JULIAN

MY cock was swelling the moment my angel pushed her glasses up her nose and started reading my words onscreen. My mind had run riot, fingers taking on a life of their own, and there had been nothing I could do to tone it down. The fruits of my efforts were so graphic they were virtually toxic.

I’d forgotten what it felt like to be utterly consumed by creativity, my senses swept up in the tornado of my subconscious as my characters took on their own form. The intensity of the writing experience had increased tenfold from any of my earlier efforts. My muse had possessed my soul. I...