Mentor Ch. 02

Authors's Note: Thanks for the great feedback on the first chapter!

*

I hadn't expected him to be there the next morning, and in that I wasn't surprised. The sunlight filtered through the curtains and into my bedroom and my eyes flitted open. The first thing that struck me was the memory of being sprawled out on that very bed, with Simon over me, taking away the innocence that I had held on to for so long.

The second thing that struck me was that, despite my emotional reaction to it the night before, I had won. I was a prize winning author.

I pushed the blankets aside, noting the dull but still somehow pleasant pain I was feeling. Everything had changed in one evening, I realized. And it was a stunning realization. My life would never quite be the same, I thought. Not after this.

Ignoring everything else, but smiling brilliantly at my statue where it had absently been set aside by Simon when he came into my room, I ran a hot shower and allowed myself the luxury of long soak. When I finally came out it was just in time to hear the faint beep of my phone as it left a voice message.

I went over, turning it on. There were a dozen voice messages and about as many texts. I flipped through the texts, responding to the people I wouldn't want to leave waiting. Then I got on the phone let the messages play, one by one, as got dressed.

"Hey, Mona! I heard about the award, congratulations!...."

"Mona! Congratulations on the prize!"

And so on.

I had finished dressing and was picking up my suitcase to start packing my things when another voice came on, one that surprised me. Simon's smooth words came floating into the room and towards me, making my heart skip another beat.

"I hope you don't mind, but I texted myself from your phone so I could get your number. I hope we can stay in touch. Feel free to send me a message anytime. You can use my private e-mail too; I texted it to you. Take care, darling. Bye."

No mention of last night. No, "hey baby, that was great". And that was good, too; I preferred it that way. I let the last couple of messages play, then I picked my phone back up and found the text that he had sent. I hit reply, and then after only a moment's hesitation messaged him back with my e-mail address. I went back to my packing. After a few minutes, I heard my phone beep and went to pick it up.

**So you're 23?**

I laughed, remembering my hesitation to give him my age the night before.

**22. My b-day isn't until October**

His next response came just a few minutes later.

**You do realize you're going to be the writing world's darling, don't you? Everybody loves a child prodigy.**

My fingers went to the buttons, and then I stopped. No, probably better not to respond to that one, I thought, and went back to my packing. I just managed to make check out time and to catch my driver as he pulled up outside. The drive to the airport was long and uneventful, and I used it to finish answering the texts and phone calls that I had received.

My publicist, Mark, was waiting for me when my driver dropped me off. "Great show last night, Mona," he said. "Check this out." He took my luggage from me and handed me two things -- a steaming cup of coffee and the New York Times book section, opened to a page that prominently displayed the picture of me and Simon standing together in the hall of the hotel.

"Youngest Author Ever Wins the Rives," I said, reading the headline out loud. Then, catching the caption on the picture, "Ramona Blackburn is pictured holding her award and standing with fellow nominee, three-time Rives award winner Simon Whatley."

I let my breath out in one long, steady whoosh. "I can't believe it," I said shakily. "This really is going to change everything, isn't it?"

"You bet," said Mark.

He ushered me onto the plane, where I was subjected for the next three hours to what turned out to be an impromptu business meeting. I found out that all morning long Mark had been fielding interview requests, signing requests, and reading requests from around the country, and even a handful from the UK.

By the time we landed back home, my head was spinning. I parted with Mark at luggage pick-up, and had just had time to catch my breath when I heard a loud squeal.

"Mona!" shrieked Sarah, who was suddenly running at me and throwing her arms around my shoulders. "I can't believe you won!" she said.

Then Sarah's husband, Patrick, was coming up too, grinning as widely as he could. He clapped his hand down on my shoulder.

"I knew you could do it," he said. "Looks like we got ourselves a celebrity."

"Have you seen the Times?" squeaked Sarah.

I nodded. "Mark showed me. I still can't believe it."

"I can't believe you met Simon Whatley!" said Patrick. I grinned back at him. As much as I loved Sarah, and we were best friends, Patrick was my soul brother when it came to books and movies and all things...well, nerdy. I wondered briefly what he would think if he knew just how close I had become with Simon the night before.

Surprised to find myself thinking that, I felt my cheeks turning slightly red. Of course, I thought. I would have to tell Sarah that I had lost...it. I hadn't even thought of that, yet.

"Are you okay?" said my friend.

"Uhm...yeah. Just a little tired," I said. This for the most part was true.

"Oh. Well, let's get out of here then," said Sarah.

They ushered me out of the airport, and I was surprised to find that I found it nice to be crammed into the backseat of my friends' old Chevy for a change.

And after that things started to settle into a new kind of normal for me. Half of my time was spent at home, where I was working on my third book (having finished the second and shipped it off to my publisher already). The other half of the time, I was being shipped off to attend writer's workshops, and readings, and interviews -- all things that still felt surreal and magical to me.

And Simon did stay in touch. We never discussed that night. Instead, he became my mentor, guiding me through the writing process, giving me comfort when things didn't go right or coaching me through a new experience. Sometimes he was just there to praise me, when I felt like everything was falling apart around me or that I wasn't worthy of the honors that I had been given.

**From: Simon_Whatley To: Mona_Black**

Subject: Stop Stressing

You know you'll do fine, sweetheart. You've already accomplished this much at such a young age, what makes you think you're suddenly going to start failing? Well, all right, you might fail a little -- we all do. But what's important is knowing that even if you slip a little you're still much higher than the rest of us mere mortals.

Anyway, I heard that someone's book was creeping up onto the New York Time's bestseller list. I've got my eye on you. If anybody takes that number one spot away from me, it had better be you. I'd hate to have to let Stephen (as in King) rub that in my face again.

Talk to you later.

S.

**From: Mona_Black To: Simon__Whatley**

Subject: Still Stressing

I hardly think being at the very bottom of the bestseller list qualifies as being on the bestseller list. I'll probably be off it by this time next week. Still, it's an honor being on it. I guess I worry about failing because, well, it'll hurt more to fall from this far up than it would be to trip from ground-level...don't you think?

Oh hey, have you met Anton Liebovitz? I'm sure you have. Everybody says he's a tough interviewer. I'm meeting with him when I head up to NYC next week to discuss the final details for my next book.

-Mona

**From: Simon_Whatley To: Mona_Black**

Subject: Re: Still Stressing

Liebovitz will be a pushover, especially if you bat that those lovely blue eyes at him. I'm going to be in NYC the week after; wish I had known you'd be there next week, I'd have juggled my schedule around so I could see you. Maybe next time.

-S.

And that was how it went, for the next several months. A string of e-mails, occasional texts, and one phone call (to congratulate me when my book reached the number two spot on the Bestseller list -- I never did quite manage to wrest the number one spot away from Simon, although I did manage to beat King.)

I had met Simon in February, and it was closing in on early July when the fates finally seemed to deem it the right time for our schedules to coincide. I got a message from him, informing me that we were both on schedule the next week to speak at a Library Fundraiser in Boston. I had forgotten completely that I would be going to Boston and, as such, had never bothered to check and see who else would be there.

Seeing that Simon was right, I felt a little thrill of excitement. Even though we had ignored that night, had never even referred to it in all the months we had spoken, I had a deep desire to feel him -- to experience him -- again. I hoped that he felt the same way.

When I arrived in Boston it was uncharacteristically hot. The sun was shining brightly down on the world below. I was waiting curbside for my driver for almost a half hour before I called one of my handlers, who politely informed me that the convention wasn't springing for drivers and I was going to have to rent a car myself.

Irritated, sweaty, and more than a little sleep deprived after having spent the night before editing, I dragged myself and my luggage to the rental car counter. I handed the man behind the desk my ID and my credit card. He stared at both suspiciously, before sliding them back toward me.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I can't rent to you. You're under twenty-five."

"What?" I pushed my sunglasses off. "But I have to --"

"I'm sorry, but that's our company policy," he said shortly. "I can give you the number to a taxi service. And there's brochures over there for the bus system."

"I...but I..."

I stared at him for a long moment. Then my mouth snapped shut. I had been spoiled for too long, I thought to myself. I was getting too used to things being easy. Once again, I hauled myself to the curb, glancing at the telephone number the man had given me for the taxi company. I was just getting ready to call it when I heard a familiar voice.

"That wouldn't be bestselling author Ramona Blackburn, stuck at an airport without a ride, would it?" I whipped around and there was Simon standing there, the same bemused expression on his face that he had been wearing the first time I saw him. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, and I wanted to touch him so badly that I didn't even think as I darted over and slid my arm around his waist.

He hugged me back, more of a friendly gesture than anything.

"So is this the world-famous girl author everybody is talking about?" said a woman's voice. I looked around and a tall woman with cropped, bleach-blonde hair was standing there.

"It sure is. Kate, this is Ramona...sorry, Mona. Mona, this is my wife, Kate."

My world fell apart, for just a moment, then. Then it quickly knitted itself back together and I forced a smile on my face.

"So you're Kate Chase! Wow, I'm a fan of yours, too," I said.

I had known about Kate Chase for about as long as I had known about Simon Whatley. She was a famous artist and fashion designer, and beautiful in a strange androgynous kind of way. It had never occurred to me to feel guilty for having slept with Simon that night, even knowing that he had a wife -- a wife who I admired as much as I admired him.

Why that was I couldn't be certain. Maybe because, for so long, I had thought that it would never happen again. Or maybe because a part of me thought that if Simon had been so willing to sleep with me that night, he and Kate must be in an open marriage.

"Thanks. I guess I'm a fan of yours, now, too," she laughed. "Simon made me read your book. It's hard to believe you're so young. What are you? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-two," said Simon and I in unison.

"Wow," Kate said with a grin.

"Hence the problem I'm having," I added. "My handlers kindly informed me that I should rent a car to get around the city, but it turns out I'm too young to get one."

"Ah, I see," said Simon. "Well, if you need a lift, I believe we're staying at the same hotel. Why don't you come with us?"

I hesitated for only a second, looking over at Kate. "Sure," I finally managed. Picking up my things, I followed Simon and Kate out to their car. Simon opened the back door for me and I slipped inside.

When we got to the hotel we went our separate ways. I found my room and got myself settled in. It's strange how easy it becomes, living your life going from city to city. But I had gotten used to it, and was starting to find that I liked it, no matter how difficult it could be sometimes. After a quick nap I woke up and, realizing it was barely two in the afternoon, decided to call a cab and see a little of what the city had to offer.

That evening I stumbled back to the hotel, my feet tired and my hands full of shopping bags. I was coming through the lobby of the hotel when I spotted Kate coming my way. She stopped when she saw me.

"Mona? Is that you?" she asked.

I came up short. "Yeah," I said.

"You look like you had fun," she said. "Hey, is that one of mine?" she said, pointing at one of the many shopping bags I was holding in my hands.

"Guilty," I laughed. "I did tell you that I was a fan."

"Ooh, exciting!" she said. "Hey, why don't you come to dinner with me and Simon? We were just going to head out, but we can wait for you if you'd like to get changed. You should wear my dress. It's only fair since I read your book," she teased.

And I slept with your husband, I thought, the first pang of guilt really starting to rear itself into my thoughts.

"Uhm...sure," I said. "Can you wait for about twenty minutes?"

"Of course. I'll be waiting with bated breath."

I rushed up to my room, and only when the door closed behind me did I let out the long breath that I had been holding. What the hell had I done? I thought. I had slept with a married man. It didn't matter that he was Simon Whatley.

I picked up my phone, typing out my message quickly.

**Does she know?** I texted Simon.

I stood there, cradling the phone in my hands. Please say yes, I thought. It would be a weird situation -- one that I didn't know how to handle. But it would be better than this guilt. I had my eyes closed when I felt the phone buzz and looked down. I had received my answer, a single word.

**No.**

I decided to cancel, but then the image of Simon's face above mine came crawling back into my head. I didn't know when I was going to see him again, I thought. And even if it would wrack me with guilt, I couldn't bear the thought of missing this chance to be this close to him.

Tearing through the bags, I found the one marked Kate Chase, and pulled out the dress that I had bought that evening. It was a snug bandage dress, a pale jade green. I pulled it on, yanking my hair back into a ponytail and throwing on a pair of heels, then headed downstairs where Simon and Kate were both waiting.

Simon's eyes took in my body hungrily, but it was Kate who voiced her admiration. "Wow," she said. "If you hadn't been a writer you could easily have become a model. You certainly have the body for it," she said.

We had dinner at a small, private club surrounded by older, rich people. Kate and I stood out among the other women at the club. Kate was sexy in a way that was hard to define -- she was small breasted, and wore a top cut almost down to her navel over a pair of white slacks. I noticed for the first time that she wore hardly any makeup, except for a sheer coating of gloss on her lips.

But her almost masculine exterior did nothing to keep her from being flirtatious, or charming, or womanly. In a strange way, I found myself attracted to her. But in the end, I only had eyes for Simon.

Simon -- roguish, mature, thoughtful, and unbelievably sexy in a t-shirt and black dinner jacket. I wanted to taste him, I wanted him to taste me. Sitting there, remembering that first night, I felt myself getting wet.

Dinner ended finally, and we all drove back to the hotel. "I'm off to bed," announced Kate as we came into the lobby.

"If you don't mind," said Simon, "I was going to stay up a little and have a chat with Mona," he told her.

She waved her hand. "Oh, of course. Writery stuff. Boring. No offense," she said, grinning. "Have at it. I'll see you in the morning, love," she added, reaching over and kissing Simon deeply. "Night, Mona. Nice meeting you. You're a doll."

She went to the elevators and disappeared, leaving me and Simon alone together, at long last. He moved towards me, dropping his voice so that only I could hear him.

"I've been hard ever since you showed up in that little green dress," he whispered to me. "God. I've been waiting to fuck you for so long..."

And that was that. No pretense, no guilt, no wondering. We got the elevator and went to my room. He unzipped the dress and yanked me out of it, pressing me down on the bed. He dove down, covering my mouth with his. His tongue dove deeply into my mouth, caressing mine.

I pulled up his shirt, revealing his broad, slightly hairy chest. I slipped my head down, licking and sucking at his neck. My lips traced his collarbone, darting along and nuzzling his nipples.

He flipped us both over, and all of a sudden I was straddling him. I unhooked my bra and my breasts were revealed. He reached up, rubbing them. He pinched my nipples, already stiff and hard in my excitement, and started rolling them between his fingers.

"Suck me...lick...oh!" I moaned aloud as he pulled me down, taking one nipple into his mouth and scraping it lightly with his teeth as he began to suck. He moved from one breast to another, and I felt the pressure building in my pussy without him even touching me.

"Fuck, you really like that, don't you?" he murmured, pushing me up again. I lifted off of him, sliding out of my panties as he unbuckled his pants and slid them down his legs. His cock sprang out, hard and rigid and stiff.

I laughed nervously. "Uhm...nipple play has always been kind of a...a favorite of mine," I said, blushing.

"Good. Because you have gorgeous nipples," he said. He pushed me down on the bed then, kneeling over top of me. He lightly traced the head of his cock over a nipple, leaving a shining trail of pre-cum behind. "Have you fucked anybody since you fucked me?" he asked.

"No," I said, watching as his cock slid over my skin. He moved up then, his cock pushing against my lips. I opened my mouth and let him slide deep inside me.

He took it slowly. I suckled him as he pushed slowly in, then out, in and out, fucking my mouth as gently as he had my pussy when he knew it was my first time. I reached up, running my hands up and down his sides, trailing along the muscles of his stomach and pelvis. Finally he pulled out, kneeling between my legs.

He started kissing my knee, biting gently sometimes and other times using his tongue as he made his way up my thigh. I whimpered as he closed in on my pussy, but he simply kissed my moist slid as he passed it and started kissing up and down my belly. Then he came back down again, once again skipping my slit as he trailed his way back down to my other knee.

And then he made his way up again. Finally I felt his hot breath on my pussy. His tongue darted out, tasting how wet I was. Then his tongue slipped between my pussy lips and he started lapping, diving deep inside my hole and then flicking lightly at my clitoris with his tongue. He slid a finger inside me, fucking me as he continued to taste. Then the first finger was joined by a second, and a third.

Pressing deep, stretching me, he carried on until my legs were trembling and I was crying out. "Please, fuck me," I moaned.