughed. "I'd rather read erotica," I muttered.

"Me too," both said in unison.

Dinner with Sim and Jude was laid-back and through most of it I found myself watching the good-natured, familial camaraderie between the two with a big smile. They were a lot alike despite the decade which separated them - the same subtle gestures, the same crooked grin – they even sounded the same when they laughed. It made me wonder about the other two brothers – Ash and Ben, and whether they too were mirrors of the other brothers.

For all the similarities though, there were also subtle differences between Sim and Jude. Jude was much younger and had that indefatigable enthusiasm of a twenty-one year-old. He was louder, a little more brash – eager-to-please in a puppy-doggish sort of way that made me laugh. He was an unabashed flirt and I was sure his crooked smile had cut a significant swath through his female classmates at the university.

Jude lacked the edge of cynicism Sim had, and I supposed a great deal of that was because Sim had protected his youngest brother from the things which had hurt him. Jude would have been quite young when his mother grew ill and passed away. It wasn't hard to picture Sim sheltering the youngest Forster from both the trauma of that event and from the sins of their father. It said a lot about Sim. It made me like him even more.

When the meal was finished Jude rose to his feet and began to collect the dirty dishes. I jumped up to help him, but he waved me away with his free hand.

"No need," he said giving me a wink. He whisked my dirty plate away. "You're a guest. I can clean up - it gives me an excuse to put off studying for a few more minutes. You're here to work – go read your sexy books."

I laughed and moved towards the livingroom to do as I was told. Sim followed, but not before he scooped up our wineglasses and a fresh bottle of pinot noir. He sat himself at the opposite end of the big, slouchy couch from me. Between us was a large file box filled to the breaking point with manuscripts.

I eyed it with apprehension.

"Where do we start?"

Sim passed me my glass of wine and gave me a minute to settle with my feet tucked under me.

"We start at the top and work our way down," he suggested. He pulled the top two manuscripts from the box and tested the weight of them with one in each hand. He kept the thicker, heavier ream of papers for himself. Our fingers brushed as he handed me the lighter, thinner of the two.

I took the manuscript, all the while completely sensitive to the frisson of awareness that had shot through me at the touch of his fingers. My eyes met Sim's own chocolate gaze before dancing down to the full box of manuscripts between us.

"Couldn't you move it?" I suggested.

"And have you curled up beside me while we read?" Sim said with a husky chuckle. He shook his head and his dark hair fell like a wave over his forehead. He pushed it back. "Sorry, Sweetness but we'd never get anything done."

I pouted, all the while knowing he was right. If I touched him again, if I let myself relax in his embrace, I'd never be able to concentrate on a word I was reading. I shook my head to clear it and tried to focus on the task at hand instead of on Sim.

"So what exactly are we doing with all of these?"

Sim leaned forward and cleared a space on the coffee table. "We read. Manuscripts which seem promising go down there," he gestured to my end of the table. "Ones which we're not sure about we'll put by me. If it's complete crap toss it on the floor and go for the next one. Don't dawdle, don't over-think it. It's all about first impressions. If you don't like it in the first ten pages, chances are its garbage. Chuck it and move on."

I pursed my lips. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" I knew how much work went into writing a book. I hated to think about an editor tossing aside all my effort because he deemed it 'crap' within the space of ten pages.

"You're a smart girl, Imogen. You'll know the bad ones when you see them."

I thought back to the manuscript I'd read that afternoon while in Sim's office. It had been terrible, laughably so. It didn't seem possible that I'd only read it a few hours before. So much had happened since then. I smiled to myself as I replayed the events of the past few hours in my head - the image of Sim, strong and naked above me, the feeling of his body between my thighs, the intensity of his expression as he buried himself inside me.

"Imogen!"

My head snapped up. Sim was watching me, his first manuscript already open in his large hands. There was a teasing little curve to his lips as he frowned at me.

"Yes?"

"Concentrate. We've got a lot to get through. I want to have at least ten manuscripts to show to the board when we present to them. There's a lot of work to do between now and then."

"I'm sorry," I apologized with a small smile. A heated flush stole up my neck and over my cheeks. "I was just... thinking."

Sim's answered smile was a little wicked. "I know, Sweetness, but if we get a few hours of work in now, I promise you I'll make it up to you later."

With that pleasant thought in mind, I cracked open the manuscript on my lap and began to read.

It wasn't a half-bad story even if it was a little archetypal in its plotline. Boy meets girl, girl doesn't want anything to do with boy, boy somehow still manages to charm her out of her pants, girl ends up liking boy after all. I was twenty pages in when Sim chucked the manuscript he was reading to the floor.

I looked up. "Crap?"

Sim took a sip of his wine. "Definitely."

I felt bad for the author whose work was now littering Sim's livingroom floor. "Are you sure?"

He shot me a 'trust-me-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about' sort of look. "He referred to the heroine's breasts as 'knockers'. Twice."

I laughed. "Ouch."

"How's yours?"

I turned the manuscript over in my hands and shrugged. "It's alright."

"What page are you on?"

I flipped the pages open to where my finger sat resting against the paragraph I'd just finished reading. "Thirty-seven."

Sim picked up the next sheaf of papers from the box and settled it on his lap. "Have they had sex yet?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, twice. And before you ask, it's not half bad."

"The book or the sex?" Sim arched a chestnut eyebrow.

My giggles continued. "Both."

He reached over and plucked the manuscript from my hands and dropped it on his side of the coffee-table in the 'maybe' pile. "Don't dawdle over them, Imogen. Skim, determine if it's any good, and move on."