Excerpt from Friends With Partial Benefits

Jillian Grayson sat up in bed, typing away on the keyboard of her laptop computer. She wore a nightshirt that wasn’t all that sexy, but what she was typing was… or at least it started out that way…

 Dallas lay in bed, unable to sleep and wondering if Katrina was suffering the same fate—and for the very same reason. Did she want him as much as he wanted her? Katrina was but a few steps away, yet he dare not go to her, for he was a guest, and then there was Katrina’s mother, who was just across the hall. For Dallas, sleep came minutes later, but it would be short- lived, for soon Katrina stood over him, completely nude and pondering how to proceed…

Dallas must have been in a deep sleep, since he didn’t feel it when Katrina peeled the sheet carefully off him, exposing his muscular body, six-pack abs, and sizeable manhood. She quivered when his impressiveness sprang into view. For a long time, she kneeled next to the bed, just studying his body and savoring his scent. Taking his sex into her hand, Katrina worked it until it was rigid while she watched him sleep. When Dallas woke, he looked into her eyes, swallowed hard, and whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Just as fast as his sex expanded, it lost its firmness and flopped against his leg. Katrina looked down at it in disappointment and then moaned in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

Dallas said sheepishly, “Sometimes that happens to me. Sorry. Ever since I cheated on my wife with that whore in the pool, I haven’t been able to—“

 Jillian stopped typing and thought she might be heading in the wrong direction with this. How did her ex-husband get into the story? But then again, most men are assholes, she thought.

Picking up the glass of wine from her nightstand, she took a long sip and then replaced it. She highlighted the last paragraph about Dallas’s problem, hit one key, and it was gone. Just like his boner. She laughed out loud.

Jillian wasn’t exactly in the correct frame of mind to write at the moment, especially on this particular subject. She stared straight ahead and wondered about the likelihood of Dallas slipping in the shower, striking his head, and dying instantly. Or maybe an earthquake could strike, and Dallas’s amazingly perfect body would be trapped under a giant beam.

What the hell kind of name was Dallas anyway? She thought she might want to give her character a real name like Stewart but figured no one would believe that a guy named Stewart could give you six consecutive orgasms in one night.

What was she doing, anyway, writing novels about people having amazing sex when she’d never had any? Okay, maybe once or twice twenty years ago, but none since then. She had no right. If people knew that she was the one writing these books, they wouldn’t buy them. She was a fraud.

Jillian picked up her wineglass and took another long drink. She grinned, wiped those unhelpful thoughts from her mind, and started typing again…

 Katrina took his sex in her hand and worked it until it was rigid. As she studied it closely, Katrina noticed two red bumps on the underside of his pathetic excuse for a penis. She recoiled in horror—

 Jillian hit the backspace key to erase everything after Dallas’s “sex” started expanding. Romance novels about erectile dysfunction and STDs weren’t exactly big sellers. She closed the lid on the laptop and tossed it gently onto a pillow at the foot of the bed. She emptied her wineglass with one last sip and turned on the television.

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