by Maggie Wells
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Holy crap!
People pay you to write this stuff?????? You have an extremely dirty mind. I think I like you even more now. Off to take a cold shower. Hope you had a good dinner. Talk to you tomorrow.
He sent the message and almost instantly wished he could get it back. Once, just once, he wanted to be cool enough to not sound like a babbling idiot when it came to Sara. He knew it wouldn’t matter. She already knew him so well—far too well for him to pull off being cool.
Chapter Five
Real. Comfortable. Easy.
Some women might take offense at his assessment, but most women didn’t know Steve the way she did. She knew that for him to compare her to the kind of woman his mother had been was the highest compliment he could ever give.
Sara paced her living room, fighting back the temptation to reach for the phone. She didn’t want to be too eager. The last thing she needed would be to come across as a different type of easy.
One of the drawbacks involved in seducing your best friend is that you know too much.
She wasn’t a fool. She’d been aware of Steve’s attraction to her from the start. Not that he ever said, did, or even implied anything inappropriate. On the few occasions Adam and Steve crossed paths, both men seemed to go out of their way to be genial with one another. Sara wondered if the two men had somehow recognized the need each of them fulfilled in her life.
Thinking back now, she could only conclude Adam must have been relieved to have had the role of friend, supporter, and general sounding board scratched from his daily agenda. He was far too busy and important to listen to his wife ramble about plots and motivation. The only climax he had been interested in happened between the sheets—on Tuesdays and Saturdays—if he wasn’t too tired.
What her ex didn’t realize was that her growing friendship with Steve threw the deficiencies in her marriage into sharp relief. Nothing had gone horribly wrong. Everything was as it had always been. Everything Adam did was smooth, well planned out, and placid. To her way of thinking, the word placid was way too close to the word flaccid for comfort.
Once, she had thought it was cute that Adam pinned his socks together with a safety pin before they went through the wash. Toward the end, she’d wanted to stab him with those pins until he screamed. She began picking fights, partially to see if he would fight back. He didn’t, and he never screamed.
But, Steve never disparaged her husband or her lack-luster marriage in any way. He was too much of a gentleman to resort to those tactics. Steve was always a gentleman. That was a big part of his appeal. She wanted to find out exactly how far she’d have to go to break his gentlemanly resolve. She had a feeling it wasn’t far. For too long, Sara had sensed his desire for her simmering just below the surface. She wanted to turn it up to a boil. She needed to know once and for all if they could get something cooking, but she feared turning the heat up too fast. The last thing she wanted to do was incinerate their friendship.
She loved that they fought over everything from infomercials to world politics. She loved the passion that fired Steve’s enthusiasms. Now, she had first-hand knowledge of the heat the spark between them generated, and she couldn’t wait throw herself on the pyre once more. The only problem was, she didn’t know what to do next.
For the fiftieth time that day, she wandered into her office and jiggled the mouse on her computer. The monitor woke, and the smile that split her face made her cheekbones ache as she scanned her inbox. She dropped into her chair with a laugh, chuckling as she reread his message about her books. A warm, tingly blush prickled her neck and cheeks, setting her ears aflame. Sara snatched her cell phone from the desk and began to dial. Then her brain kicked in.
She dropped the phone like a hot potato and swiveled away from the desk. The chair squeaked, underscoring her agitation. She couldn’t call. Not now. She knew better than to call.
Steve hated to be pursued. The good, old-fashioned, southern man in him recoiled when a woman came on too strong. No, sci-fi quirks and easy-going smiles aside, he liked to be the one calling the shots. He didn’t have the longest attention span when it came to women. The speed at which Steve’s love affairs stopped could give a woman whiplash. By the time a candidate stuck around long enough for Sara to actually refer to her by name, the blip the woman created had dropped off Steve’s radar. Sara had borne witness to the demise of too many of his relationships to fool herself into thinking she would be different from the rest. He wasn’t a man a woman could chase after with a big net and pin down like a butterfly.
The urge to come on strong was almost overwhelming. Sara wanted to reach out and grab everything, grab him, but she knew she couldn’t. “That would be unseemly,” she murmured in her best Scarlett O’Hara drawl.
She had to be careful. She had to play it cool. With what little resolve she could scrounge, Sara turned back to the desk. She closed her email account and opened the window containing her still-blank document. Fingers poised over the keys, she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. In her mind, she could have her way with him. Reality may be rife with complication, but in her imagination Steve was all hers—mind, body, and soul. For now, that would have to do.
****
Sara cracked within forty-eight hours. For two full days, she endured an inbox filled with forwarded jokes, pic-spams of bunny rabbits cuddling with lions, and a rash of cryptic one-liners that could only be funny to a computer jock.
Her phone didn’t ring, but that wasn’t unusual. Steve rarely called. He was more of an email or text guy. But he hadn’t sent a text and the meaningless emails were making her bonkers. Day two edged toward day three, and her words had dried up, her pillowcases had lost his scent, and her last nerve disintegrated into dust.
Unable to take it one second longer, she glared at the flashing cursor on her screen and dialed. Steve croaked a hello, and she blurted the obvious question. “Did I wake you?”
“Hmm? No,” he answered too quickly.
“Liar.” She laughed. “It’s barely nine PM.”
He cleared the gravel from his throat. “Long week. Big projects. Just got home a little while ago.”
“My poor little wage slave,” she cooed.
“Hey, I’m the boss. Well, one of the bosses.”
“Mmm, the boss.”
“Yeah,” he said, pitching his voice a little lower. “I seem to remember offering you a position when you thought your last book was gonna bomb.”
Sara laughed again, basking in the honeyed warmth of his tone. “I don’t wanna be your maid. How about your saucy secretary? I’d be much better at taking dictation.”
“I bet you would be, Sugar,” he drawled.
The last vestiges of her cool melted. “Come over.” The moment the words left her mouth, Sara wanted to kick herself. She’d pushed too hard, too fast. His hesitation was proof.
“Now? Tonight?”
She winced, wishing with all her might she could take back the invitation. “Or whenever.” Her attempt at a breezy laugh sounded like a gust of hot air, even to her.
“Tomorrow?”
Disappointment tasted like ash on her tongue. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”
An awkward pause hung in the air. Apparently, she didn’t sell casual very well, because he asked, “Did you want me to come over tonight?”
Sara gave up the fight. “Tonight’s fine too,” she blurted too quickly. Silence stretched taut as a wire, humming over the airwaves at a low simmer.
“Tomorrow,” he said at last. “I like the anticipation.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to stick her foot in her mouth, Sara snorted. “Eight years of anticipation wasn’t enough?”
He barked a laugh. “You think you can have what you want whenever you want?”
“Yes.”
That honey-soaked voice dropped almost a full octave. “What do you want, Sara?”
“I want to take dic
tation from you, Mr. Larson,” she murmured, retreating to the safety of the old, playful flirtation gambit.
A hiss of static crackled in her ear. “Really? On what topic?” he asked in a neutral voice.
Sara didn’t hesitate. “What turns you on?”
“You.”
She laughed. “Good answer. What else?”
“The thought of seeing more of you.”
“Just the thought?”
“The reality is pretty damn good,” he admitted.
“What are you wearing?”
Steve chuckled. “Wow, this is going to be one of those phone calls?”
“Maybe,” she answered coyly.
Steve paused long enough for her to picture him checking his attire. “Uh, pants and a shirt.”
“More descriptive, please. Unpack your adjectives, Steve.”
His snort subsided into a deep chuckle. “The pants from my gray suit. How’s that, Ms. Wright?”
“The suit with the pinstripes?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve always liked that suit on you,” Sara purred. “Your shoulders look so broad in it, but your hips are narrow. You make the perfect triangle.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.” He chuckled. “I guess that’s better than square.”
“White shirt?” she prompted.
“Yes.”
Sara wrapped the hem of the oversized t-shirt she wore around her hand, holding the excess fabric tight in her fist. “Undershirt?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I think that’s so sexy,” she whispered, leaning back in her desk chair.
“You do?”
She wet her lips and nodded, knowing damn well he couldn’t see her. “I’m going to tell you a story, Mr. Larson. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
Sara picked up on something that sounded like the clink of a belt buckle. It made her smile. She leaned back in the chair and peered at the ceiling. “A few months ago, you came over one day after work. It was one of the last hot days. When I answered the door, you were wearing that suit, but you had the jacket off and slung over your shoulder. Do you remember?”
“Not really.”
“I accidentally dumped all of my playlists,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Not exactly an accident. I knew you could get them back,” she confessed.
“You did?”
The hoarse rasp of his voice was enough to make Sara’s nipples stand at attention. She bit back a moan as they rubbed against the cotton of her makeshift nightshirt.
“I opened the door, and you were standing there in your suit pants and a white shirt. Your tie was loose, the top button undone, and your sleeves were rolled up. I remember thinking the hair on your arms was the exact color of an old copper penny next to your white shirt.” She paused for a second. “I wanted you that day.”
“You did?”
The sound of her own breath echoed in her ear. “Oh, yes.”
His voice was deep and gruff when he asked, “What did you want to do?”
“You really want to know?”
“Oh yeah, I really want to know.”
His thick drawl slowed his words. Her entire body hummed in response. Sara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I wanted to suck you. Right there, in the doorway.”
A surge of triumph ran hot in her veins when a whoosh of breath roared through the phone. Seconds ticked away. Then, he whispered at last, “Tell me.”
“Come over. I’ll show you,” she said, her voice soft and coaxing. Sara’s pulse throbbed as she awaited his answer.
“Tell me.”
The steely determination in his voice gave her pause. The desire to withhold was overwhelming, but the hot rush of moisture his refusal to cave sent gushing to her pussy made her squirm in her seat.
“You were standing there in the doorway, and you looked so good. I’d missed seeing you. I wanted to kiss you hello. I wanted to drop down on my knees and unzip you with my teeth.”
“Yeah?”
The hiss of his breath was gratifying. “Oh yeah,” she answered, mimicking his earlier sentiment.
The unmistakable rasp of a zipper shot chills down her spine. Her panties grew damp, clinging to the lips of her sex. She slipped one hand under the hem her t-shirt and teased the elastic, just as he did too many days before.
“Go on,” he prompted.
Sara’s voice grew bolder and steadier. “I’d push your pants down, baring that fabulous ass for all the neighbors to see.”
“You think my ass is fabulous?”
The smug tone of his voice made her want to laugh. Instead, she purred, “Your ass is incredible. Two perfect handfuls, round, and firm, and high... I want to take a bite out of it.”
Steve groaned, and her fingers brushed over the damp crotch of her panties. She slipped one under the elastic, grazing her swollen sex. “I’d wrap my lips around your cock, drawing you deeper and deeper into my mouth.”
“My hands in your hair,” he murmured.
Sara gathered a bit of the moisture pooling between her legs and circled her clit with one slick fingertip. A tiny moan escaped from the knot of need in her throat. A jolt of electricity nearly short-circuited her brain. Her words came soft and breathy.
“I’d take you as far as I can, holding you against my tongue, your fingers pressing into my scalp. You’re holding me there as you thrust your big cock into my mouth.”
“Jesus, Sara.”
Her finger slid the length of her wet folds. She teased her aching clit mercilessly. “Sliding in and out, fucking my mouth,” she murmured. His strangled groan made her sigh with pleasure. She thrust one finger into her hot channel. “I’d be so wet. My pussy would be so jealous of my mouth.”
Moments ticked by with only the sound of their gasping breaths to mark them. “I’m in your mouth. Your fingers,” he growled.
Her voice was coy when she asked, “What about them?”
He muttered an oath. “Put them inside,” he ground out at last.
“They’re already there.”
“I want you.”
“How? Tell me how you want me.”
“I want you in every way. Fast and hard. Slow and sweet. I wanna lick you and suck you...”
He jostled the phone, and she envisioned him stroking his cock, fisting himself with his long, strong fingers. She pushed her fingers into her pussy, fucking herself deeper. “Yes, yes.”
“And fuck you until you scream my name.”
“Yes!” she cried out.
“Are you coming, Sara? Come, I want you to come.”
She whimpered when her body surged, straining for completion.
“I want to bury my face in you and lick you until you come, push my tongue into you and make you come again. Again and again… I want my dick buried deep inside you.”
Sara pierced his monologue with a ragged cry.
“Jesus, you feel so good wrapped around me. Nothing should ever feel that good...”
He trailed off, grunting and gasping in her ear. Her name whispered from his lips. He groaned long and loud as he came. Sara met him there, lost in the draw of her pussy around her fingers. Her chest heaved as if she’d just run a marathon; her tight nipples chafed against her shirt. Her keening moan punctuated his short, sharp breaths.
Neither of them said a word. Sara didn’t think she could wrestle one past her dry throat even if she could conjure up one.
“Sara?” he called to her, his voice deep and whiskey rough.
“I’m here.” Her slowing heart skipped a beat. Panic clawed at her throat. She closed her eyes, biting back the urge to beg him to come to her. Sara pulled her hand from her panties and smoothed her rumpled skirt over her knees.
“Good,” he said at last.
She blew out a gusty breath. “Lord that was hot.”
Steve hesitated. “I was taught not to talk to a lady like that.”
“Maybe I’m not a lady.”
&nb
sp; “You are,” he insisted. “At least a Dame.”
Glad to be back on more familiar turf, she played along. “Like Judy Dench?”
“But hotter. Classy like Judy, but sexy like Sharon.”
“I might be getting a little worried about your Sharon Stone obsession.”
“Don’t worry about it. One night I’ll run across Catwoman on cable, and Halle will distract me.”
“Slut.”
“Me?”
“You,” she grumbled.
“I’m just a red-blooded all-American male, sugar.” He jostled the phone a bit. “You got a cat suit?”
“No.”
“See? You are a lady.” His voice dropped another full octave. “I like that about you.”
“Uh-huh?”
“You’re sexy and sweet, Sara, and you don’t have to work at it.”
She bit her lip, letting his words seep into her skin. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he whispered.
Silence hummed in her ear. He cleared his throat. Sara smiled as she envisioned him roughing his hair with his hand—a nervous habit she found unbearably attractive.
“Have you ever done, uh, this before? The phone thing?” he asked.
“No. Have you?” Steve held his tongue for a moment too long, and Sara caught it. “You have?”
“I haven’t, no. I mean, I didn’t, um, say things.”
“Someone said them to you?” When he hesitated, she blurted, “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“Sara,” he cajoled.
She heard the desperation in his tone, but her humiliation carried the day. Determined to put this debacle of a phone call behind her, she cleared her throat and asked, “You’ll come over tomorrow?”
“Yes. It wasn’t like this...”
No. She didn’t want excuses. She couldn’t take his justifications. “As soon as you’re done at work?” It’s not like I thought he was a virgin. I just thought…
“Yes. It wasn’t like me and you—”
Maybe I was different from the others… “I’ll make lasagna.”
