Page 23 of From the Shadows

Even my phone is silent, not a message to be found telling me I need to prepare for anything later. Teague and Gauphre were consistently busy in the weeks after Teague was taken, but lately, things have slowed down significantly. Staggeringly.

Achingly?

No. That only applies to the yearning I experience for the man who left me this evening, bereft. Stripped of my entertainment. Devoid of purpose.

…oh.

I fill a glass with water, dropping in a slice of cucumber for freshness, and pull my laptop from where I’d stashed it on the counter.

The problem rears its ugly head at almost the same time my ass hits the couch. Every snippet, each remarkable phrase that slammed into me over the past several hours is gone. Like, the puff-of-smoke kind of gone. Disintegrated. Evanesced…

…Disappearing into the ether…

And out of nowhere, my fingers fly across the keyboard, weaving emotions with actions, melding longing and yearning with the impossible task of finding resolution.

I don’t know if my story is any good. I have no idea if the structure is correct, of the prose, typos, any of it. But there is a delicious decadence to this process, whatever it becomes.

I dive back in and layer words, driving everything toward that pinnacle moment, pushing the characters together all while pulling them apart until they absolutely combust.

Do I deep dive into my fantasies of Eddie for inspiration? Hell yes, I do. Not a surprise that the hero in this story is dark and brooding, that the expression on his face is serious, brows drawn, luscious lips pulled down at the corners. In a rare moment, I have to check my favorite thesaurus for just the right word, and the options are spectacular. Mournful, melancholic, woebegone… Dolorous.

Good Lord, the way that word dances across my tongue is nothing short of sinful. A shiver runs down my spine as I say it aloud for the third time. And as I paint the decadent scene of passion finally erupting between the characters, my descriptions become more and more centered around the man I’ve been lusting after for far too long.

My brain is most generous when filling in all the sad, unfortunate gaps in my knowledge. Specifics are not something I have a grasp on, though I would happily volunteer for some on-the-job training and firsthand knowledge when it comes to Eddie. And Eddie coming…

I bet that is sheer poetry. I would pay to see it. I’d pay extra for a front row seat and even more for the personal experience.

Fictional Eddie is a stud. A stallion between the sheets, up against the wall, splayed back in the quintessentially masculine leather chair in the corner of his dark academia-style office. Fictional Eddie is blessed in the anatomical sense, but he doesn’t rely on size alone. No, fictional Eddie is all about finesse. Attention to detail. He’s committed to providing a full, almost overwhelming experience for the heroine. Pleasure is key and hers is of the utmost importance to him.

When my fingers still, poised above the keyboard, the tension in my body finally registers. Sure, my shoulders are tight, but so is everything else. My nipples are tight little buds, the muscles in my core are straining, reaching, begging for the same relief my characters just found. I did good by them—really good—now I need someone to do the same for me. And it would take next to nothing for me to pop off. In fact…

I set my laptop aside and slide my hand inside my leggings. My head falls back to rest on the cushion behind me as I circle my clit with two fingers. I allow my eyes to drift to the words on my screen.

The build.

The devotion.

The way he keeps her dancing on the edge before finally, finally allowing her to tumble and disappear into the ether.

Chapter 10

Demons

JESS

I peel the latex from my hands with a snap and ball up the gloves, tossing them in the bin by the door.

Something is different.

Something’s changed and I can’t quite put my finger on what. But this cleaning job was particularly messy. I mean, all my jobs are messy, thus the big payout, but lately? Lately, it’s been next level.

Bloody. Mushy. All the things.

Sweat rolls down my spine as I peel the crinkly Tyvek suit from my body and add it to the gloves. The desire to go straight home and shower is strong, but this shit has to be dealt with.

I keep to the speed limit, watching for the school zones and making absolutely certain that I keep the volume of my audiobook at an acceptable level. Getting pulled over again is not on my to-do list.

When disposal is complete and my van is set to right, I shower. Quickly, because A: gross. And B: the more those weird differences roll around in my head, the stronger my need to figure out why.