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She nodded and started to giggle when he skimmed his hand down the side of her body. He sat up to straddle her thighs, encircling her with both tickling hands.
"Even if you talk to non-literary agents,"—she panted between bouts of laughter—"The Order is private and powerful; why would they care about you?"
Gabriel did not reply, his hand coming to a stop, covering her thigh, her smooth kin his beacon in a brewing storm.
His hesitation became clear to her.
"Because you know people from The Order," she said quietly.
His gaze fell to the bookcase beyond. The few books that were there were not ordered alphabetically by the writers' last names or by the titles. By genre, perhaps? No, there was no order at all, no plan, no control.
This was madness.
"Douglas Adams shouldn't be next to Oscar Wilde," he said.
"Do you know people from The Order, Gabriel?"
He looked back to Rosaline. She was beautiful, flushed from the orgasm and the laughter. Her eyes blinked slowly at him.
"Yes."
She propped herself up on her elbows. "You will just talk to them?"
"Yes." It was the truth.
Looking into the depth of her doubtful eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her. She parted her lips, letting him in, her fingers coming to thread in his hair.
"Thank you," she whispered when she pulled back.
What had he done?
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Next chapter coming next week. Hopefully. Maybe.
But please leave a comment or PM if you have any feedback!
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- COMMENTS
ProperTeaover 1 year agoVery much improved over the original. Having the background to go along is also a bonus. Thank you!
