Stars Dancing [Dreams-To-Lovers Romance]

EURI

Crystal. Crystal, soo good, baby. Ummm. Annhhhh. So good. Nathan whispered against the back of my neck, sliding slowly in and out. I needed him to move faster, so he did, and I rewarded him by clamping my kegel tight around his length. He had no words after that, just moans. Me too.

The wave rose, and we came crashing down together. My eyes opened a few minutes later to the tangled bed sheets and pillows. Alone in my starliner cabin again, as always. It had only been my telepathic lover coming to me in the middle of the night . . .

It was coming together. My first episode of Eclipse Chasers of Yester Rear, Erotica Tales Beyond The Stars by Known Cosmos Earth Press, screenwriter SC v. 3. Yep, that's me: SCv.3.

Confused? Sibsil Creed (SC v. 3) is a secret identity. We've been passing it from person to person creating this wild mythos for the public. Mysterious, eh?

You see, my Auntie Ryst was Sibsil Creed v. 1, but partially that was my metal-handed dad, Mets, too since he did the publishing of Within and Without: A Tindin Journey With Erotica, a sex book you can read about elsewhere.

Then Sibsil got a face lift in v. 2 when my dads wrote The Known Cosmos Books 1-2. Mets had flipped his lid when I read Auntie's journals and wanted to join the family writing business.

"He's a man, Pey'o," Muse had said. "What were you doing when you were seventeen? I seem to recall you looking at me an awful lot at that age. Do I need to get the donkey a kurta?"

Mets had barked out a laugh of utter helplessness at that. The donkey costume had been an instrument of torture for my metal-handed pops. When I was fourteen, my brother Dwinlyn had found it the instant they'd tried to hide the costume in Uncle Nayth's old guitar case under a stack of instruments.

What, did they think Dwin wasn't going to notice a new instrument case and go rummaging through it? So, Dwin and I'd had new fodder for our best prank ideas ever.

The first time we did it, we nearly killed Mets. We got blow up dolls and in the middle of the night, snuck into their bathroom and put the donkey-costume-clad blow up doll in a rude posture with a lover in their shower, along with video cameras.

Mets got up to pee in the night, thought there were intruders in the bathroom, and went full assassin on the blow-up dolls. Then he was so keyed up on adrenaline he spent three hours in the dojo working it off.

Once Muse got over his confusion, we replayed the videos over and over, alternating between riotous laughter and hysterical terror because my augmented dad could be a scary bastard when he needed to be. You did not want to be mistaken for a theif when Mets was in the house.

We'd had to buy new blow up dolls. Good thing, too, because we got many years of the dolls doing rude things with the donkey costume. When they least expected it, our parents got shocked by the donkey and his lover doing unspeakable things.

When I was sixteen, Mets tried to bury the donkey in the desert while Dwin and I were at Nona and Poppops. Sorry, Dad, I know what a metal detector is.

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A year later, he flipped out when the dolls showed up on the roof of our home, in broad daylight for all the village to see in a compromising position. "Ro, this has gone too far. I mean it. The depravity has to stop."

Unbeknownst to him, I had mics on him and pumped through the speakers a lovely little clip of him repeating "Depravity- depravity has to stop. Depravity- depravity has to stop" to a really bad gypsy soundtrack.

Mets sank to the ground, covering his head with his hands, "I've failed. No discipline. My family is doomed."

I helpfully pumped a donkey braying over the speakers "Eee-Awww. Eeee- Awww." He flopped on his back, thumping the ground, "Yield! Yield! Mercy, for fuck's sake!"

So, at twenty-three, I was a first-time erotica screenwriter, developing the animated series Eclipse Chasers Of Yester Rear. Yep, my main characters were telepaths Crystal and Nathan. Notice the English names? There's a reason for that.

I had the best meet-cute idea. Crystal and Nathan were in the crowded Transfer Station when they bumped elbows and Nathan exclaimed telepathically, Hey, watch it!

Then Crystal turned to him, mentally shouting, Asshole!

But as the crowd pulled them apart, they met eyes, and the fire of desire was ignited.

Both of them embarked on their separate Eclipse Chaser starliners, but neither of them forgot the flame that had burned inside them when they'd locked eyes. So, whenever they were alone in their cabins, their telepathy pulled them together for nights of passion.

Great start to an erotica series, eh?

No, there was nothing at all autobiographical about my screenplay. Not at all. It was 100% fiction. I was not living out my personal fantasies about Portia Sloan through my writing. Nope. That wasn't what was going on at all.

I didn't know how far away Shah and Ronnie were, but it probably wasn't far enough. I could get really good and happy when I wrote Crystal and Nathan sex scenes, and that helped me keep myself under control so I didn't accidentally send my telepathy questing over Andromeda to find Portia and her ear-licking tongue.

But, I'd had an idea this morning, and once I'd taken the edge off with a little help of my screenplay, I planned to try something new. I'd been in a mental and emotional Faraday cage of my own making since the Sloan Sibs'd left Shurwinn three weeks ago, and I was ready to test my telepathic control.

I turned all my attention to the metal box that was around mind mind and feelings. I imagined that Ronnie, just Ronnie was on the outside of the box, with his hand resting against the metal. I reached up to the metal with my own imaginary hand and put it right where Ronnie's would be, but didn't feel. I just thought.

Thought only, no feeling. Ronnie.

Euri! Dammit, I could feel his elation. He was giddy and warm and cuddly against my inner self. My own happiness rose up to meet that warmth.

Hey, Ronnie.

I put my feelings back in the metal box. I was in the box, Ronnie was outside. Thoughts only, no feelings.

Pretty good, Euri. You're practicing.

Thanks. Not easy, but I'm working on it.

Hmm a metal cage? A Faraday cage? Funny.

I didn't feel his humor. I should have, but I had his feelings blocked! Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't get too excited, Euri. Keep it caged.

This is boring, Euri. Are you going to let me in the box?

Nope.

Ha ha. You're doing great.

You doing okay, Ronnie?

Busy.

What, you got a job or something?

Eye roll. Of course I have a job.

Wait! WHAT? You have a job?

Eye roll. I'm not stupid, Euri.

I'm not implying that, Ronnie. You never mentioned work.

Eye roll. You never mention work either, Euri, but I still know about your gig.

My stomach dropped onto the floor before I remembered that he was probably talking about my work at dad's company Produced by Peydran, not my animated erotica screenwriting gig.

Yeah, bit of a dry spell, but things have gotten busier. I better get back to work. Thanks for the practice.

Keep it up, and we might be able to come back to visit when things calm down.

Don't say that unless you mean it.

I'm not a liar, Euri.

Hah! History tells me otherwise, Ronnie.

He was gone; completely gone. And I wished I could just touch his sister for five seconds or hear her laugh or feel her whisper in my mind, That's better.

I was in a cage for my thoughts and feelings, but that didn't stop my heart from aching.