Chapter 3

"Nice place..." Sim quipped as I cleared a space for him to sit in my messy office.

I glared, trying to keep a straight face when I saw the teasing glint in his chocolate brown eyes. "Thanks," I muttered, moving a stack of notes and bills. "Go easy on me, I work from home. Plus I'm not exactly the domestic type."

Sim shrugged. "Creative minds are rarely tidy."

I nodded. "Good. We understand each other then." I gestured towards the desk chair I'd just cleared. "Have a seat."

"So, what precisely are we doing?" Sim asked as I sat beside him and flicked my laptop on.

"Research," I teased, drumming my fingers impatiently against the desk, waiting for the wireless to kick in. I opened the internet browser and clicked on my 'favourites' folder. Sim's eyes grew wide as he watched the website names appear.

"Holy crap," he murmured.

I shrugged. "Ya gotta read what you wanna write."

Sim regarded me silently for a moment. "Do you read it a lot?"

I laughed and opened up one of my favourite story sites. "Not so much any more," I confessed. "There are a few authors whose work I like, so I follow what they're working on, but now that I'm writing it myself I'm pretty busy, besides I find it distracts me."

"So do you have to pay for this stuff, or what?"

"Sometimes." I clicked on a promising title to bring the story up on screen. "But there are a lot of free sites too, which you'll have to keep in mind, competition and all. Mind you, a great deal of it is crap and painful to read since anyone with a computer can write submit a dirty story." I glanced over at Sim as he shifted in his chair. "Don't tell me you've never read online erotica."

Sim cleared his throat. "Well... no, actually I haven't. I read at work all day long, so when I get home I'm..."

"More of a picture guy, huh?" I supplied, trying to spare him a little embarrassment. Sim had the decency to blush and I laughed. He was such a contradiction: cocky and flirty at times, boyishly hesitant at others. Although I suppose most people aren't accustomed to discussing such things with a virtual stranger.

"You know," I teased, "if you're going to publish erotica you're going to have to loosen up a bit."

Sim ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and smiled sheepishly before his eyes flickered down the screen briefly to read the words there; the resulting expression on his face was priceless.

"People read this stuff?"

"People love this stuff," I laughed.

"D-do you write stuff like this?" Sim asked huskily. I tried to ignore the hoarse sexiness of his voice.

"No, it's not my style," I grinned. "I don't personally care for the whips and chains myself, although there certainly is a huge market for it."

Sim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"You okay? Do you need a glass of cold water?" I asked, legitimately concerned as his usually swarthy complexion paled.

Sim chuckled. "Cold shower is more like it." I laughed along with him. "Actually," he admitted when we'd quieted, "I could use a drink."

"Sure. Water? Milk? Gingerale?" I offered.

"Got anything stronger?"

"Rye."

"Yeah," Sim murmured. "I'll have one of those."

"Straight?" I stood up, grinning. It was only mid-afternoon, but I was feeling like I could use a drink myself.

"Throw a little gingerale in it, if you don't mind."

I laughed all the way to the kitchen. When I returned with two large rye and gingers brimming with ice Sim was scrolling through the story, reading intently.

"Do you like it?" I asked, handing him his drink.

Sim took a sip, nodding. "Yeah, it's really good; once you get past the whips and chains it's very well written."

I giggled. "You're not supposed to get past the whips and chains, Sim; whips and chains are the whole point."

"Not when you're an editor," Sim pointed out. He leaned casually back in his chair and grinned at me. "A good editor read the story with two sets of eyes." I must have looked confused because he hurried on. "When I read a story for the first time I have to see the different levels of it; spelling, grammar, punctuation, format: these things can be fixed, tweaked, made better. Plot, dialogue, description, characterization: these things are inherent. If a story lack those elements it's not going anywhere, no matter how perfect the grammar."

"The story doesn't have to appeal to you personally? It just has to have an appeal?" I asked. I'd never picked an editor's brain before; as a writer, I was intrigued.

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt if I like it," Sim explained. "But my taste is very different from that of the general public; what's going to sell isn't necessarily what I like personally. It's my job to consider the public's tastes over my own."

"Oh," I said teasingly. "So you're more of a whips and chains sort of guy working in a vanilla world?"

Sim opened his mouth to reply and then closed it wordlessly before laughing sharply and taking a swig of his drink. "Yeah, in a manner of speaking I guess I am. It's fair to say my personal taste is a little less mainstream." He leaned forward and double-checked the pen name on the screen. "Okay, so I've read mystryssofthenyte's fine work, what else do you have for me?"

"I don't know, are we looking for recruits or are we just trying to get a feel for the genre?"

Sim chuckled. "I don't think I'm quite ready to graduate from Erotica 101 just yet, so let's just get a feel."

I nodded, scrolling down the index of stories to another title. "Fair enough. Should you be taking notes?"

Sim shook his dark head. "Plenty of time for that later. Who's this?" He leaned forward to read the small screen of my laptop and his shoulder brushed against mine. I jumped at the scalding contact and tried to ignore Sim's arrogant grin.

"This is lustyenuf4u," I said with a laugh. "Haven't figured out if it's a guy or a girl writing, but I really like their stuff."

"Why?" Sim's eyes were diamond bright, curiosity evident on every line of his handsome face.

I shrugged. "I don't know. His or her descriptions are extremely good; it's so immediate, like being there. And it all seems completely effortless; as a fellow writer I guess I'm a little envious of that skill."

Sim settled back in his chair, cradling his drink between his hands. "Read it."

"O-kay," I said slowly, unsure of where he was going with his request. I read the first paragraph, my eyes skimming the screen quickly.

"Out loud."

I looked over my shoulder; Sim was grinning broadly. "Pardon?" I asked.

"Out loud, Imogen. Please read it out loud." It wasn't really a request, more like a demand.

"Why?"

"You said this person has good, immediate descriptions. I just want to prove you right. Reading out loud helps me to visualize."

I quickly reread the first paragraph to myself, blushing furiously.

"What's wrong Imogen? You use those words when you write. Can't you say them out loud?" There was a teasing note in Sim's words which irked my temper.

"N-no," I stammered, only too aware of my cheeks burning brightly. "I've never been very good at talking dirty."

Sim chuckled warmly and the sound sent a frisson of awareness straight through me. "You're good at writing dirty; besides, it's not like you're talking to me. It's just a story and this is just research, so read it. Out loud."

Taking a deep breath I complied; my voice wavered initially, but as the story progressed I grew more comfortable with it. It also helped that I didn't have to look at Sim. I could feel the heat of his gaze watching me and I tried to ignore the sensation and concentrate on the words on the computer screen, all the while cursing myself for picking that particular story; it was really hot and featured a few situations I'd never in a million years write about, never mind attempt.

When the female lead of the story finally reached her very vocal and descriptive climax I stumbled over the phrasing and blushing furiously I stopped reading.

Flustered, I glanced over my shoulder at Sim who sat silently, watching me with heavy intent. His drink was empty and he had a crooked grin on his handsome face which I didn't quite trust. I couldn't bring myself to look down to see if the story had affected him as much as it had me, but I didn't really need to see the bulge in his jeans to know that it did. The gleam in his eyes gave him away.

"I need another drink," I mumbled, rising clumsily to my feet. I fled to the kitchen without looking back. I was only half-way through my second glass of water when Sim appeared behind me.

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly.

I kept my eyes on the view from the window over my sink. "I'm fine."

Sim chuckled lowly. He was standing very close behind me, all but trapping me against the countertop.

"I don't think you are," he drawled, his breath hot against my ear. "That turned you on, didn't it?"

I shook my head vehemently; I didn't trust my voice.

"It turned me on," he laughed in my ear. "If you're ever looking a day job you could narrate those things for a living. Any guy with a heartbeat and a hard-on would pay a fortune to hear that sweet little voice of yours say things like that."

I closed my eyes; even with my back to him I was aware of every square inch of his broad torso. It was way too warm in my kitchen. I drank the rest of my water with a gulp.

"Will you read me one of yours next?" he asked.

"No," I replied without hesitation.

"Why not?" He sounded almost hurt.

I didn't reply. I couldn't get the words past the lump in my throat.

"Too personal Imogen? Would it hit too close to home? Are your heroines you?"

I leaned forward and again filled my empty glass with cold water from the tap, downing half the glass with one unladylike chug.

Sim's laugh rumbled deeply in his throat. "When Lena is frantically riding Aidan's long, hard cock it's really you, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes, leaning heavily against the countertop with one hand, still desperately clutching the cold glass of water in the other. It was the only solid anchor in a room that was otherwise spinning, crowded with the sound and scent and presence of Simeon Forster.

"Imogen," Sim purred, pressing himself against me. His breathing was as ragged as my own. His erection nestled against the base of my spine.

I gasped and shuddered and then without thinking I threw the cold contents of my glass of water over my shoulder.

"What the fuck Imogen!" Sim yelled, stepping back. I whirled around, all too aware of the cold water seeping down my own back; it hadn't all hit him.

"I told you I'm not that kind of girl," I growled, glad for the distance I'd put between us, it made it easier to think. I tried not to look at Sim as he paced the length of my kitchen, cursing me; the water had soaked the front of his white t-shirt and it clung most appealingly to his broad chest.