Interview With the Author

byMsQuote©

"My god, you are amazing!" he gasped, gazing at the glow of my pussy.

Suddenly, he plowed two fingers into me.

He got up to kneel as he continued his forceful invasion inside of me in a rhythm that matched my breathing – loud, deep and labored. It got even more amplified when I saw him stroking his dick with the same intensity. It looked as if it was going to burst in his hands. He made me feel as if I were the woman in his story watching the boy standing next to the edge of the sea, both of us lost in the ecstasy of our minds. I hoisted my feet onto his shoulders, reached out for his cock, and pulled it between my legs to let him know where I wanted it.

Unlike the older woman guiding an inexperienced boy, there was none of that awkwardness in figuring out how to put our parts together or how to calibrate them to sync at the right times. The acts of discovering new places to go, at least for me, were a thrill. We rolled around and tumbled with each other all over every square inch of the bed. We both enjoyed a ride that at times was slow, long and luxurious and at other times wild, exciting and dangerous. There was no specific timetable, and there was no hurry to get to a destination. I hadn't really paid attention to the physical effort I put into matching him thrust for thrust or responding to the different lengths and intensities of arousals he put me through, but the thrill of seeing the excitement in his eyes and the forcefulness he put into letting go of and releasing the passion he had kept to himself for so long was incredible. In the end, I felt wobbly, weak, and barely able to breathe.

I woke up with the dimmer sunlight filtering indirectly through the window sheers and with him handing me a glass of wine and a slice of fruit tart I forgot we brought with us.

"I'd like to make good on that promise to read part of that book to you," he said.

He climbed behind and cradled me sitting upright and still naked on the bed. He turned on his eReader and the words that came out of his mouth sounded sweeter than the ones I read in Times Roman the day before.

"... I thought of Eddie on our rocky island and knew I could not wait to see him again. I dressed hurriedly in shorts and loose chambray shirt, and then ran down to the float to untie the dinghy. Pushing off and hoisting the sail, I ghosted out the mouth of the Cove and turned south towards Ledbetter Cove.

"I had been there just once, years before, but I was sure I'd be able to find it from the water. Each landmark was comfortingly familiar, and in less than an hour I had found my way to Ledbetter's. There were only two houses and one float there, so I tied up between two white rowboats and walked up to the house. I knocked on the door, which was opened by an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman.

"'I'm looking for Eddie,' I said, suddenly conscious of my somewhat shabby appearance. The woman looked at me icily.

"'May I ask what it is concerning, please?' I hadn't thought this far and stammered for a moment as I groped for a plausible story.

"'My name's Ann; I'm staying over at Long Cove. There's a dinghy race next week, and I heard Eddie might be available to crew for me.' I smiled inwardly, proud of my ability to construct such a good lie on such short notice. The woman looked at me.

"'Edward is not available at this time,' she said formally. She started to close the door.

"'Wait,' I said. 'Uh, is he here? I mean, could I talk to him for a minute?' I felt as though I was shrinking under her haughty gaze. Suddenly I was fourteen, begging for baby-sitting jobs.

"'Edward has returned to Connecticut,' she said. 'He took the first ferry to Rockland this morning ...'"

Tears leaked out of my eyes. Jack pulled a tissue out of the box on the nightstand and dabbed the corners of my eyes.

"Don't cry, my sweet," he said, softly. "This is only page ninety-eight. There are two hundred fifty-three more to go."

"Of course," I said, holding back the tears that hadn't yet come out and hanging onto the shreds of my dignity. "Every good story has conflict and obstacles. They're necessary to make things interesting. I'm sure this story can't have a sad ending."

"I don't want to give too much away, but you're right," he said. "You'll see when you finish the book, but I have a reason that's not the only reason why you're crying."

It wasn't, but I couldn't tell him that.

"I just hope that when I see you next that you won't work so hard at keeping so much close to the vest," he said.

I looked at my bare body and his bare legs that kept me locked in his embrace. I laughed, and said, "As you see, I'm not wearing a vest."

I finished the book the next evening and put the finishing touches on my writing and fact-checking early Friday morning before sending my copy to the "To Edit" file.

Later that afternoon, my editor came up to my desk, and said, "Excellent job. I was right about you getting into this guy's mind. If I shift you over to the Arts desk, can you work this kind of magic on every front page story?"

"I don't know about that," I said, with my mind figuring out how I was going to sneak out early next Friday afternoon.

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