“Fuck women’s fiction,” Olly grunts. “And I didn’t ask if you needed to—I asked if you wanted to. Tell me what you want, Lacey.”
Olly’s voice is a low purr, seductive and tempting. I close my eyes and imagine his hot breath on my lips, trailing down my neck to the tips of my breasts.
What do I want?
The strength to hang up…
Olly lets out a frustrated groan before shuffling sounds replace his breath. I hold the phone in front of my face. Is the connection bad?
Color blooms on the screen as the audio call switches to a dimly lit video. Even in the muted light, the call is full definition compared to the grainy photos.
I take in the scene as Olly zooms in, past the arch of a back to the solid length of Olly’s cock buried between two ass cheeks.
Heat surges through my middle, twisting and tugging until a rush of sticky arousal seeps from my core, soaking my panties.
“Can you see?” The screen shakes as Olly pulls out, then rocks his hips forward, his entire length disappearing again.
“Yes.”
“He’s gripping me so tight,” Olly’s breath is a low rumble. “And he has that raw, masculine scent you always write about—sweaty and dirty.”
My nose twitches, and my mouth waters, seeking a hint of cherry cola on the back of my tongue, wanting to drown in the euphoria tasting Olly would evoke.
I shouldn’t watch this.
But I can’t stop.
The camera pans around Olly’s lover’s hip. It dips until a hand fills the screen, gripped tight around a cock, and tugging furiously. Wet fap-fap sounds replace the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
“Still want to write women’s fiction?”
“No,” I whisper.
How can I when it means giving up this?
I will make it work. I have to. I just need to separate my crush from my work.
Be professional.
I grab my computer.
Olly moves the camera back up and zooms until I can clearly see the ridge of his cock head beneath the thin latex cover. Is he really that big, or is it the camera angle?
Heat swells in my breasts until they are heavy and full, my entire body weighed down by intense arousal.
My fingers hover over the keys, but even as plotlines form in my head, I can’t focus; the real-life scene playing out is too enticing to look away from.
Olly lines up the head of his cock again and pushes inside. “Are you inspired now?”
I clamp my thighs tight together, desperate for some friction. “Yes.”
But it isn’t writing Olly inspires. Lust clouds my vision, making me desperate.
Making sure my side of the call is voice, not video, I let the laptop slide onto the bedspread, forgotten, and tuck the phone upright against a pillow.
I’ll start being professional tomorrow.
Settling onto the bed, I run the pads of my fingers over one breast, tracing the swell of skin until I reach my nipple and pinch. Sparks zip like lightning up my spine and ignite in my belly, the sharp sting fueling my growing arousal.
