Vignettes of a MasterBy: Jason Luke
Then I got mad.
“Fuck you!” I said. “And fuck the Noble name.” I felt my hands clench into fists, and the anger fizzed the blood in my veins. “I might not be a Noble, but I’m a man – a better man than you ever were. You think you hurt me just then, by telling me I’m not your son? You old fool – you liberated me! You set me free of all this bullshit.”
This Redhead Loves Books
Jonah Noble watches Leticia put on make up.
She stood before the mirror and made a pouting face, pursing her lips and holding lipstick up to her face. Then she saw me in the reflection of the mirror and she turned shyly.
“Can’t a girl have a moment of privacy?”
I shook my head and folded my arms, leaning in the doorway, watching her from a distance. “Leticia, I like to look at you. I like to watch you – the way you move, the gestures you make. You have a beautiful innocence about you that I can’t get enough of.”
“Even when I’m putting on make up?” She laughed, and it was a throaty chuckle that sounded fresh and alive with the energy of her.
“You don’t need make up,” I said. “You have rare natural beauty. You shouldn’t hide who you are behind a mask of cosmetics. And you should never wear red lipstick.”
Leticia looked bemused. “I like red.”
I smiled. “In ancient times women would paint their lips red to simulate the red fleshy colour of their aroused pussy. It was a subconscious way of attracting men. It said, loud and clear to all the men, that the woman was in a state of arousal. That’s why red lipstick to this day is associated with sex and sensuality.”
Leticia blinked, then frowned, then looked aghast. “Oh, hell. Really?” She dropped the tube of lipstick like it was suddenly burning hot.
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Jonah Noble meets Jason Luke.
I knew it was him. I knew it instantly.
He was standing on the far side of the room, a man in his forties. He was maybe six feet tall, maybe an inch less. He had brown hair, turning grey and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. He was standing beside a beautiful young woman who was probably only half his age.
It was Jason Luke, author of ‘Interview with a Master’.
I strode across the room, feeling my anger rising with every step. We didn’t shake hands. The man had dark eyes. He looked like he was in reasonable shape. I nodded politely to his young girlfriend, and then turned on him.
“You son of a bitch,” I snarled. “I’ve heard all the phone interviews you have been giving. You’re telling people that you don’t know if I’m going to live or die in the sequel!”
Jason Luke nodded at me calmly. “That’s right,” he said in an Australian accent. “You got a problem with that?”
“Yeah,” I growled. “I’ve got a big problem with that – and so have a lot of readers.”
Luke shook his head and stared at me like he was suddenly sad, or maybe disappointed. “I am a reflection of you, Jonah. Characters are supposed to come alive to their writers and make their voices heard. It’s not up to me to decide if you live or die in the sequel… it’s up to you. So if you want to live through the second book, start acting like you want to live – and find something worth living for instead of waiting to die.”
THAT WAS GREAT FUN!!!!!
A note from Jason:
This was the first time a reader had suggested the idea of me interacting with my characters and becoming part of the scene itself. As soon as I saw this suggestion posted, I seized on it straight away – because it appealed to my wicked sense of humor. In the weeks ahead, these scenes where reality and fiction collided proved to be the most popular paragraphs of all.
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Jonah Noble undresses Leticia.
“Do I get undressed?” Leticia asked nervously. She was trembling.
I shook my head and hunted towards her from out of the shadows. She was standing beside the bed. I ghosted up behind her and brushed my hand across her shoulder. She gasped, and I felt her flinch.
“It’s okay,” I whispered softly in her ear. “Just stand there, and don’t move. I will undress you.”
There was a long pause, and I let the seconds draw out, heightening her sense of anticipation as I ran my fingers slowly across her shoulder until my hands were light around her throat. I could feel the warmth of her body radiating through her clothes as I pressed myself against her.
I unfastened the top button of her blouse.
“Undressing a woman is an experience, not a task,” I said. “Each layer removed reveals something exquisite – something beautiful. Unwrapping a woman before taking her to bed is like a long slow walk through a gallery of fine artworks – each new piece is to be admired, and enjoyed before moving on to the next.”
I unfastened the second button of her blouse, and my words remained a soft sensual whisper in her ear. I could feel her trembling, as if tiny electric currents were jolting up the length of her spine each time my fingers brushed against her soft warm flesh.