Notes: another kink meme fill: Sain is a successful romance novelist, but all his writing takes inspiration from his... experience. What happens when his current partner finds out?

The Millionaire's Blackmail Marriage Bed of Revenge

The slender redhead gasped lustily, her luscious bosom heaving like a storm-tossed ocean. She reached out, yearning for the warm, virile touch of her dark-haired tycoon between her milky white thighs, and grabbed hold of his massive, throbbing-

Her cheeks hot, Priscilla tossed the paperback away from herself with a squeal, unable to take any more. Sadly, it wasn't the terrible writing that drove her away. It was the fact that this was eerily. . . . familiar. Sans the tycoon business, of course. And, well, she liked to think she wasn't THAT indecent in bed.

Her husband peered into the room, eyebrow raised. He'd been working diligently, surprisingly enough, on his next novel. He'd gotten a substantial advance, and if the sales of the last five had been any indicator, the proceeds afterwards could be even more generous.

"Something wrong, sweetcheeks?" he asked, the irreverent little smirk present despite his concern.

"N-n-nothing," she stammered, praying her cheeks weren't as red as she thought they were. Oh, she hoped her brother hadn't picked this up at all, that he'd been satisfied just knowing they sold well! It had been hard enough to convince him that Sain, a down-on-his-luck writer bouncing between jobs, hadn't just been digging for gold when he asked for her hand in marriage. After all, despite the scandals and gossip, the Cornwell family was still a financial powerhouse. If Raymond caught on, Priscilla feared, no amount of pleading from anyone, not even that odd girly fellow who'd just signed onto the household staff, could keep him from breaking Sain's face.

Sain padded into the bedroom and reached out for his wife, but his face fell as he spotted the book on the bedspread.

"I thought romance wasn't your cup of tea, Prissy?"

"I-I-I just wanted to support your work," she mumbled. Her imagination continued to paint a vivid picture of her brother, stumbling across the novel somehow, and immediately storming up to their swank little apartment to beat Sain into a bloody pulp. She wasn't sure how it would happen, but at this point, she was sure it would, and no amount of whining from that friend of his would stop it.

Sain sighed and shook his head. "So, ah, uh, did you, aha, like it?" He grinned, but she looked back, somewhere between stern and terrified. "Okay, okay, okay. I know. I should've asked, blah blah blah, whatever. But aren't you flattered?"

Suddenly, she stood up and jabbed her husband's chest. "Flattered? Flattered? What I want to know is, who were the first four books about? You said you had a different inspiration for each of them, didn't you?"

"Hey, listen, no need to get so uptight about it! They're just storiiiiiiiies! And hey, hey, you're my bestseller so far!"

"So far? Well, where are you going to get the next one from, hmmmmmmmm?"

"Eh heh heh heh. . . . well, funny you should mention that. . . ."

"Funny?"

". . . I was about to come in and ask for a little bit of inspiration," Sain added quickly, the smirk reforming on his face.

"Not so fast," Priscilla snapped. "You're not getting out of this one so easily."

Sain pouted, looking more like a pathetic puppy than a best selling romance novelist at this point. "I swear, I haven't gotten any inspiration since we got together, Sweetcheeks."

Knowing him, he wasn't talking about the cheeks on her face.

She shook her head and sighed. As much as she wanted to be angry, it just wasn't in her. "Fine, fine, I forgive you," she said at last.

Her husband immediately brightened up. "So, that means you aren't angry at me for divulging that thing you do with your tongue?"

"SAIN!"

"Whaaaat? I thought the rest of mankind would be grateful! Women everywhere should take notes! It's a compliment, Prissy!"

"I can't believe you! Do you take notes when we're in bed or something?"

By the look in Sain's eyes, she realized she never should have said that. He seemed to think it was a fantastic idea.