She made no secret of her love for romance novels, even the trashiest and cheesiest ones.
Sometimes it was embarassing. At university it was trendy to bash romance novels, other girls who read them were looked down upon as "naive", "desperate", "out of touch with reality" and he could see why. Some of these books had embarassingly dated and sexist ideas of love, the writing was overdramatic and stilted, the plots were entirely cut and paste. For a critical reader like Azel, this was a nightmare.
Other times, he was jealous. The men in these books were portrayed as absolutely perfect, handsome and rugged, incredible in bed, always knowing just the right thing to say to turn a heroine into putty in their hands. Timid, awkward Azel could never hope to come close to these heroes.
He came home one night to find Tiltyu's latest book lying face-down on the coffee table in the den and Tiltyu nowhere in sight.
"I'm back," he said. She didn't answer, but then he heard the bath running, a paper bag rustling, and then-
"I've been waiting."
Before him stood a vision in sheer red silk, lilac hair spilling over her shoulders and a demure smile on her face. "You look exhausted, darling..." She stepped over, pushing his coat from his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt.
"Tiltyu...?"
She leaned close to him, her silk-covered breasts pressing against his shoulder. He could feel the points of her nipples through his shirt.
"Thought we could try something from the latest book I've been reading," she whispered.
Azel grinned. Perhaps there is something to be said for these romance novels after all, he thought as he began to undo the sash of her robe.