A/N: First of all, I realized that recently, especially since I got sick and started procrastinating persistently, reading and reviewing my stories has become a pretty much full-time work for some of you. And I just want to say how GRATEFUL and ELATED I am from all your feedback! I love you all so much! (And no, I am not medicated, I'm generally so emotional towards my readers:)
A/N#2: Thank you for wishing me quick recovery. I'm almost fine already, so no more binge writing. I'm going back to my thesis tomorrow :(
A/N#3: Slightly unrelated point, some of you were talking about submissive Thorin in "Thorin's Word a Day" and I just thought I'll remind you about "The Hunt" (oh, my first ever written smut! Oh, the memories! I was so embarrassed and thought everybody on the plane could guess what I was doing:) It says there that Thorin knows that if he pulls on their usual (!) restraints hard enough, they will snap :) How do you think he knows about that? :)
A/N#4: And lastly (am I not a chatty one?:) this story is running away from me as USUAL! I know I promised smut but it's not quite what you expect, I think :) And I'm even scared to think about it, but a sequel consisting of smutty one-shots maybe? :) *blushes and hides under the quilt*
You drive you both to the funfair after changing into flats that you keep at the back of the car. If anything, this blind date is pleasurable experience just for that feeling when you take off these Spanish boots. Without the cursed heels you do not reach his shoulder. You try to ignore the iconic feeling of being delicate and fragile near him, but nothing helps.
You chat in the car, he is indeed an architect, you even know the research center on uni campus he designed. He has this low velvet voice that you always need to describe to explain why the heroine with a heaving chest is so affected by the hero's presence. Works in reality as well. Your car seems tiny and the spicy grassy cologne is driving you crazy.
This is the first man who has a corporeal body and manages to catch your attention in seven years. And the first man whom you kissed after your husband died. And the first you ever kissed the first day you knew him. To say nothing about doing it in the first half an hour after meeting him.
He indeed had a horrible divorce two and a half years ago, his wife having cheated on him with his partner in the firm. So he doesn't have either now. He laughs and says he likes to be a free range architect. You like his puns, and very very much like his hand stroking your fingers on the stick. He has very warm hands, and you are always cold.
Candy floss is indeed as good as you remember from childhood, and he actually wins you a plush toy in a shooting booth. It is a pink elephant and you can't stop laughing. He looks very smug until you tell him that you saw him greasing the palm of the carny. You sit in a ferris wheel carriage and somehow you very easily tell him about Allan. He nods and holds your hand, and then pulls you into him. For the first time you don't feel like a traitor getting so close to another man.
The knifethrower asks for a volunteer from the crowd and you giggle. You are pressed into John's side and then the blonde busty assistant come up to you two and shove the mike into John's face. "You, sir, would you like to impress your beautiful date with bravery and audacity?" You wince from the choice of words. Seriously, even you write better.
"Gladly, if you promise it will work on my date," he is laughing and you look at him in shock. "Are you mental?" You pull him down by his tie and are whispering hotly into his ear. "Can you imagine how unsanitary those blades are? What if he nicks you?" He is laughing more. "He promised that will impress my date, how can I say no?" He kisses your cheek and steps forward.
You clench your fists and chew your lips. The problem is not that you are worried about him. A bit, of course, but then again you are pretty sure they take this act around the world and know what they are doing. What worries you is the memories of how you were doing your research for The Knife and the Heart, your second most popular novel. How are your publishers even still in business with such taste?
It was two years into your widowhood and the first time you even remembered you have a body. Because all the Youtube videos and tutorial for impalement arts drove you into unexpected sexual frenzy. It was literally your porn. The artist on the screen takes out a blade, you unbutton your jeans, he moves his hand back before the throw, you take out a vibrator and so on, and so on.
You are grown-up woman and a mediocre writer, but even you know the sadomasochistic eroticism of the noble art of knife throwing and its place in classical literature. You also have a copy of A Girl on the Bridge. What you always considered slightly alarming in your kink is the fact that you are attracted to the human target, not the artist.
The assistant leads John to a wide board and two cuffs appear on the top of it. You breath in and bite your lip painfully. Your self control is slipping and you are shaking. The girl has to stand on a ladder to reach his lifted wrists and the shackles click. You are probably drawing blood from your tortured lip. You try to stop yourself from narrating in your head, but when have you ever managed it?
"She ran her hands over his spread body, his helplessness and immobility the best aphrodisiac for her. Her fingers lingered on the buckle of his trousers, and he exhaled loudly. "Do not speak," she murmured and he clenched his jaw. Her palm slid lower and cupped..."
You turn away from the act and close your eyes. You can do it, you can. You just have to breath through it and think about your mother. It can thwart any sort of excitement for you any day of the year. You slowly turn around and then the knife thrower in a ridiculous glittery costume steps out.
He takes out the first long blade and you look at John. He is smiling, completely relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. He doesn't seem like an adrenaline junkie to you. To think of it, since you met about four hours ago nothing seemed to really unsettle him. Maybe he is like that in general, nonchalant and cheerful. Meaning, the opposite of you. Well, the opposites attract.
With a swoosh the first blade flies, the crowd gasps and it drives into the board above John's right shoulder with a thump. Your inner walls clench, and you fist your hands. John gives out a chuckle. "How are you feeling, my man?" The knife thrower's mannerisms would be hilarious, weren't you so preoccupied with your increasingly stickier knickers. "Endlessly grateful that you are aiming above my waist." The crowd roars with laughter.
Your eyes fall below the said waist and then you push your face into the elephant. You hear the thump of the second knife and moan. You brace yourself for the next wave of text pouring into your feverish brain. "She lowered herself in front of him, holding his gaze and licked her lips. He groaned when her deft fingers unbuckled his belt and reached for the zipper. His raging erection was painful..." Thump! You jump up and practically bite into the plush toy.
You peek. There are two knives sticking above John's shoulders and one near his hip. Its companion follows on the other side. Thump! Oh... "If I were you, my friend, I would put your legs wider," the knife thrower pulls another blade out of his assistant's hand.
"Spread and open for her pleasure, he was breathing heavily, his wide masculine chest rising. She stepped back and pulled a narrow curved blade out of a scabbard on her thigh. With an experienced twirl of her slender wrist she sent the blade in the space between his inner thighs..." Thump! You yelp and bite into the poor dumbo.
The crowd is cheering and you dare to peek. The knife is three inches below John's… You give up and embrace it. You are thinking about his cock and there isn't much you can do about it. The assistant lets him out of the restraints and he bows to the clapping crowd. He is smiling and steps closer to you. "Have I impressed my date?" You jump at him and hang on him. He barks a laugh, picks you up under your bum and you hug his waist with your legs. The crowd roars in approval. You kiss him, and it is fervent and scorching, and all the other words you have ever used to describe it in your books. He moans into your mouth and you bite his bottom lip. "Take me home," you whisper into his ear and he nods.