After a moment’s debate, he turned the page. Surely there was a nameplate or a due date pocket indicating the title of the book. What he found was more of the same neat, measured, cursive penmanship.
The book flipped open to the page marked with a thin ribbon. There was a date noted at the top, July 4, 2012, but it was the words on the page that grabbed his attention. He sat there for several minutes reading the erotic story. Seth knew he should close the book, but he couldn’t. Something about the author’s voice, the flow of the words, tickled at his subconscious, pushed him to continue, but also made him feel like an interloper reading obviously private writing. His cock grew wickedly hard as images of Jayne were superimposed on the heroine as he read.
Stephan’s smoldering blue gaze traveled up her naked body, searing her as much with his stare as he did with his flesh. He settled within her arms. The sensual smile on his face was made rakish by his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, which tickled as he brushed his lips against hers. His slow, sensuous kiss was echoed with the rhythm of his hips as he rocked against her mound. Her juices wet the hot, steely hardness of his member. She gasped as the blunt head of his cock brushed insistently at her virgin entrance. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss and lifted her thigh around his hip as he gripped her derriere with the other. His gaze met hers and he—
He turned the page, noting it was blank, and nearly cursed at being left hanging. Erotica wasn’t usually his thing but he was willing to rethink his position if he could get the author’s name. He flipped back to the front of the book and read what he realized was a journal entry after the first few lines, and his heart began a descent in his chest.
The doctors seem optimistic…I’m just scared to hope. Maybe I should trust them this time. For the first time in a long time I have energy. My appetite has returned and I feel like getting out. I guess it’s finally time to start living, no matter how long I have.
This was a journal entry dated December 7, 2011, and it suddenly dawned on him that not only was the scent clinging to the book familiar, so was the handwriting.
Flipping swiftly back through the book, but reading no further, he noted journal entries and then pages and pages of other short stories. A folded sheaf of paper slid from the back of the book, confirming the suspicion growing in his mind. He’d seen this handwriting before, on a tattoo consent form. He closed the book, feeling a rush of guilt. He unfolded the paper and stared at the sketch of Jayne’s tattoo design.
Jayne’s journal.
The elderly librarian had accidentally given him Jayne’s private journal, part of which he’d just read. He flipped back to the beginning of the book. How sick had she been that her thoughts were on possibly dying?
A slip of paper slid from between two pages, and he picked it up off his lap. It was an itemized receipt from a naughty ladies’ boutique in Morehead. Discretion.
“One ultra slimline jelly vibrator, lubricant, small butt plug, and mini purse vibrator.”
Holy shit.
He could see her, the lights dimmed so she’d be able to relax. Fingers wet from the lubricant and her own sweet juices, she fingered her cunt until her back arched. He could almost hear her needy sighs—Thoughts of Jayne masturbating filled his imagination, and his balls ached for release.
Turning to the marked page, he glanced at the date and something clicked. She’d spent July 4th with him. The description of her characters came to mind, and his stomach dropped.
Picking up his phone, he dialed in to voice mail. There were two voice mails from her number, one left earlier that afternoon, right around the time he was headed to Morehead, and the other around five o’clock. His cell phone signal was always spotty when he headed that direction. He glanced at the journal, and the clock in the kitchen. It was after ten. He listened to the first voice mail and confirmed his suspicion. She was frantic. He could hear it in the tremble of her voice and the way she stuttered. She sounded vulnerable. Normally he wouldn’t have called her so late, but he had no choice. He dialed her cell phone number, wondering what he should say.
We need to talk? I read your journal? Am I the hero in the story? Are you the virgin?
* * * *
Jayne’s heart leaped into her throat when her phone rang while she was brushing out her hair and getting ready for bed. She’d finally given up waiting on his call as all sorts of scenarios, each progressively worse, crowded her imagination. Preparing for the worst, she tried to clear the lump from her throat and slid her fingertip across the screen of her phone.
“Hello?” In her own ears, her voice sounded weak. Terrified. Ready to be rejected again.