Wednesday Work in Progress.
I envy those writers who can sit down to the computer, know their story, pound out the words and finish what they start. Nope, that's not me. For every story I finish I probably start 10. I'll get a few words or a few pages then the story fizzles and I want to write something else. I guess you could say I am a bit A.D.D when it comes to writing. I don't think I've ever finished a book where I didn't change at least one character's name at least one time. But my bad habits can sometimes work in my favor. When I'm stuck and not sure what to work on next, it's those past stories I go through to find my inspiration.
As I share my work in progress with you, the names, places and title will most likely change. :)
Beautiful Storm - contemporary short story - nearly complete
(unedited - first draft)
Adrian Beck sat on the beach, tunneling his toes into the warm white sand. The full moon pulled the tide in and called him to the sea. Here, in the tropical breezes of Long Caye, the stress of the city couldn’t find him. Self-imposed exile suited him well. Post 9-11 New York couldn’t compete with Belize Island. Perhaps nothing ever would. There was the crux of his problems. Once he’d lost his firm—lost everything, including those most important to him—he hadn’t felt the same zeal for life. He didn’t see the beauty in buildings anymore, didn’t want to.
The prodigy Adrian Beck, a winner of the American Architecture Award, was burned out. He’d closed his firm, what was left of it after the Trade Towers came down. He hadn’t wanted to rebuild, not after losing so much.
Closing his eyes, he let the balmy night air surround him. His open shirt billowed in the gentle wind. The crash and roll of the waves lulled him to a place where he embraced solitude.
Last week he’d received a phone call. Isa Clemet, developer of luxury casino resorts wanted a meeting. No amount of negotiations would get him back, but that didn’t seem to stop the tenacious billionaire from insisting on a face-to-face meeting. He chuckled. Post 9-11 merges with post Katrina. Not funny, but he couldn’t help seeing the humor. Clemet Casinos wanted to build on the coast in Biloxi, Mississippi. Ms. Clemet wanted the best—she wanted Adrian.
Too bad. Adrian had no intention of giving up his private piece of paradise.
Moonlight shimmered off the cresting waves. Tropical breeze coming off the sea cooled his skin. The salty tang on his lips did make him long for a woman to hold, to kiss, to spread her smooth legs and slide his restless cock into her hot welcoming sheath.
Adrian cursed. How long had it been since he’d had someone special in his life? Three maybe four years. Since before he came to Belize Island to escape the real world.
Gulls rustled in the leaves of the tropical foliage. The spongy sand popped and whispered to him—taunted him. Adrian had always compared a woman to the ocean. Sometimes she could be as fierce as a tropical storm, unpredictable and dangerous and other times calm and wet, like sailing on a cloudless day.
Adrian leaned forward and rested his arms on his bent knees. Movement on the water caught his eye. Silver shimmer stretched into the horizon. He squinted. A swimmer. Long limbs broke the surface. And if he wasn’t mistaken—a woman—swam closer.
A wave caught her and brought her to shore. She stood, a nude goddess born of the sea. His heart pounded. She emerged from the tide, water sluicing over her arousing form. He followed a bead of moisture down her face. Sculpted eyebrows arched over wide almond shaped eyes. At this distance, he couldn’t make out the color, but her skin was bronzed by the sun. Raking her fingers through her hair, she combed her long wet tresses away from her face. She paused and stared at him. Full luscious lips titled into a soft smile. Not a joyous grin, but a sinful smirk that hinted at mischief.
I'll be back later with another excerpt from my BDSM work in progress.
Happy Hump Day,