Show and Tell Page 6

  “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.”

  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.

  “I noticed. But I also notice you aren’t making any noises like you’re pinching your nipple.” He gave a little 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.

  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.

  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 g
ood 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.

  “They aren’t preliminary numbers. They’re close to final.” They had to go through audit, and these days all bets were off on what could change, but in Scott’s mind, they were solid.

  Rudd’s lips twitched, and he drew in a deep breath of air. “You realize our jobs are on the line with numbers like that.”

  Rudd’s very well could be. His decision making in the two years since he’d become CEO had, in a word, sucked.

  Leaning both fists on the desk, Rudd homed in, his chin jutting. “You’ve got to find something, Scott. In my opinion, we’re way over-reserved. ”

  “The reserves analysis proved out.” There wasn’t much room for pickup there considering last year’s disastrous product release. “We haven’t paid the piper on the Millennium 4 yet.”

  “The M4 is done.” Rudd knocked the desk. “Get rid of the reserve. Do whatever you have to, I want some improvement.”

  Scott rose. He didn’t use his height to intimidate, but he’d make damn sure Rudd understood he wasn’t compromising his own ethics to shore up a shitty bottom line. At six four, he towered over his boss’s five ten with a very good view of the top of the egg. “There isn’t anything that’s going to get this year out of the hole.”

  Rudd narrowed his eyes. “I suggest you find a way.”

  “Or what?” Scott murmured. The man was an ass.

  “Or heads will roll.”

  And the first one would be the egghead.

  “OH my God.” Trinity must have whispered that aloud at least four times since she hung up.

  Her nipples were tender, sensitive nubs. They ached so good. She could see why men paid beaucoup bucks for phone sex.

  Over the years, she’d had five lovers, including Harper, yet none of them had ever made her feel like this. Scott wasn’t even in the room, yet he’d left her boneless, satisfied, languorous, and sleepy, all rolled into one delicious package. He’d told her to come on the count of ten, and she’d actually held off until he gave her the word. If he’d told her to stop in the middle and began his count all over again, she still would have waited until he’d granted her permission.

  Why had it gotten her so excited?

  Because . . . well, heck, it was fun. Sex had never been just plain old fun, especially with someone who actually seemed to care about her orgasm. And he wasn’t even getting any since he was sitting in his office. He hadn’t interjected his own fantasies, he’d simply directed hers. It had all been about her. On second thought, it seemed a bit selfish, but she could swear he’d enjoyed it as much as she had, so where was the harm in that? It had been good for both of them.

  Trinity climbed the stairs. It was after nine, and she hadn’t even dressed yet. Not that she had much to do today. She’d done most of her running around yesterday. She could even call Scott again, right now, or later. If she wanted to. She was in total control of the next move.

  In the guest room, which was now her room, she tapped a key on her computer and the screen came to life. Logging on, she brought up her Internet e-mail. To avoid getting a bunch of spam to her real address, she always kept an anonymous e-mail account for shopping online.

  Typing in Scott’s address—okay, yes, she’d memorized it off his card—she gave him a one-line message. “Thank you.”

  Thank you for the orgasm and thank you for setting her free.

  When she’d finished drying off after her shower, she checked. Nothing. Mild disappointment circled in her belly.

  She moisturized and lotioned, put on her makeup, and blow-dried her hair, then checked. Still nothing. Okay, the disappointment was a tad more than mild—it had moved from her belly to her chest.

  She chose the peach Evan-Picone and color-matched Manolo Blahniks.

  Her screen bleeped. Her heart gave a little kick.

  “That, my dear, was incredibly hot.” The address was different, a personal account instead of work, but it was Scott. And his words made her pulse do a little happy dance.

  She couldn’t resist typing back. “And you have an incredibly hot voice.” She chewed her lip a second. “Okay, I promise not to call you every day begging to hear it again.”

  He came back in less than a minute. “You can call me any time you want.”

  Ooh. She typed quickly. “I might do that.” Then she signed out with no good-bye. The key to power was to leave when you were ready. Besides, she had this overwhelming need to continuing flirting with him all day long.

  Of course, when she got back from a quick errand, she was back in e-mail before she’d even removed her Manolos.

  And there he was. Her heart beat faster as she read.

  “I went to the gym for a good long workout, forty-five minutes of StairMaster to sweat you out. Needless to say, all I did was play back the whole conversation in my head. Damn. You are naughty and fun.”

  It was oh-so-thrilling that he was some bigwig executive eating out of her hand. For anyone watching him, he had to look all circumspect when he was talking on the phone with her, yet she brought out the bad boy in him. Trinity loved the power trip. “I hope you weren’t able to sweat me out that easily.”

  He must have had his e-mail open right there on his screen at work because he came back in what seemed like seconds. “You definitely are a rare breed. Open, sexual, and very tempting. I haven’t gotten nearly enough of you yet.”

  His words turned her mushy inside. To him, she was special. Open and sexual. Trinity had never thought herself capable of that before. He’d opened up a whole new world to her. She would call again. Once or twice. Oh, hell, face it, the e-mails and phone calls were fun and flirty, and concentrating on that drowned out the echo of Harper’s harpy in the master bathroom shower.

  “I need to call you something. Give me a name, any name.”

  Scott lounged in his leather desk chair, the phone glued to his ear, his office door closed for the second time on Wednesday. They’d had their first call yesterday, and she’d stepped up to twice today. The woman was insatiable. He loved it. He’d never thought he’d be into phone sex, but he couldn’t get enough of her. Hell, what he really wanted was to see her again, but he was biding his time until he had her as hooked as he was.

  “I’m whoever you want me to be.” She hummed lightly through the connection. He felt it in his cock. “Maybe a girlfriend’s name, one that got away, a girl you still think about?”

  “No one like that.” He’d dated in high school and college, but the relationships had always ended fairly amicably. Then he met Katy in his senior year. Katy was the only one that got away, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to call his mystery lady by his ex-wife’s name. “I think I’ll call you Jezebel.”