Her sigh was quiet, but I heard it. A tiny capitulation that gave me the biggest thrill I’d felt since the first time she walked into my office. “I wore heels,” she admitted, “but I’ve taken them off. They were black satin with a peep toe. They kill my feet, and I wish I hadn’t worn them.”
She’d wanted to fuck him. She’d planned on it—and then she’d walked out when I called. My heart thumped. “And your hair?”
“What’s going on here? What are we doing right now?”
“I’m trying to paint a picture in my mind.”
“From the guy who keeps trying to get me to work for him,” she muttered.
“I’ve given up on that,” I answered. “I’ll settle for this.”
Her breath grew heavier, and I heard the rustle of cloth. I closed my eyes and took another sip. She was sitting or lying down. If I were there, I’d press her knees apart and run my hands up the insides of her thighs. I’d drink down her shivers and her sighs like they were my sustenance.
“My hair is down. I curled it.”
Another lance of jealousy speared through me. I’d never seen her hair down. I hummed, imagining how it would feel to wrap those strands around my fist and tug. How it would feel to hear her sigh and gasp.
“My dress is black. It’s simple, hits below my knee, and has a slit that shows off my thigh.” Her voice was a quiet murmur, but I heard the hitch in her voice on the last word. She inhaled, short and sharp, then spoke again in a steadier voice. “I wore it with a leather jacket I thrifted years ago.”
“And under the dress?” I asked, voice so low I was surprised she could hear it.
Her breathing sped up, and I heard her swallow. “This is so wrong,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
My heart rattled, and I set my glass of brandy aside to press the heel of my palm against my throbbing cock. “I know.” My voice was a hard rasp.
“I can never work with you again if we do. I’ll have to strike you off my client list.”
If someone had told me even an hour ago that I’d sacrifice the best travel coordinator I’d ever worked with for a few minutes of phone sex, I would have laughed. Of course I would never do that. Nothing got in the way of my business, because it was the only area of my life where I truly thrived.
But Deena sounded breathless and needy, and she was the exact drug I needed to get my fix. “When’s the last time you touched yourself, Deena?” My voice changed and deepened, and when her breath gusted, I knew she liked it.
And I couldn’t lie; I liked it too. I liked the thought of this willful, obstinate woman giving in to me. I liked the thought of her alone, in her apartment, clenching her legs together because my voice drove her mad. Touching herself when I commanded her to. Coming when I gave her permission.
“Tell me.”
“Today,” she whispered. “Before my date.”
“Were you planning on sleeping with him?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“The truth, sweetheart.”
“Yes. Until I met him. Then I changed my mind.”
“Are you touching yourself now?”
She was quiet for a beat, then whispered, “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me how you’re touching yourself.”
More rapid breaths. I pressed my palm against my cock as my blood thundered in my ears. Then, quietly, Deena said, “Over my panties. I’m lying on my back in my bed.”
“You wish I was there with you?”
