Inspiration Ch 02 1

The lights to the book store were turned out followed by Stew and Rosangela stepping out along with the store owner. The store owner locked the door.

Rosangela said to her boss as he walked away, "Night, Al!" She turned and looked at her ogling friend and co worker.

Stew questioned, "Are you sure?"

She gave a definite nod.

He shook his head then asked, "You want me to wait here with ya?"

She simply shook her head.

He huffed then gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. He sarcastically stated, "Good luck, you freak."

She smiled wide then stuck her tongue out at him.

He slowly turned and started away but shouted, "Tell me all about it Tuesday!"

She giggled as she shook her head. Yes, Stew was a gay gossip queen and loved juicy stories. She watched him wave to her as he disappeared around the building corner, tossed him a quick wave in return.

She continued to shake her head then looked about the somewhat vacant street. Typically during the evenings that street died out and the other main streets became the focus of traffic. Her head turned and looked down one way then shifted to look down the other. Was she being stood up by the author practically idolized?

A slight flash of lightening took her by surprise, she looked up to the somewhat smoggy sky dimly illuminated by the lights of the busier side of the city. From above a raindrop smacked her in the forehead. She groaned, "Shit." She huffed and thought, great now she was going to be stuck standing in the rain.

A grumble of thunder sounded.

Her arms tossed up, caved to the idea she was stood up. She sarcastically griped, "Just awesome."

Another raindrop struck the top of her cheek, she quickly wiped it off then groaned. Yep, she thought, another disappointment to chuck into the pile of other disappointments.

A glare of headlights steered onto the dark street.

Her eyes looked to the low beams, lifted her hand to block out some of the glare. Was it him?

Her eyes followed as the pretty spiffy looking car slowed as it neared where she stood on the curb. She finally smiled as another annoying drop of rain struck the top of her head.

The black Porsche rolled to a stop directly in front Rosangela then the passenger window automatically rolled down.

She slightly crouched and peered into the expensive car.

Victor apologized, "I'm sorry I'm late."

She smiled then shooed his apology with her hand and stated, "It's okay, I wasn't standing here long but you're just in time," she pointed up, "It's about to down pour."

He grinned then urged, "Well, get in before it does."

She chirped, "Okay."

She grabbed the door handle then swung the door open and got into a car she never thought she would ride in.

The door closed and she looked over at him as the window rolled back up. She greeted, "Hi."

It suddenly started to downpour.

He continued to grin as he shifted the Porsche into drive, turned on the windshield wipers then steered it away from the curb.

He greeted back, "Hello."

She asked, "So, where you taking me?"

He kept his eyes forward as he steered the car to the left onto another street. He replied, "My favorite place in the entire city."

Yet, he wished he could just drive straight to his apartment but he was a man of his word, dinner first.

He announced, "Grenio's off Franklin."

"Oh," she perked then stated, "I haven't been there."

He held the steering wheel with one leather gloved hand as the other cupped the center council gear shifter. He commented, "Then you're not from here."

She shook her head and agreed, "Nope." then she gave a bit more, "Been here for about six months now."

He stated, "Then you're in for a treat." Yes, but the actual treat wouldn't be until the whole dinner bit was finished and they were at his apartment.

For those few hours of waiting to see his inspiration again, he contemplated exactly what would take place once at his place. He had many ideas going about his thoughts, very colorful and vivid ideas. Those long awaited creative ideals were again his to bring to life and they were on a constant stroll through his thoughts.

His eyes glanced at her, she focused looking out the window. She even had an amazing profile. It had been a while that he had done a side profile, not since book three, Paulette.

His grin broadened as his eyes again looked forward.

Inside Grenio's, Victor Hardway was excitedly greeted by the proprietor, he an obvious regular and likely the most famous to have been in the quaint and dimly lit restaurant.

The proprietor, the restaurant's namesake, Grenio escorted the author to the usual booth in the back.

Victor thanked Grenio as Rosangela sat center booth and he sat himself at the edge.

Grenio asked, "The usual, Victor?"

Victor replied, "For me, yes, and a bottle of your best red wine, please." he looked to Rosangela and urged, "Order whatever you like. The best Greek and Italian dishes."

Rosangela smiled with a nod then looked to the widely smiling and kind owner. She went with what she typically ordered when it came to Italian, "Chicken Alfredo would be nice."

Grenio nodded and chimed, "Of course, straight away and Joey will be here with fresh bread." He gave a gracious nod to the two and scurried off shouting out orders to their server.

Victor leaned forward, removed his trench coat and draped it over the provided hook attached to the booth frame. He reached into his inside blazer pocket and asked his guest, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

Rosangela looked to Victor and, with surprise, asked, "They allow you to smoke in here? Most places don't."

He removed a fresh cigar from his pocket along with a silver flip lighter. He explained, "My privilege, I assume." he then again asked, "Do you mind?"

She shook her head and stated, "Not at all, go ahead."

He tucked the cigar between his lips and lit it up with a few puffs. He explained a bit more, "I've been coming here way before they put out the ban on smoking in public establishments." he leaned back, enjoyed the taste of his smooth cigar, "That's why I sit back here, Grenio keeps it open for me." His cigar holding hand gestured behind her.

She turned her head and slightly shifted. She smiled, an autographed photograph framed and hung behind her on the wall. "Nice," she stated then again looked to him and forwardly asked out of curiosity, "If you don't mind, why'd you ask me to dinner?"

He played dumb and stated, "I thought I explained that back at the book store."

Her eyes suspiciously eyed him then she asked, "And what's with what you wrote in the book? I'm your muse?"

He chuckled then commented, "Straight to the point, huh?" he shifted somewhat to the side then rested his elbow a top the table, "You don't hold back any punches, hmm?" He took another long drag then held the smoke for a moment, slowly exhaled from his nose.

She slightly laughed then shook her head, "Guess not."

Fresh sliced Italian bread was delivered with a traditional Italian sausage dipping sauce and set to the center of the table followed by a crystal ashtray for the honorary guest.

Joey the waiter proceeded to set two empty glasses of wine then pried the cork.

Victor focused on his blunt guest then asked a question, "Well, why do you read my books?"

Rosangela took a quick glance as the waiter poured the wine then returned her suspicious eyes to her host. She replied with a question, "Well, why do you write them?"

He widely grinned with a smoky laugh, flicked the cigar ash into the provided ashtray. He replied, "That should be obvious." he then commented, "But it's not completely obvious why you read them."

He gave a quick thanks to the waiter but kept his eyes on her.

She again grinned then replied, "I read them for the same reason you write them."

His eyes widened a bit with curiosity then he encouraged, "Please, do tell me why I write them and you read them. I would love to hear your opinion."

She grabbed her glass of wine and took a swallow then answered, "You write them because you're obviously into their content."

He approved of her suggestion, knew immediately she basically confessed she too was involved with the fetishes he erotically wrote about.

He immediately stated, "Then you too are into their content."

She took another sip of wine then agreed to his observation, "Yes." then she explained, "Likely many are into what you write but the majority won't admit to it or event conduct it because they are ashamed or embarrassed."

He gave an approving nod then stated, "Very true." then he had to ask, "But what about you, are you ashamed or embarrassed or do you conduct your confessed fetish?"

Another sip of wine she took then snatched up a soft slice of bread and started to pry a piece. She confessed, "No I'm not ashamed or embarrassed." she tucked a torn piece of bread into her mouth then confessed further, "But my moments of conducting this said fetish haven't been well conducted, if you get my meaning."

"Hmm," he hummed and took another drag, with his following words smoke streamed, "You are saying your partners have failed to conduct exactly what you desire." he watched her nod then he asked, "But have you forwardly told them?"

She chewed as she thought briefly about her past few years. She shrugged and replied, "In one way or another."

"No," he said, slightly shook his head then explained in question, "Have you openly and verbally said to your partners what you desire?"

She gave a quick answer, "Yes and no. Some yes. Some no."

"Hmm," he again hummed then advised, "For future circumstances I recommend complete honesty in the very beginning, verbally that is. Saves on time and hassle."

She replied, "Noted."

He again chuckled with smoke puffed passed his lips. His smile broadened then he inquired, "And those you so blatantly confessed your desires to, how did they respond?" Flicked another ash.

She grinned as she again chewed another piece of bread. Instead of answering his question, she questioned him, "Well, how did your past muses respond when you forwardly stated your desires you wished to perform on them?"

Hmm, yes, he enjoyed her. He answered, "You would be amazed what a woman would do for ten thousand dollars."

She suddenly coughed, somewhat taken aback by his confession of having paid women to do as he desired. She roughly swallowed then asked, "You're saying you paid them?"

He openly stated, "Not for what you think." he leaned a bit closer, "I paid the women who are displayed on my covers for their permission to place them in those intricate situations."

She frowned then asked, "You're saying those women are real women? Not just something you've come up with out of your head?" she watched him shake his head, "So they were models then?"

"No," he responded then explained further, "They were all random women I met, like you."

She somewhat grimaced, not sure if she understood his reference towards her. Then she stated, "I'm not like them."

He immediately agreed, "No they aren't. Each are different but you," he leaned back with his eyes focused heavily on her expression, "You are remarkably unique. You are unlike any one of them which is pleasantly refreshing."

"So, you paid them," she spoke his statement then blatantly asked, "You tied them in all those positions then fucked them?"

He was truly amused by her blatant and quite colorful question. He eagerly answered,

"Only three."

She was surprised and stated, "Three, wow. I expected you pretty much fucked them all."

He explained the circumstances, "Only three because those three were truly aroused by what I had done. The others, well, they basically did it for the money and were, sadly, not interested."

She suddenly laughed, thought it impossible for any woman to not want him beyond a paycheck.

He curiously frowned by her response then asked, "What's so funny?"

She cleared her throat, took another sip of wine to help clear her throat. She stated, "Well, it's you." her eyes directly aimed into his, "You're Victor Hardway, the master of fetish erotica and also, if I may, you're gorgeous." she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, "I have a very hard time believing only three wanted to fuck you."

"God's honest truth." he stated then his lips made a curious slanted pucker and he asked, "Do you wish to fuck me?"

She again laughed then firmly stated, "I'm not dead, am I?"

Oh, yes, he thought, he was definitely being creative that night.

He leaned forward, buried his eyes within hers then asked, "So you wish for me to intricately bind you then fuck you?"

"Yes." she confidently stated.

Things were working perfect for him.

He then suggested, "Then why don't we get our meals to go then we can go to my place and I'll do exactly as you want."

"No," she quickly replied, loved the confused expression that enveloped his eyes.

"What?" he asked, not the response he expected.

She simply grinned, didn't answer but undid the buttons of her cardigan then slipped it off to reveal the spaghetti strap bodice of the dress beneath.

"Excuse me." she said, he still eyed her with confusion or, she thought, was it surprise from her denial. She scooted along the seat then rose up from the booth.

He watched her every move, still reeled from her refusal. His eyes peered up at her as she stepped to him. Unable to resist, his eyes took in the unveiled and much more prominent cleavage and the manner her full breasts were lifted by the support of the dress bodice.

His eyes again lifted to hers.

Her expression was sweet though inside she beamed, knew she had totally screwed up the famous author's plans for the evening. She announced, "I need to go to the lady's room.

Oh," she purposely leaned over him as she reached for her bag, "Excuse me."

He leaned back as she leaned over him. His eyes immediately went to the curve of her full backside, the hem of the dress again slightly hiked. His eyes shifted the moment she moved and followed as she rose up.

She flashed him a smile then sauntered off towards the lady's room.

He took a quick look at her strut, there was more than just confidence in the manner her hips sashayed beneath the flow of the dress, defiance.

He looked forward then loudly huffed. He reached and removed his fedora, swiftly combed his gloved fingers through the thick waves of his hair. Then he started to remove his leather gloves.

It was immediately evident he had a true challenge on his hands. This time around, he swiftly determined by her actions, inspiration might have to be earned instead of easily obtained.

He dropped the fedora atop the table then grabbed his glass of wine and devoured it nearly with one swallow.

She entered the bathroom and loudly giggled. What a rush, she thought, author Victor Hardway, the master of written erotica was flustered by her.

Quickly she hiked her dress then removed her black lace panties and shoved them into the bag. She stepped to the provided mirror then refreshed her lipstick, strategically working around the labret piercing.

The food had been delivered and Rosangela returned to find the author without his signature fedora. She pleasingly smiled, finally able to see his crowning glory of thick and nearly black hair lightly streaked outward at the temples with strands of gray. Mentally she noted, positively loved the curl draped against his forehead.

She sat before the plate of Chicken Alfredo, glanced at him and read he continued to seem a bit confused by her actions.

Instead of inquiring about his expression, she dipped her fork into the cream sauce drenched fettuccine pasta. The moment the delicious traditional Italian filled her mouth she hummed in approval which finally forced his eyes from his thoughts. She smiled wide as she chewed.

His brow furrowed, lines deepened.

Her brows curiously lifted in question to his expression. She swallowed then asked, "What's wrong? Don't like your food?"

His brow remained furrowed as he shook his head and reluctantly focused on dinner. Would there be dessert?

The situation had grown silent, remained that way until both were finished, he again lit up another cigar.

She finished nearly three quarters of the wonderful meal, washed it down with a swallow of wine. She broke the silence, "You were right, that was a treat."

He took a lengthy drag and gave a simple nod in agreement.

She focused on him, his expression had become somewhat unreadable. Her eyes gave a suspicious expression then she commented, "You became rather quiet, Mr. Hardway."

He exhaled smoke through the corner of his mouth then replied, "Just thinking." He brought the cigar between his lips and inhaled.

She tilted her head then asked, "About what?" then she quickly answered for him, "Trying to figure out why I said no, right?"

He exhaled through his nose then agreed, "Yes."

She elaborated, "Well, I said no to going back to your place. Never once did I say no to, well, fucking."

"Okay." he simply replied.

She set her cloth napkin atop the table then scooted herself along the booth seat until she was directly beside him. She slightly faced him seated sideways. Her head again tilted as she studied his stone faced expression. Then she stated, "I know what you were expecting."

He calmly responded, "Enlighten me."

She gave a sharp nod then did as requested, "I figured you out, well, your whole creative process."

He encouraged, "Go on."

"Well," she leaned closer to him then continued to enlighten him, "You find your inspiration, these women, get them back to your place and coax them to do as you want with an offer of ten thousand big ones." she closely watched his unchanged expression, "Seven women to be exact, each one did as you wanted but only three you confessed to have fucked."

"Okay," he agreed.

She stated, "But I don't want ten thousand dollars."

"Fine," he agreed, kept his tone calm.

"Oh," she continued, "And I don't want you to fuck me after you got what you wanted out of me."

He corrected her, "You stated you wanted me to fuck you."

She nodded, agreed then reminded him, "But I never said when and definitely never stated afterwards."

He asked, "What are you getting at?"

She leaned even closer, rested her hand against his knee then slowly inched it up the length of his thigh. Her eyes glanced down at her wandering hand then again looked into his.

She gave him a question, "How badly are you in need of your muse, Mr. Hardway?" Her hand slid forward and brought her fingers against his inner thigh.

His lips formed a curious pucker as he made a mental note, she was definitely unlike the other inspirations. He answered her question, "Depends on exactly what my muse wants in return for being said muse."

Her lips formed a grin then she stated, "Well, said muse is definitely not interested in money."

"Got that." he quickly stated then slightly demanded, "Get to the point."

Her brows perked in response to his tone which was quite nice to hear. "Okay," she agreed to his demand then swiftly cupped her hand firmly over his groin but he didn't flinch, "I'm thinking it's about time for Mr. Hardway to have a little change in his creative process." she gripped his groin, only saw a quick twitch about his lips then asked, "What do you think?"

He made another quick mental note, she was definitely aggressive but where her hand was located, he was perfectly at ease.

He responded with a question, "Why change what has always worked for me in the past?" He gave her a questioning lift of his brows then took a casual drag from the cigar.

"Well," she pressed her hand firm against his crotch then stated, "With that question, I assume you don't need your muse as badly as you claim." She gave one final firm press against his crotch then pulled her hand back.