Partners In Our Own Crime| BEING EDITED

2.Can We Talk?

Olivia
Sometimes writing is the hardest thing I've ever done in my twenty one years of living.

Writers block kills me.

Which is the weird part about it all. I don't usually get it, but when I do...it's the absolute fucking worse. At times I wonder if this is something I want to spend my life doing.

But then I think of how happy it makes me when someone reads my stories and can actually say they enjoyed it.

That makes this whole writing thing worth it.

But I'm telling you, the stress I'm having writing this short story is unmatched.

Currently at 3,000 words, has had about three months to work on it, and about a month and a half to finish.

Fuck my life.

As I scramble over my keyboard, i curse at myself for the struggle of writing one simple paragraph. Seems as though people noticed the mutters that I'd been giving myself because I could feel the awkward stares. Next thing I know, the handsome man I'd met just earlier started over to me, grinning. John Peterson.

"Having trouble I see?"

"You think?" I turn my eyes up at him, groaning at the fact.

"Could I take a look?"

"Be my guest," I let his eyes skim through what little I do have, and he tries to keep that grin even though I know for sure he's probably laughing at me in his head.

"3,000 words, not...horrible."

"Not good eithee," I mutter out, my eyes rolling at the annoyance.

"What's seems to be the problem?"

"Writers block," he bites the bottom of his lip, making an pitiful expression.

"Ah, I see." He halts, "hey, here's an idea...try looking back at your old writing...or do you not—"

"I do," I cut off his sentence.

"And that does seem like it could work," I click out of the doc.

"Thanks," the words leave my mouth, but my eyes don't meet his as I search for some of my old works.

"No problem."

***

Amara's soft lips traveled from his neck to his left shoulder as her hands worked at the knots in his back.

"How was practice?"

"Tiring, but isn't it always," a soft laughter left her lips.

"Well, I'm glad I can help with that," Spencer moaned at the feeling of her soft hands working his muscles.

"Turn around," she whispered. Moving down some, she let him turn his body to face her, as she kept her position in his lap. Her hands found a way to his length, stroking him.

"That...feels better than the massage," she giggled, her hands still moving up and down his length.

"I bet."

His head fell back, and groans left his lips, his hips moving in sync with her hands. "Fuck."

"You like that?" His eyes were squeezed shut, her hand still fucking him, faster and faster.

"I do." He choked out, his release getting closer. She took a step further, and moved from his lap to position herself in between his legs. Leaning down, she took him into her mouth, much rather having him there instead.