Sugar on the Edge(31)

I wrote it that way because I have no intention of changing the plot line regarding this character. Max is ultimately going to have her, but he’ll discard her as well. And he won’t be able to save her from evil, and she sure as hell won’t save herself.

Yup… needs to stay that way… true to my muse.

Staring at the screen, I wait for further inspiration to hit, but it never comes. I read my last paragraphs over and over again, now doubting whether Honey should really deny my hero.

My fingers twitch.

What the fuck… the scene definitely needs tweaked.

Max inched her skirt up her leg, letting his fingers glide along her skin. “You know what I want to do to you? I want you to let me touch you… see if your panties are as wet as I suspect they’d be. Then I want to finger fuck you… let you ride my hand a bit. Just to start…”

Honey’s breath turned ragged, but she remained absolutely still other than her fingers, which dug into his shoulders.

“Tell me, sweet girl,” Max crooned at her in a velvety voice. “Tell me you want it too… tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Honey’s eyelids drooped, and she licked at her lips. Max’s fingers stroked along the edge of her panties, causing her to jerk slightly in his arms. He was so fucking hard at that moment he could probably jackhammer a sidewalk with his cock.

“Come on, baby,” Max murmured near her ear, easing just the tip of his finger under the elastic edge. “Show me that raw craving I know you have.”

Honey gave a soft cry and tilted her hips in a vain attempt to move his hand closer to her core.

“That’s a bad girl,” Max said with censure and, just to punish her a little, pulled his hand away. “I need the words, Honey. Give them to me.”

“I want you to…”

“Tell me,” he demanded harshly.

“Touch me,” she said in a frustrated rush.

“Where?”

Honey’s eyes darkened and the pulse in her neck was leaping. “Between my legs.”

“Not good enough,” he sneered. “Dirtier. If you want it, make it fucking filthy for me.”

Honey gnashed her teeth, and her eyes sparked with determination. She leaned in close to Max, putting her lips just a hair’s breath away from his, and snarled, “I want you to touch my pussy, Max. I want you to finger fuck my pussy.”

Max chuckled as he brought his hand between her legs, stroking the damp cotton of her panties. “Good girl. I’m going to hit you hard with my fingers, then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you hard from behind.”

Yes! I yell out in victory inside my own head as I type out those last few words. That is fucking perfect. Exactly the way it should be.

Pushing back in my chair, I let the elation of a well-written scene course through me as I stare at the computer screen. It’s how it should be. Well… it’s how it should have been the other night. How I wanted it to turn out. How I wanted Savannah to demand me to pleasure her.

But fuck if that happened.

The thrill of the great scene wanes as I realize I’m not keeping Honey true to my muse. I’m making her into something I want Savannah to be, and it’s sick, sick, sick. It’s sick, because I’ve decided I want Savannah badly even though she represents so much of what I don’t like in a woman, so I’m trying to plump her up into something she’s not… in a fucking work of fiction.

I’m quite possibly the world’s biggest wanker.

I hear the faint click of the front door closing and know that Savannah has arrived. My pulse leaps with the knowledge, and I push out of my chair.

As I hit the bottom landing that abuts the kitchen, I see her laying her purse and keys on my counter. She darts her eyes at me, and then turns to lift her bucket of supplies up. “Good morning,” she says softly.

I stare at her, my mouth unable to form any words, because I’m not the type to exchange pleasantries. What I really want to do is crowd in to her, push her back against the refrigerator, and get all up in her space, so we can maybe go back to that intimate interlude that got destroyed by her skittishness. But in the bright light of day, that doesn’t seem plausible. She’s not coming out of a deep sleep, with a foggy brain and sluggish reactions. No, she’s standing there, seeing me with clear eyes and probably a jaundiced mind.

So, I don’t say anything, and I just walk to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. I do, however, walk between her and the back counter, taking care to walk close enough by her that my arm brushes against hers. I can see her actually push herself into the counter to give me space, and that doesn’t set well with me. Normally, just knowing that I was affecting her that way would give me a rush, but it’s not what I had intended to occur. I want her to step in closer to me, not shy away.