Once Upon A Time... free porn video

A draught from the window touches my cheek and plays with the candle beside me. The flame flickers, its dance reflected on the crystal wine glass I'm holding aloft. I twirl the cut-glass, watching the translucent burgundy liquid swirl inside. A beautiful colour. My favourite. Raising the rim to my lips, I take a sip. Umm… I'm beginning to get into 'the mood'.

Her lips were red as Shiraz and her kisses as intoxicating…

I set the glass down on a cardboard coaster, adding another red ring to the concentric stains. I waggle my hands then stretch out my arms, fingers linked, palms flat.

"Okay, think." I crick my neck from side to side and shuffle on my chair, getting comfortable. I cross my legs. The movement swooshes my pussy lips together. That's right, think sexy…

The burgundy dress clung to her curves and all heads turned as she slowly advanced…

Now, more detail. For starters, who is this girl? Who do I want her to be? My brain cells slowly stir... how about a sexy young virgin experiencing her first time? Or a lusty Cougar seducing her neighbour? What about a nun with a devilish naughty side? I bite my lip, deep in thought. The possibilities are endless. Wanton slut on a wild night out, suggests a voice in my head. I ponder that idea and, liking it, flex my fingers, preparing to type.

"Wait a minute,” I mumble. My brow furrows. Not a night out. I've written that before. I need something new. Something original. Okay, a slut having fun at the office? Yes. I haven’t done that. That could be fun to write. Images spring forth, instantly turning my unwitting character into a brazen office slut with a dangerously daring need for exhibitionism. A sly smile curls my lips.

In the centre of the room, a spot visible from every angle, she unzipped her dress, pushed it from her shoulders and let it fall…

My brain fizzes, alive with ideas. They tumble from my mind, jostling and colliding, the little jolts stimulating my creative juices. A tingle trickles down my spine spreading across my skin like oil on water. Eager to write, my hands hover over the keyboard. Ready.

I stare expectantly at the blank white page on the laptop's screen. I clench my teeth, concentrating. My fingers twitch but nothing else happens. I clear my throat, blink, and stare again. Still nothing — except the damn blank page seems to grow bigger, brighter. It dazzles me. So much white. No black. No words.

The candle flickers and the flame sputters. Distracted, I glance towards it, noticing as I do that the heavy curtains drawn across the window aren't quite closed. The fraying edges of the worn blue velvet drapes don't meet, leaving a sliver of the outside world visible. The moon, perfectly positioned in the gap, peeps at me from behind scudding clouds, its image overlaid with reflections from my study. A dog barks somewhere close and a light clicks on downstairs in the house opposite. I crane my neck as I see movement but the light goes off again.

Snapping back to reality, I turn away. "Honestly," I mutter angrily, "you're so easily sidetracked." I am. Tipping sideways on my chair, I manage to reach the curtains and close them properly. "There. Now concentrate. Write."

I take a moment to sip more wine. As the liquid trickles down my gullet, I lean back, resting my head against the padded back of my faux leather swivel chair. I inhale slowly, savouring the fruity tang of my wine and the sweet vanilla of my scented candle. Delicious. So relaxing. My eyelids feel heavy and the temptation to close them almost gets the better of me. Almost…

Standing in the middle of the busy office, dressed only in her underwear, the girl waited for something to happen…

"Ugh… come on."

Sitting erect, I set my glass down again and gaze once more at the screen. Brightly coloured tropical fish swim across it. I watch them, mesmerised by their movement, then tap a random key to banish them. The blank screen returns. The daunting emptiness still entitled 'generic template'. I think I prefer the fish. Too bad. With mounting trepidation, I reposition my hands over the keys and wait. Inspiration will come, it always does. Then whoosh… I'll write.

Darn it! There's a clock ticking somewhere. It's not in here, there isn't a clock in the study or anywhere near that I'm aware of. Oh no… I try to ignore the relentless ticking but, now I've heard it, I can't shut it out. Standing, pushing back the chair, I march to the door and close it. I stand, ears straining, listening. Nothing. No ticking. Good.

Back at my desk, I reposition my hands and try again. Okay. This time, I actually brush the plastic keys. I feel them depress and the letters K and O appear at the top of the screen. Two stark black shapes against the brilliant white. KO? I roll my eyes. Had it been OK I'd have seen it as a good omen and carried on typing but KO? It couldn't be worse - knocked out. Flattened. Defeated.

That about sums things up. Puffing out my cheeks, I slump back, vacantly staring at the ceiling. My mind's as blank as the laptop screen and that's not good for a writer. Hell, what am I doing wrong? I've got wine, candles, peace and quiet – I should be able to write. Think passion, think steaming erotica… create something hot.

"Like what?" I spit through gritted teeth.

I cover my eyes with my hands. I take a deep breath and hold it… one, two, three and breathe out. Maybe I'm rushing. If I take my time, drink more wine, get myself aroused... I slide my hands down my body, touching my skin, experimenting. They rest on my breasts. I cup them gently, feeling my soft orbs rise and fall as I breathe. Ahh, it's working… my mind becomes active again. Questions form. What would my character's breasts feel like? Firmer? Smaller? Larger? Could she be a blonde with enormous breasts? I giggle. That's a fantastic image to play with.

Her mountainous breasts heaved against the flimsy lace bra as, turning her head, she silently counted each wide-eyed watcher…

Sitting forward, I determinedly touch the keyboard. I’m suddenly bursting with ideas and once the dam breaks, words will pour from me in a literary torrent.

They don't. I freeze, not a key pressed. The connection between thought and action appears to be severed. Exasperated, I run my hands through my hair, pushing it back into a pony tail. I twist it tightly around my fingers. "For goodness sake." The pony tail unravels and swishes free. "Just do it."

I shake my hands again. It's their fault. Must be. Come on, wake up, hands. Get to work. Type something. Anything. I touch the plastic squares again, pressing until I feel them give. One key, another, another… several depress in quick succession and a quiet, familiar tapping ensues. Yes! It's a blissful sound. I'm relieved to hear it.

My happiness, however, is short lived. It's abruptly shattered as I read the words at the top of the screen - Once upon a time…

"Once upon a time?" I glare, disbelieving. "What the fuck is that? I write erotica, not fairy tales!" Anger surges through me then, shaking my head, I snort with laughter. It's a reflex reaction. Better than crying. "Damn. What's wrong with me?"

Muttering profanities, I lower a finger onto the delete key and keep it there. The offending sentence disappears, letter by letter. A blank screen glares back once more. This isn't working. Sighing, I power down my laptop and close the lid. Perhaps the study is the problem? Would I have more luck writing in my bedroom? Worth a shot...

I dip my head and blow out the candle. A thin trail of smoke curls from the glowing wick. The scent of burning tickles my nostrils, followed by a strong whiff of vanilla. It's funny how scented candles do that, give off a last blast of scent as they die. Is it something to do with the change in temperature? Does the fragrance escape as the wax solidifies? I don't know. I'm also not sure why I'm sitting there, gazing into space, thinking about it.

I rise from my chair and stretch. I'm tired but I'm not ready to give up. Not yet.

There's a stack of A4 notepads on the shelf above my desk. I grab the top one and flip it open. It's used. Most of the pages are written on but there's space at the back. I select a biro from the jar beside my laptop and, clicking the end, scribble circles on the notepad's tattered cover. The black ink leaves smooth, even squiggles with no nasty blobs. Perfect. All set.

Oops… nearly forgot my wine. Plucking up the half-empty glass, I pad towards my bedroom, carpet squishing beneath my toes. I elbow open the bedroom door and back-heel it shut. My bed awaits. The white duvet and plump pillows are tantalisingly inviting.

"You’re here to work, not sleep," I murmur, fighting the urge to slide into bed and snuggle down.

Sleep can wait. Tossing notepad and pen onto the bed, and depositing my wine glass on the nightstand, I turn my attention to the polished pine chest of drawers. More specifically, the bottom drawer. I drop to my knees in front of it. A tug on the brass handles and it slides open.

A tiny flutter of excitement, like a butterfly awakening, stirs inside my ribcage. I love this drawer. It's an Aladdin's cave of impractical, beautiful underwear. Tiny thongs, satin Basques, lacy peep hole bras so revealing there's little point wearing them. Little practical point, that is. I finger the silky lingerie, rousing my imagination.

Twenty-five. Not bad. Twenty-five sets of eyes all focussed on her. Heart beating wildly, she trailed her fingertips languidly over her lacy bra. Juices moistened the crotch of her tiny panties…

I rummage through the drawer uncovering old friends and forgotten delights. Frowning, I hold up a brand new body stocking still in its packet. When did I buy that? The leggy blonde modelling this item looks great but it's not very me. Probably why it's never been worn. My busty office slut wouldn't wear it either.

"That's more like it," I say, unearthing a white lace bra and panties set. It's much more her and me.

It’s also new, bought to replace identical items I'd discarded after a red T-shirt materialised in my whites wash. I rip off the tags and hold the underwear aloft. Inspiration bubbles inside me. The cogs are turning, building my character, creating the setting. A girl, a slut – a blonde bombshell with a voracious sexual appetite. A man-eater.

"Yes…"

A coherent storyline is emerging. Not only that, a tingle of arousal is tickling my sex. Getting to my feet, I hastily unbutton my work clothes. My shirt flaps open and, unbelted, my trousers slide down my legs. A few shimmies later, I'm standing in bra and panties. The set is practical – plain black cotton – not sexy. I strip and reach around my back to fasten the new bra.

Wow! That feels good. The material is so flimsy, it barely contains my breasts and my nipples, caressed by the patterned mesh, quickly harden. I brush a hand over the solid little bullets. Umm… they ache deliciously. I pinch my nipples, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger. Ooh… nice.

With my heart rate increasing, I slip on the panties. They're tiny and they're crotchless. Daring? Lewd? I don't care, I feel sexy wearing them. And naughty. Yes, very naughty. I close my eyes, encouraging my imagination to soar.

Hearing a cough, she turned. A saucy smile blossomed across her pretty face when her gaze met the lustful stare of her boss. Head held high, she strode confidently towards him. Her pussy lips protruded from her crotchless panties and to her delight, his gaze dropped…

I shiver. Such wicked behavior is quite delightful. But what happens next? A frantic fuck in his office? Possibly. It could work. Naughtier still, why not keep the exhibitionist element? Her boss could fuck her in the boardroom in front of a room full of dumbstruck board members. Yes! A dozen silver-haired fat-cats sat around an oval table, their cocks, hidden from view, straining against their handmade suits. This is more like it. Now I'm starting to flow.

Entering the boardroom, she sashayed past the refreshment stand with its neatly stacked china coffee cups and plates of sticky Danish pastries. She crossed the room, ignoring the men gaping at her from their plush, leather chairs. She glanced back and seeing her boss following, walked to the head of the conference table and adopted her favourite position – hands flat on the desk, feet shoulder width apart. Her body quivered with anticipation…

My pussy's throbbing. I'm warming to this theme now. In fact, I'm finding it most arousing. Flopping onto the bed, I finger my pussy through the slit in my panties. I'm wet. Slippery. I lift a finger to my lips and suck it. Ooh, I taste good. Kneeling, thighs spread, I lift my hair. I hold it up, posing, while I stroke my sex with the other hand.

Umm… how I long to be that slutty blonde. Or should she have red hair? I grasp my hair with both hands, letting a lock fall over my face. I squint at it, imagining. I wonder… a redhead… a slender redhead with a lithe body. Yes, that's better…

Tossing back her long, auburn locks, she waited. Not a muscle twitched as she listened to his footsteps – unhurried, even – moving closer. She gasped as he touched her back, the downy hair on her neck prickling. His fingertips lingered on her upper spine before tracing the contour of each vertebra right down to her tailbone. She heard the tinkle of a belt buckle, the swish of leather. His hot breath kissed her cheek and almost immediately, he grasped her hips, his cock making contact with her pussy. He pressed hard against her wetness, sliding inside...

I finger my clit, rubbing in circles. The steady movement sparks a tingling sensation inside my lacy bra and I snake my spine, increasing the friction between my sensitive nipples and the material. The bra is tight and the clasp digs into my back but I don't care. It feels wonderful. Sexy. Letting my hair drop, I grasp a nipple, pinching hard.

She heard him grunt and felt him tense as he came inside her. Lifting her gaze, she met a dozen lustful expressions. Horny men; mouths agape, drooling. All of them eager for a piece of the action. The redhead smiled.

I plunge my fingers inside my sex. Two fingers. Buried deep. I thrust them in, fucking my hole, the soft squelch of juices accompanying my moans.

She moaned, long and low, as the first, lusty fat-cat drove his cock inside her. She rocked back and forth, jolted by the rhythmic fucking. All around her the fat-cats unzipped. Fists worked feverishly, priming cocks. The scent of sex hung heavy in the air. Her heart thumped against her ribcage. She was ready — ready to take them all…

A yearning groan rumbles in my throat. The pressure is building inside me. I long to come. I want to feel the pleasure of release but I can't. Not yet. I need to write while I'm on the edge. It's when I'm most creative. With difficulty, I force myself to abandon play and, rolling over, snatch up my tatty notepad. I flick past scribbles, abandoned stories, and poems scattered among the pages of scrawled notes. Finding a blank page, I grab the pen and click the end.

I lower the point to the page, gradually increasing the pressure. My head is bursting with sordid images - fucking, sucking, sweating, groaning I have to write them down. The pen suddenly moves as if enchanted. Ink flows across the white page, arching, circling. My heart soars… but all I've done is draw a large smiley face.

For fuck's sake! What the hell is that?

I throw the notepad at the door. It hits hard, splaying out like the stupid dove that hit my kitchen window that morning. It thuds to the floor, loose pages fluttering in its wake. The pen, gripped in my right hand, is about to suffer a similar fate when the door opens a crack, disarming me. A familiar face peeps cautiously around.

"Trouble?" An arm slides around the door. A shoulder. "Ooh…" The face grins. "What are you wearing?" The grin widens. "Is it my birthday?"

I bite my lip, cheeks growing hot. "When did you get home? I erm-" I cough, clearing my throat. "I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd be gone for hours."

My partner leans against the doorjamb looking most amused. "Evidently." Sky-blue eyes twinkle mischievously while he gazes over my body. "Do carry on. Please, don't let me stop you doing," he waves his hands in my general direction, "whatever it is you're-"

"Writing." I shake the pen in my hand. "I'm writing. Trying to, anyway. I put this on for inspiration."

"Inspiration? Is that what you call it?"

"Yes. I put these on to get into charac-" I stop abruptly when his eyebrows arch. Seeing the incredulous look on his face, I dissolve into girlish giggles. "Come here, you," I say, spreading my arms. "Why don't you inspire me instead?"

"Me?" He doesn't move but tips his head to one side. "You sure? You seem to be doing fine on your own."

"I'm not. I need you." I bat my eyelashes. "Please?" I offer my best 'kitten' face but he doesn't move. He remains in the doorway, his look impassive. One foot toys with the notepad on the floor as if it's more interesting than me. Oh, I see… Two can play this game. With a dismissive "hum," and a shrug, I say, "Actually, you're right. I'm doing okay without you."

"Can I watch?"

"No." Narrowing my eyes, I point my finger menacingly. "Out, unless you plan to help." Backing up my argument, I grab a pillow and lift it up over my head, aiming it at his face.

"Okay, okay," he says, defensively stretching out his arms, "don't throw that." Pushing away from the door, he comes closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. "What now?"

Teasing bastard! He knows what I want, what I like. He's playing a game… and I love it. He's being the boss and I'm… I'm the redhead with the long, wavy hair and the perfect figure. Yes, I'm her – why not? I'm that gorgeous, slutty secretary dressed in white lingerie with her plush, pink sex on show. And I'm going to be fucked – fucked 'till I come – like her. Reaching out, gripping a hand, I draw him near and see my lustful, hungry look reflected in his shining eyes.

"I want you," I say softly. My lips twitch, saliva pools in my mouth. "I want your cock." It's a favourite of ours: I like to suck and he loves being in my mouth. "I want it now."

My words have an immediate effect. There's no joshing me now. He flips off his shoes and hastily unbuckles his belt. I hold his gaze, remaining steady, waiting for him to finish unzipping.

"Shit!" He gasps, looking pained. "Fucking hell!"

Alarmed, I look from his face to his crotch. He's shaking a hand, then lifts it to his mouth and sucks his thumb.

"Jeez, that fucking hurts." He examines his hand and wipes away a drop of blood. "Caught my bloody thumb in the zip, didn't I?"

I have to smile. I'm tickled by life's little mishaps. Always have been. I love those unexpected, comic moments that never happen in stories. This wouldn't happen to my characters, would it? The redhaired office slut would be fucked by men who could all undress without the slightest calamity. They'd be trousers down, cocks out quicker than you could blink. I watch my darling partner shaking his hand. Bless him. Red-faced and cursing, he resumes his battle with the zip.

"Got my shirt caught too," he grumbles. Tugging and wrestling with the little metal tab, he yanks so hard that his shirt rips. "Bloody thing." He inhales deeply. Calmer now, he pushes down his pants and boxers, kicking the garments clear. "There, that's sorted." He's smiling again, his gaze feasting on my exotic lingerie. "I'm ready."

I'm ready. His choice of words amuses me too. I think of the redhead braced against the table ready to be fucked by each fat-cat in turn. Ready to be fucked by all of them. I'm ready too but I'm not exactly in her situation, am I? I stroke my hair. I'm not even a redhead...

"Darling?"

I look up, almost startled to see him there. I meet his eyes… bright, enquiring eyes, the colour of the sky. I love his eyes.

"I'm ready," he repeats.

Yes, he is. My gaze drops. I can't help it. How can I possibly look at his face when his cock is out? I stare at it, fixated. Screw the story. It can wait. The redhead isn't going anywhere and I have reality to attend to. That's better than a story any day. It's time to be me. Just me. A loud, satisfied sigh vibrates between my lips followed by the words, "Fucking gorgeous.”

I take his hand in mine. Our palms come together, fingers entwined. Guiding him onto the bed beside me, our bodies touch. The skin against skin contact sends shivers through every sinew of my body. My pulse races, blood singing in my ears. I want him. I need him.

Cupping his face, I kiss him. It's a hungry kiss. Needy. I press my lips hard against him and gasp when he parts his lips. I probe with my tongue and meet his. We taste each other, our tongues writhing like dancing snakes charmed by the lilting melodies of passion. I slide my hands around his neck and hold him close. I feel his breath on my lips and I want more.

Gripping his shoulders, I ease him backward onto the pillows. With desire erupting uncontrollably, I tear my lips away from his and hear him exhale sharply. A smile flickers at the corners of my mouth. He's as aroused as me. Good. I attack again, planting kisses all over his face – nose, forehead, cheeks – then downward. I cover him in kisses that travel in patterns over his soft flesh. I trace shapes, letters, words onto his skin. Whole sentences loop across his downy haired chest. I pause when I reach his belly button. I flick it with my tongue and, giggling playfully, deposit a sloppy, wet full-stop directly inside it.

"Ooh!" He squirms. "That tickles."

I look up, briefly, then carry on. I cover his lower abdomen with more kisses. I spell out the words I love you making him wriggle beneath my greedy lips. I pause again. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. Ah, I thought so… it’s the scent of pre-cum invading my nostrils. "Umm…" It’s intoxicating. Moving swiftly down his body, I sink my lips over his swollen cockhead.

I hear groans; I can taste his pleasure. Sweat moistens his flesh as his excitement mounts. It glistens as he slowly writhes. I slide my lips down his shaft and suck. This is reality. It's happening and I love it.

I sink his cock to the back of my throat and suck hard. I grapple with his thighs, seeking purchase as I bob my head, lips gliding up and down the shaft, tongue swirling greedily. He moans louder. A low, rumbling moan. His body tenses, muscles flexing, and pre-cum coats my tongue. I pause to swallow and, as I'm about to suck again, he grabs me around the waist and flips me roughly onto my back.

"What the-"

"Not yet." He holds my wrists and, puffing, mutters, “There’s something I must do.”

I lie still. "Okay…"

I watch as he kneels at my hip. He cups my mound and his middle finger finds the opening in my crotchless panties. “Hmm,” he sighs, a finger sliding between my swollen, sensitive lips. “Love these knickers. What an invention.” He smiles at me and my heart races at the love light in his eyes.

Wow! I automatically arch off the mattress in response to his sudden penetration of my wet hole. He goes deep and curls his finger to caress my hot spot. “Oh yes, right there,” I mutter, eyes wide open in delight.

I gently rock and roll my hips, keeping a rhythm with his probing, rubbing finger. I squelch and he smiles. “Beautiful,” he says and slowly withdraws. “I need a taste of that.”

He kneels between my spread legs, sensually strokes my inner thighs and dips his head to my crotch. I feel his fingers tugging on the opening in my naughty panties and then… oh my God, his tongue laps along my pussy's lips. I hold my breath, sling my arms wide, grip the sheets, and close my eyes.

He laps and licks, pokes his tongue into my hole, flicks it over and around my bud, sucks, kisses and blows. Oh my! I raise my hips, I need his mouth hard on my mound. I thrust at him and almost immediately my trembling thighs herald an impending orgasm.

He sucks my clit, strokes a finger inside, and that’s me done. It’s not a dramatic climax, no cymbals clashing, bells ringing and lightning flashing. But it’s a much-needed release, satisfying and soothing, like waves rippling onto the shore.

Looking up, lips glistening and eyes twinkling, he grins. “That was excellent. For starters.”

I relax into the mattress and place my hands on his shoulders, urging him to rise. “Starters? You have something else in mind?”

“Sure do,” he says, scrambling up and settling back onto his haunches. His throbbing erection points at me, the dome smeared with pre-cum. I lick my lips. Oh my, I do so love his cock. “But first, let’s take these off.” He fingers the waist of my panties. “They’ve done their job. Now I want to feel all of you, nothing between us, not even bits of lace.”

In seconds, my exotic panties and bra are off, discarded, tossed to the floor. “Gorgeous,” he says as I settle back, open and eager to be taken.

“Thank you,” I say. “You’re not so bad yourself. But I need you inside me. Right now.” I tap fingers on my naked mound. “Come on.”

He shares my urgency, quickly moving into position above me, his cock nosing my slit. He pushes. “Yes," he grunts. "Yesss…"

There’s no resistance from me. His cock slides between my swollen petals, gliding on a thick film of hot, viscous juices. He penetrates deep. Withdraws. Thrusts again. The headboard beats against the wall – thump, thump, thump – the rhythm increasing as he fucks me hard. Grunts join the thuds, both mine and his, interspersed with gasping breaths.

"You feel so good, so good," I cry through snatched breaths.

Spasms tear through my body, driven by the friction of his pounding cock. The rhythm reaches a crescendo and I feel his body tense. I'm ready to peak too. Arms around him, I hug him close. This time I’m ready for a tumultuous climax. It doesn’t take long. I feel the first wave of orgasm building and contract my pussy, squeezing his cock. Gloriously, he ejaculates. Perfect timing! Superbly orchestrated, we experience that moment of ecstasy together - grunting, gasping and sighing, those wonderful, special sounds of shared, loving pleasure.

I gradually come down. My breathing steadies and the sweat evaporates, leaving me cool. His arms tighten around me and he kisses my forehead. But I'm not quite done. Sassy now, I roll him over, slide down, and take his cock into my mouth once again. Still semi-erect, he's covered in juices and I want them. I suck and lick greedily, hoovering up every drop. Slick secretions fill my mouth and, tossing back my head, I swallow.

In that moment, I'm as slutty as the redhead, as randy as the buxom blonde, and luckier than both. Satiated, I lower my head onto his body and close my eyes. I'm relaxed, content. And in that quiet moment, new images for my story infiltrate my mind. I smile as the images form pictures, the pictures form words and I silently round off the narrative.

Her body trembled, overpowered by the blissful waves crashing through her for the third time in succession. She gripped the table and gasped for breath while the last of the fat-cats grunted and stiffened, his fingernails digging into her flesh as he deposited his load into her sodden depths. When he withdrew, the sweat-drenched redhead slumped over, resting her head on the polished oak table. A satisfied smile illuminated her face...

Rolling onto my side, I snuggle against my darling lover. We spoon together, our bodies fitting perfectly. My thoughts wander… no-one cuddled the redhead, did they? Her boss didn't wrap her in his arms and hold her as she came down. No. He wouldn't do that. None of them would.

She caught her boss's eye but he quickly looked away. Turning, he poured himself a coffee and selected a Danish pastry. The fat-cats dressed and resumed their places around the oval table. No-one looked at her. She smiled, unperturbed. She understood. Her 'bonus' would be added to her pay cheque and she'd receive a text when she was next 'required'. They'd fuck her again. All of them... 

Okay, so she's happy. She's fulfilled her fantasies but her story's no fairy tale. I don't want to be the redhead anymore. Or the blonde with the enormous breasts. I prefer my story, my ending. I close my eyes relishing the heat of my partner's body and basking in the warmth of his love.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"What for?"

"Oh, you know."

"Providing inspiration?" He kisses my back, then suddenly rolls away from me.

"Where are you going?" I ask, turning sharply. "Don't go."

"I'm not." He smiles, his blue eyes shining. "I'm not going anywhere. Here." He holds out my notepad, the tattered cover bent backward. "And this." He hands me my pen. "Did I help? Have I inspired you?"

Smiling, I nod. "Definitely."

“Do you need to be alone now? To write, I mean.”

I shake my head and pat the bed beside me. Accepting the invitation, he plumps up the pillows on his side and pulls back the duvet. I snuggle beside him. We settle, him dozing, me idly flipping through my notepad to find a clean page. As silence descends, I hear a faint ticking. I recognise it now. It's the wall clock in the kitchen, the one he bought for me. Leaning over, I kiss his shoulder.

"You okay?" he mutters sleepily.

"Yes. I'm fine. Everything's fine.”

I click the end of my pen and press the point against the clean white paper. This time, the words flow…

A draught from the window touches my cheek and plays with the candle beside me. The flame flickers, its dance reflected on the crystal wine glass I'm holding aloft…