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“No, I don’t mean that. I’m on a deadline,” I explain. Just the mention of the word makes my heart beat a little faster while an invisible hand clutches my stomach. “And I’m kind of screwed right now. I need to write at least a few thousand words a day to finish my current project in time. I’m way behind now.”

“Sorry to hear that.” When all I do is stare up at him, he frowns. “Was that a hint at something?”

“I’m just saying. It would be nice if I had a laptop to write on.”

Scrubbing a hand over his head, he murmurs, “And it would be nice if there wasn’t somebody trying to kill me. What’s your point?”

“Can I please use your laptop? For God’s sake,” I groan. The man is going to give me a headache.

“If it means you’re not missing your deadline, be my guest.”

“Thank you. And one other little thing.”

“How did I know it wouldn’t be that easy?”

Rolling my eyes, I retort, “It’s not like it’s a big deal. It’s only that I need more than just a laptop.”

“Do you also need a wizard? A soundproof room?”

“No. But I do need a cozy blanket.” I count off on my fingers. “Some snacks. My writing playlist. Oh, and coffee, for sure. I need coffee if I’m going to write properly. It’s just science.”

“Who am I to stand in the way of science?” He blows out a sigh and turns his back to grab a blanket from where it’s draped over the sofa. “This is going to have to do.”

“That’s fine.” I wrap the soft blanket around me, sitting cross-legged on the chair the way I normally do when I write. The scent of his bodywash and cologne cling to it and fill my head with all sorts of ideas I probably shouldn’t entertain about him.

“I’ll make some coffee. There’s probably something around here I can give you for a snack.” He starts going through the cabinets, and I’m pretty sure I hear him muttering something about a child, but it’s better to pretend I didn’t. Instead, I log on to my Spotify account and pull up my playlist.

By the time he presents me with a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit cocktail, I’m pretty sure I have in mind what I’m going to write next. “This is the best I can do,” he says with a shrug.

“This is great.” Really, my fingers are itching to get to it. “Thanks. Don’t let me bother you now. When I’m in the zone, I just let the words flow and the world kind of fades away. I won’t bug you for anything else.”

“I’m not sorry to hear that.”

It’s a relief when he goes back to the sofa, not only because his grumpiness makes him such a pain. One thing I can’t stand is having someone hover over me when I’m trying to work. When the words first come out, they’re not exactly polished. They’re not exactly something I want to show off.

Once he’s settled in, I do the same, letting myself sink into the world I’ve already created. I left off at the lead-up to a pretty spicy scene, come to think of it. My hero and heroine are visiting a sex club on a dare, and they’re both kind of excited about it even though they pretend not to be.

I have to set the scene properly. Good thing I’ve watched so many videos featuring the kind of club I’m writing about now.

The smell of leather and whiskey blended with the lust filling the room, creating an intoxicating combination that went straight to Larissa’s head, I type. She teetered on her mile-high heels, wishing she hadn’t decided to look the part tonight. But blending in mattered. If she was going to accept Jackson’s dare, she was going all in. Somehow, the risk of a broken ankle seemed less painful than that of a bruised ego.

I haven’t thought about it until now, but Jackson looks a little like Adrian. Very tall, muscular, with piercing eyes and thick, dark hair. At least, they look alike in my head. Or maybe Jackson looks more like him now that we’ve met. Either way, it’s easier to imagine Jackson now, dressed in charcoal slacks, the black button-down shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing a hint of his chest. I wouldn’t mind seeing a hint of Adrian’s chest right about now.

Maybe I could ask him to flash me purely for research purposes.

Jackson’s presence behind her made Larissa’s heart jump. The fine hairs on her arms lifted, her body a single throbbing nerve that pulsed in time with the driving music pumping from speakers throughout the room. Hot breath tickled her ear, and the spicy smell of his cologne made her knees tremble before he whispered, “Like what you see?”

And she did. People in all states of dress and undress were dancing, writhing, touching each other’s bodies. It was like they didn’t care at all that there were others watching. Some even wanted people to watch them, including a man seated on a leather chair, his dick in his hand so he could stroke slowly.

It’s impossible to ignore the heat that’s flickered to life in my core as I visualize what I’m putting into words. In the story, it’s Jackson who dared Larissa to enter this club . . . but it’s Adrian I see in my mind. Adrian whose hands I feel against my skin.

At the touch of his hands on her hips, Larissa’s breath caught in her throat. “What do you think?” Adrian whispered, moving against her ass so she could feel the steel rod between them. “Do you think I like it?”

She nodded, leaning against him when her legs couldn’t support her anymore. Wetness pooled in her slit, moistening her panties, and it was almost enough to make her wish she hadn’t worn any at all. That way he could shove his hand under her leather skirt and work her here and now with nothing in the way. Her clit throbbed maddeningly as she watched a woman being taken from behind, braced against the wall on both palms. The man pumping almost frantically into her pussy slapped her ass hard enough that the sound could be heard even over the music, the moaning, the pounding of Larissa’s heart.

“Is that what you want?” Adrian asked, his hands now working the skirt up over her thighs. Something inside her reared back in shock—they hadn’t agreed to this, he wasn’t supposed to . . . They were only here to observe.

Yet somehow, it felt natural. Like everything was leading to this. To Adrian’s hands sliding over her thighs while strangers sucked and fucked all around them. To his fingers teasing her covered mound until she gasped and spread her legs wider, bearing down, searching for relief from the unbearable ache.