She grinned. “I can’t wait to hear your new releases. What you sent me so far is really fucking hot.”
I finished another one of the audio recordings that night, and then another one. And I was finally able to have a good, satisfying orgasm. I should probably have felt guilty about it, but when I was slumped down in my chair like I’d come so hard that I didn’t have bones left in my body anymore, it was hard to feel much other than blissful.
Nikki was right that my fans would love it. I knew a bunch of regulars who loved the erotic audios when I got to say I actually came during the recording.
I felt better the next day, my head finally cleared up a little, and I beamed at Victoria when she was in the kitchen before me, making coffee. “Good morning,” she said with a sweet smile my way, and god, was I relieved I could see that without getting horny.
“Morning,” I said. “I’m going to grab us cinnamon rolls. Because we’re worth it. Do you want to come with, or stay here while I grab them?”
She did that cute little thing where she pursed her lips in a little pout when she was confused. “Cinnamon rolls? It’s not Christmas yet.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Turns out, you can eat them any day you like! It’s the Christmas season, it’s fine.”
She seemed to fight a bit with the concept before she shifted gears. “Well… all right. You don’t need to buy me them, though. I can—”
“You’ve been treating me all the time. I’m in a good mood today, so let me treat you. It’s the least I can do, okay?”
“But—”
“Okay, let’s flip on it. Heads I buy you cinnamon rolls, tails you get cinnamon rolls bought for you by me.”
That did it—she laughed, eyes sparkling, as she set down the bag of coffee. “All right, Bridget, you win. But I’m coming with you. Have to make sure you don’t get distracted and wander off somewhere.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How short do you think my attention span is, ma’am?”
She held up two fingers close together. I laughed, reaching over the counter and pushing her hand open wider.
“Hey—you stop that. Honestly! After I offer to buy you treats!”
The morning was crisp and cozy, cold air as the sun was just rising, and our breath fogged up as our boots crunched over thin snow on the ground of the parking lot, heading for my car while Victoria talked about the freelancing gig she’d landed and about whether she’d be able to spin it into anything more significant. We were so engrossed in conversation that I didn’t even realize the problem, and we got cozied up in my car, still shivering against the cold, when I started it up and blasted the heat, and my audiobook started playing where I’d left it off, a sultry woman’s voice reading.
“… took her in, sitting on the chaise below me with her legs—”
I slammed the button to turn it off, changing it furiously to the radio, and I’d never been so relieved to hear Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in my life. “Sorry,” I blurted, too fast and high-pitched, and I tried to laugh to cover it up. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. That’s pre-release. For a friend. I’ve been tasked with listening to it and making sure there’s no errors.” The book came out two weeks ago and I had never once spoken to the author. I needed to stop talking. “What kind of music do you like?”
She settled into her seat, buckling her seatbelt. “I don’t mind listening to the book, if you want to. It’s been a minute since I was into audiobooks… it’s kind of nice.”
Well, that was all well and good, but that was the scene where the main character met her employee at the sex club and ate her out in public. Victoria probably preferred, like, a cozy mystery or something. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” I said, which was strictly very very true. “Let’s just listen to some music.”
She gave me a sly smile. “Your beloved Christmas music, then?”
I couldn’t believe I had to pretend I was this into Christmas. All because I didn’t know how else to explain away Christmas porn set dressings. “Well, tis the season,” I said, settling in, and we drove off to the serenade of Mariah Carey’s damn voice.
But aside from the near-death experience in the car, it was fun—we had my one and only Christmas tradition, which was hitting up the mall for the Cinnabon stand, and meandering through shops while we were there, mostly just taking in the decorations. Victoria matched my pace while I gushed about cute outfits or home goods, and we strolled through the bookshop too, where she seemed more drawn to the nonfiction side, unsurprisingly. We split up for a bit, and I found her flipping through a book on art history, and I sidled up next to her.
“A little Mark Rothko, huh?”
She flicked a smile my way. “A fan of the arts, then.”
“I just know the basics. I’m not surprised you are. It suits you.”
“Oh, because I’m so erudite and refined, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. Thank god I was finally able to talk to her normally again. Coming my brains out last night had been a good idea after all.
“Rothko, I think, either speaks to you or not,” she said, showing me the book. I nodded.
“Those are… colors, yep. That’s a finished painting?”
