Show and Tell (8 page)
Now, she had to take a bite out of life. For today, that meant a phone call to her favorite CFO, Scott Sinclair. That definitely had an
ooh
factor involved. Slipping in her Bluetooth—she wanted to be totally hands free for whatever naughty thing she felt compelled to do— she couldn’t wait to hear his voice, for real instead of a recording.
ooh
factor involved. Slipping in her Bluetooth—she wanted to be totally hands free for whatever naughty thing she felt compelled to do— she couldn’t wait to hear his voice, for real instead of a recording.
Life without Harper was going to be grand.
“ARE you married?” It wasn’t a statement on her morals, but a need to know. Scott wouldn’t share, even if she was just a voice on his office phone.
She waited a beat too long to answer, and his gut tensed.
“No.”
His tension didn’t ease. “Are you sure?”
She puffed out a little breath. “I’m divorced.” Then she sighed. “Recently,” and before he could ask, she followed up with, “Satisfied now that I’ve bared my soul?”
He liked that she was snarky. He didn’t like that he was probably a rebound thing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He’d been hooked from the moment he heard her voice through the wall.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m divorced, not so recently. Tell me your name.”
She laughed. It was musical. It made him hard.
“I’m not telling you my name. That’s my secret.”
As was her number. The company phone system went through a PBX, and there was no direct line, only his extension, and no caller ID. She was safe. That was his intention. And she enjoyed playing it.
“What should I call you, then?”
“Well, Scott”—she said his name with a definite emphasis on the
T
—“maybe you should call me . . . Vixen.”
T
—“maybe you should call me . . . Vixen.”
His turn to laugh, and it came from deep in his belly. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t suit you at all.”
Passing the office door, his controller glanced inside, brow raised as if she’d heard something different in his voice.
“Hold on a minute.”
He rose to shut the door, but left the blinds open. His office was fronted by half windows that looked over the bullpen of accounting activity. Closed blinds meant someone was getting his or her ass chewed. Closed door, however, merely indicated he was discussing proprietary business.
“I almost hung up,” she said when he once again had the receiver to his ear.
“No, you didn’t. You called for phone sex, and you haven’t had an orgasm.” He expected her to balk or get snarky again.
“I’ve never had phone sex.”
“Never?” He’d tried it a time or two after the divorce.
She hummed a second. “What’s it like? Tell me.”
The invitation in those two words was a stroke along his cock. He had a meeting at nine with his CEO and VPs to discuss the investor meeting. Fifteen minutes. Could he get her to come? Could he at least get her to touch herself for him?
“What are you wearing?”
She snorted. “That sounds like what some skanky guy would say when he calls one of those 900 numbers.”
Scott laughed. She wasn’t going to make it easy. “Are you going to do what I tell you or argue?” He allowed his authoritative side to sift through.
“Yes, sir,” she said with the sweetest sassy edge. “I’m wearing silk pajamas.”
“Unbutton the top.”
“There, it’s unbuttoned.”
“Now pinch your nipples.”
She huffed. “But that will hurt.”
“It’ll feel good.” He remembered the shape and texture, the dusky rose tint, small but pert, eminently suckable. He also remembered that she’d pinched her nipples for him that night. Now she was just being feisty. “Do it.”
She gasped, and his cock jerked inside his pants. His controller passed his now closed door again, same raised eyebrow. She was a matronly type, perhaps a couple of years older than he was, with knee-length skirts and a sharp accounting mind.
“Told you it would be good,” he said to his mystery lady, dropping his voice. “Say, ‘Yes, Scott, it felt so damn good.’ ”
“Yes, Scott,” she whispered, “it felt really good.”
“Wrong,” he snapped. “Say it the way I told you.”
“Yes, Scott,” she murmured, “it felt so damn good.”
In fact, Trinity was close to panting for the man. Phone sex had always seemed so . . . undignified, yet Scott had the best voice for it.
“Are you wet?”
“Yes, Scott.” She was so darn wet. Her skin was flushed. She lay sprawled across the sofa, her pajama top unbuttoned and askew, her hair in her face. She puffed it away with a breath.
“Touch yourself and tell me how wet you are.”
“Yes, Scott.” The flesh between her legs seemed to vibrate. Trinity slipped her hand beneath the elastic of her pajama shorts. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was spreading her legs for him the way she had in the hotel room. Her center was creamy, warm, and her whole body shivered as she rolled her finger over her clitoris. “Oh Scott, I am
so
wet for you.”
so
wet for you.”
He made a noise, a soft groan. “Do you like that I can’t touch myself, that I can only listen while I sit in my office and everyone can see me talking through the windows?”
“Yes, I like it.” She loved it. Even as he told her what to do, she knew she held him in thrall, and it was so powerful. She could get used to it. She could come to hunger for it.
“Pinch your nipple again,” he demanded.
Gliding the tip of one wet finger around her nipple, she pinched. Oh. Oh, that was perfect. A moan slipped out.
“How does it feel?” His voice was huskier, deeper.
“Electrifying.” She sighed. Her body buzzed. Her clitoris ached for more.
“Do it harder this time.”
She let out a long, low sound of pleasure as tiny jolts zipped from her nipple to her extremities. God, sex could be good. She’d never imagined how good. And he wasn’t even with her in the room. It was amazing. “That felt sooo hot.”
“Pinch it again, but hold it.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, playing with first one nipple, then the other. “Is this like dominance and submission?”
“It’s about directing your play. It makes me a part of it rather than simply a voyeur.” He lowered his voice. “It makes me fucking hot.”
She’d never been into dirty talk, but the way he said that word was almost as good as the feel of her hand between her legs. “I liked it when you were a voyeur.”
Like
was far too mild.
Like
was far too mild.
“I noticed. But I also notice you aren’t making any noises like you’re pinching your nipple.” He gave a little
tsk
.
tsk
.
“Sorry.” Trinity dipped her head to watch herself, and this time she took both nipples. “Now I’m doing it.”
“Hold it, hold it, hold it.”
His voice mesmerized her. Her nipples shrieked, yet it wasn’t pain but the height of pleasure. She seemed to spin off into another place. On their own, her hips bucked and writhed on the sofa. She closed her eyes, moaning, riding the wave, imagining his hands on her, his lips, tongue driving her crazy.
“Now let go.”
Air rushed over her swollen nipples. “Oh, oh, that was so good.” She sucked in a breath. A second more, and she would have come just from the ache and his voice pushing her. She’d never felt anything like it in her life. And she wanted more. “Scott, I wanna touch myself. Please.” She’d die if he didn’t let her.
“Rub your clit for me.”
She shoved her hand into her shorts. “Oh God.”
She moaned, groaned, tossed her head on a sofa cushion. She didn’t sound like Miss Perfect Trinity Green. She sounded like the perfect naughty lover. Scott made sounds, spoke words, urged her on, told her how good, how perfect, how hot, how wonderful she was. And Trinity soared beyond any peak she’d ever achieved.
“Do you want to come?” He toyed with her. It made her crazy, just as she’d been the other night while he watched her.
“Yes, please.” She’d beg, plead, anything he wanted.
“You can come on the count of ten. But don’t come until then, or I won’t let you come at all. Do it exactly when I say.”
Making her wait for his command brought him right into the room with her. With her eyes closed, she could almost feel him kneeling on the floor beside the sofa, sweet warm breath on her, the light touch of a finger along her arm. He was
there
.
there
.
He counted. She moaned. He hit number five. She thought she’d die. Crazy little noises welled up in her throat. Colors swirled behind her closed lids.
“Nine . . . ten . . . now. Come now or I won’t let you at all.”
She cried out, long, wild, everything inside bursting free, careening off. She cried out for him, for herself, the sound of her voice in total abandon almost as good as the deepness of his in her ear. Nothing. Ever. Never. Not like this.
Then she hiccupped, laughed with the slightest edge of hysteria, and murmured, “Oh my God.”
And the Bluetooth went dead.
HIS cock surged in his pants, and if he’d been alone, he’d have climaxed in two seconds flat with one pass of his hand.
Sitting in his office, the door closed, talking a gorgeous woman through an orgasm, it was the hottest damn thing he’d ever done. Telling her what to do was so immediate, making him a part of her action. His cock was an aching rock in his pants, but he hadn’t felt this damn exhilarated, this
alive
in so many years, it was frightening to count them.
alive
in so many years, it was frightening to count them.
He knew without a doubt that she’d call back. He had something she wanted. Perhaps because she was “recently” divorced, or because she’d never stepped out of her safe, secure vanilla world. He had the sense to realize she’d never done anything remotely like opening her door to a stranger who wanted to watch her. Yet now that she’d had a taste of the wild side, she’d have to have more. So did he. He wanted to unearth every naughty desire, taste it, touch it, explore it, feel alive with it. This would be so damn good for both of them.
He was still hard as a metal spike, even a bit dazed. Outside his office window, Ron Rudd raised his arm and tapped his wrist-watch, reminding him of the meeting. A second later his CEO opened the office door without knocking.
Well, hell, there went a pleasant buzz. Scott straightened, slid closer to the desk and rested on his elbows. “I’ll be there in a couple, Ron.” As soon as he got control of his cock.
“I was taking a look at the prelims.” Rudd stroked the top of his bald head.
The man never should have shaved off the rest of his hair. A year younger than Scott, he’d had a large bald spot. Now, his head resembled an egg. “Egghead” was not a reputable nickname for the CEO of Millennium Robotics, yet Scott had heard it bandied about in the halls.
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