by Chloe Cole
His dick was like stone, and he groaned, eternally grateful that she’d left the room. She’d gone into the office to check her e-mail while he set up the second set of tests, and he’d needed the break like nobody’s business. Hopefully this next round would be a little less intense for him because if not, he was in deep trouble.
He finished queuing up the audio, then sat down to look at the results of the food experiments. The most compelling thing about the readings was that, while some of the samples had elicited a visceral, sexual reaction, the responses had spiked highest during the time between bites.
Interesting.
“All set?” Cricket asked as she breezed back into the lab.
He shelved his jumbled thoughts and motioned to the chair in front of him. “Yup. Have a seat.” He handed her a pair of headphones. “Aural’s next, so you can put these over your ears.”
She giggled, and he raised a questioning brow.
“Sorry, but if someone walked by and heard that, they’d definitely get the wrong idea.”
He laughed in return, trying desperately to quash a mental image of giving her oral while her thighs were wrapped around his ears. Turning his back to her, he conjured Abba the Hutt again as he needlessly fiddled with the media player on his laptop.
“I’m going to be plugged into the same audio so I can monitor what you’re hearing when the readings change. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have you blindfolded for this one as well. I think it helps to shut everything else out and it’ll make you feel less self-conscious.”
“No problem. I’m comforted by the knowledge that the shoe will be on the other foot soon.” She slid the blindfold on and leveled him with a lethal smile. “Do your worst, Professor.”
If she only knew.
He put on the spare pair of headphones and hit play, pencil poised over his notepad.
The first clip was music. She’d given him a list of her favorite songs, and he’d chosen one to get a baseline reading.
The thumping bass of the Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” poured from the speakers, and Tuck bit back a chuckle. Cricket’s taste in music was as fun and unpredictable as she was. From Sade to the Dave Matthews, from Kanye to Florence + the Machine, she liked it all. And damn if that didn’t charm him, just like everything else about her.
He was getting in over his head.
He watched as she shimmied to the beat, snapping her fingers, unabashedly singing along. Her full breasts jiggled beneath her tank top, and he swallowed a groan.
Oh yeah, he was definitely in over his head. Best thing to do was get her out of his system as fast as possible, then walk away. No promises. Just get in, do the job, and get out. Sort of like the old days. That gave him an uncomfortable twinge of guilt, and he refocused on the task at hand.
The music faded as he jotted down Cricket’s vitals before the next clip came on. It was the sound of a bed creaking. He didn’t take his eyes off her face as the creaking came faster and faster and low moans echoed over the headphones.
A woman’s voice first, “Mmm…yeah.”
A low gasp, then a man’s growl.
Heavy breathing, erotic sighs. Bedsprings humming as the soft noises built up speed. Cricket’s chest rose and fell with the crescendo, the glove illuminating as she leaned forward in the chair expectantly.
He wanted nothing more than to kneel down, spread her legs, and lay his mouth on her so he could ease her need. Would she wrap her hands in his hair as she pressed his face deeper?
The sound faded, but the silence was broken by the pounding of his heart. He only hoped she couldn’t hear it, too.
Cricket sat back and ran a trembling hand through her hair.
Music again, but this time R&B, slow and sexy. A male voice, smooth as the finest scotch, curled around them. Cricket swayed in time as he sang of long, hot nights and slow lovemaking.
At that moment, Tuck would have traded his left nut for a voice like that if it would make her sway that way for him.
The music faded to silence and reality hit. It was decision time. He paused with his finger over the mute button and then lowered his hand.
Fuck it.
It was a calculated risk, but he was willing to roll the dice.
He had a feasible explanation well-rehearsed if she balked. After all, why spend hours on the Internet trying to find a clip when he could just record one himself?
At the same time, this was the first step out of the friendly/colleague zone into the man/woman zone. It would be almost impossible to step back from here.
As his own voice poured from the headphones, he held his breath.
“I need to touch you, babe. Will you let me touch you?”
Cricket’s body tensed as if she’d been flash-frozen on the spot. Tuck cringed. Okay, she obviously had recognized his voice. Now what would she do?
“Tell me how you like it, Cricket.”
Cricket’s nipples pebbled under his gaze, and the light on the glove glared brightly. His cock responded with a surge.
Oh, hell yeah.
But that was only the start. Dirty talk light. How she reacted to the rest remained to be seen.
“God, I want you so bad. Open your shirt for me. Yeah. Like that. Now spread those sweet thighs. I want to feel that wet pussy raining on my fingers.”
She ran her tongue over her lips and Tuck got light-headed as his blood flooded to his cock.
“Can I put my mouth on you? I need to feel your clit on my tongue…suck you, open you up until you come apart in my hands. And before the tremors stop, I’m going to plunge my cock into you. In and out, thrusting deep. Real deep. Legs shaking, hearts pounding. Mmmm… Over and over until we’re sliding against each other, covered in sweat, ready to explode. Do you want that?” His recorded voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “Do you?”
The sound died away, which only made her soft response seem that much louder.
“Yesss.”
Yesss.
…
Cricket reached a shaking hand to her headphones and pulled them off. Her cheeks burned as she yanked down the blindfold.
Words tumbled out in a rush. “Can we take a break? I need to go the ladies’ room.”
She didn’t meet his gaze or wait for his answer as she hightailed it out of the lab and down the hallway to the faculty bathroom.
She shut the door behind her and moved to the row of sinks. Using the cool porcelain for support, she turned on the water. As she bent to wash her face, she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused.
Holy crap.
Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was slipping from its confines, and her nipples were spiked beneath her shirt. She looked freshly fucked.
She filled her hands with icy water and splashed her face and neck. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, and that was good. Maybe it would give her the jolt back to Realityville that she so desperately needed.
This project was supposed to be fun and informative, not grindingly sexy and embarrassing. If anyone was supposed to be thrown out of their comfort zone, it was Tuck.
Tuck.
Her coworker, for cripe’s sake.
She dried her face with a coarse paper towel and contemplated the man down the hall. What in the world was going on with him? The man she thought she knew, at least a little, was so not the type to say, “I want to feel that wet pussy raining on my fingers.”
Her stomach clenched hard. God, that had been hot. The whole thing was hot. Her cheeks warmed again, so she shifted focus.
Okay, what was done was done. They’d completed all but one of the tests and she’d gotten turned on. Big deal. That was the point of their research, so her humiliation was unfounded.
Sex was healthy, she reminded herself. Feeling sexy was one of the greatest things about being human.
She just hadn’t expected to get quite that worked up. And she certainly hadn’t expected it would be Tuck and not the aphrodisiacs doing the working. It had been a total surpr
ise. Now that she had a handle on it, she’d be fine. She just needed a little breathing room to reassess things.
There was no question he’d known she was aroused. Even if her body hadn’t betrayed her visibly, he had the data right in front of him. There was no point in pretending otherwise. As long as he didn’t know it was him she wanted, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
She’d just go back out there, make a joke and pray he hadn’t heard her whispered admission. Or if he had, that he had the good grace not to mention it. Then she’d tell him she’d gotten a call and had to leave. They could pick up the rest of this another day.
She wasn’t chickening out, she reassured herself. She was just taking a breather from boldness. Tune in next week for our regularly scheduled programming.
Yep, a couple days and it would all be fine. Except the videotape. That wasn’t fine. She could’ve kicked herself. Her and her big ideas. But it was done and she’d just have to hope he didn’t look at it. Or at least not until this whole thing was over and they had gone back to nothing more than trading salutations in the staff lounge.
She didn’t stop to explore why that thought caused a twinge in her stomach. But as she shoved the door open and headed out to tell him she had to go, that little devil started yapping again.
Why should you be the only one off-kilter and suffering?
She paused in the hallway, staring at the laboratory door as if it were covered in scorpions. Hadn’t she based her whole career on the idea that people shouldn’t be ashamed of their sexuality? And here she was ready to scurry away just because of a pair of damp panties caused by a guy who was getting cuter by the second.
Not cool.
Shoving the door open, she took a steadying breath.
Time to give Professor Tucker Lamb a taste of his own medicine.
Chapter Four
“Ready?” Cricket called brightly as she sailed back into the lab.
She wanted to keep going. Tuck tried not to let the relief and exhilaration he was feeling show on his face. He’d been sure he’d pushed her too far and had been kicking himself since she’d walked out the door. Now though, he gave himself a mental high five. The risk just might pay off after all.
“Sure. Why don’t you have a seat and we—”
“Oh, no,” she said, sauntering his way with an extra swing in her hips that had him clenching his pencil so tight, it was a wonder he didn’t snap it. “I think it’s time to turn the tables. Tit for tat and all…”
Had she timed that phrase with a subtle jiggle of her breasts or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He eyed her and set down the pencil.
“Okay, I didn’t know you had anything prepared for today.” The plan had been for him to complete all the experiments on her first and then, once the results had been compiled a few days later, they would switch places. So what did she have in mind now?
“I don’t have anything prepared, per se, but I’m down with improvising.”
The words sizzled through him, but he tried to keep the reaction from showing on his face.
“I’m at your mercy.” He tossed the pencil onto the lab table and held up both hands. “Where do you want me?”
She seemed to hesitate at that, and her gaze shifted restlessly around the room. “Um, why don’t you sit there?” She motioned to the chair she’d been sitting in.
His imagination spun like a hamster wheel as he made his way over. She wasn’t going to press him against the seat and straddle him because that would be ridiculous. And not unlike at least one of the fantasies he’d had about her in the past, he admitted ruefully.
At least he wasn’t the only one who seemed uncomfortable, though. Cricket paced around the room, lips moving as though she was giving herself a mental pep talk. Either that, or she’d hidden the fact that she was batshit crazy this whole time and had finally decided to show it.
“Why don’t you put the headphones on? I’ll play some music so you’re not distracted by outside influences, and we’ll get some visuals together.”
She sank into the chair behind his desk and clicked the mouse. His heart jacked up a little as sweat formed on his upper lip. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to have looked up anything important online at work? He’d been in the program for so long, covering his tracks had become pretty much second nature, so probably not. Still, a lifetime of hiding didn’t lend itself to a whole lot of comfort when people were looking at your stuff.
“Just looking for some varying images. Should only take me a few more minutes.”
He nodded, his heart and cock sinking a little as dreams of a lap dance died. Tugging the headphones tighter, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the music. It wasn’t what he usually listened to, which tended to be more classic rock than anything, but it was bluesy and sexy and he totally got the appeal.
The cool touch of her soft hand on his wrist jarred him, and his eyes snapped open.
“Ready?” she mouthed.
He nodded and straightened. Game time. She held out her hand, and he followed suit, allowing her to tug the glove over his fingers. It was a tight fit, but it would do the job. Then he took time to say a silent prayer. Dear God, please don’t let this glove show her how much of a total perv I am by glowing every time she moves her lips. Amen.
She turned and leaned over to retrieve a notebook and pen, and the glove glowed for a second as he stared at her shorts pulling tight over her ass.
He was so fucked.
He filled his head with thoughts of dancing mice, and the glow subsided before she faced him again. She turned his computer monitor his way and sat down next to it.
A blank screen met him, and he waited, whole body tense.
The first picture flickered into view, and he eyed it closely. A young woman, maybe twenty years old, riding a bicycle. She was attractive and her smile was pretty, but she didn’t get his juices flowing, so he wasn’t surprised when the glove stayed dark.
Cricket jotted something on her notebook and the next picture flashed across the screen, this one of a 1967 GTO. Poison green, restored to its original glory, and a serious piece of machinery. He chuckled, and some of the tension left his body. Okay, nice car, but that wasn’t going to make anything light up.
She clicked the mouse again, and a new image took its place. This one he’d seen before. Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow crawling across the floor in a skintight, pitch-black suit. She looked hot. No question about it. And she had a body that reminded him very much of Dr. Malloy’s. The glove glowed an eerie shade of lilac.
Cricket nodded, and a hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she scrawled with her pencil. If this had been as awkward for her as it was getting for him, he almost felt a little guilty.
Almost.
Then he remembered the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes had gotten all glassy and he could picture her nipples going hard under her thin shirt—
The glove went from lilac to violet in a nanosecond, and her eyes shot to his. The screen had gone blank, and his gaze was locked on her face. No explaining that away. Clearly he’d been turned on by her. Maybe it was time to get the lay of the land and see what was really up between them. Was this just flirtation on her end, or could this be the real deal?
He didn’t look away, and her expressive eyes smiled back at him. When she finally turned back toward the computer, he was breathing hard. What now? Make a move or wait to see how things played out? The new Tuck would never make a full-court press for a girl like Cricket.
And sometimes the new Tuck acts like a pussy, his subconscious blared at him.
He was about to yank off the headphones and just come out with it. “I want you. I want to bend you over this fucking table and drive my cock into you until you scream.” But before he could open his mouth, she clicked the mouse and the next photo came up and the breath left his lungs in a whoosh.
What. The. Fuck.
The background music faded, overtaken by the sound of blood rushing in his
ears. A naked woman in profile, built like a pinup, full, round breasts, nipples hard, head tossed back, long hair brushing the curve of her arched spine. Most of her face was obscured by shadows, but the rest of her was kissed by silvery moonlight. Hot damn.
His cock throbbed behind his zipper and he sucked in a lungful of air. He didn’t have to look down to know the glove was practically neon. He stared at the picture harder, taking in the line of the woman’s shoulder, the curve of her neck, the plump lips that—
He sat back hard enough that his chair wobbled as it hit him.
Cricket. The woman was Cricket.
Jesus Christ.
He dragged his attention from the most gorgeous picture he’d ever laid eyes on and looked at the subject of it in real life. Her face glowed hot pink, and she bit her lip.
“Okay,” she mouthed, and clicked the mouse, exiting out of the image viewer. He wanted to howl in protest. Beg her to blow that up into a poster and give it to him. But he did none of that. Because that wasn’t how new Tuck behaved. Instead he clenched his hands into fists, and sat there, waiting to see what she’d do next.
She ran a trembling hand through her hair and stood, motioning for him to take off the headphones.
“I’ve got to go. I just remembered…I have to pick up some groceries before the rush hour masses descend.” She spared a glance at her watch and nodded, a little desperately, in his opinion. “Yeah, I’ve really got to go.” She tore the page she’d been writing on out of his notebook and stuffed it into her pocket before wheeling around and heading for the door.
So much for getting the lay of the land. He was no closer to figuring her out than he’d been when they started.
The same couldn’t be said a couple hours later. It was almost six o’clock by the time he closed the door to the lab behind him. He’d spent part of the afternoon going over the test results and the video trying to come to grips with his findings. Cricket may have rushed out a couple hours before with her awkward smile and flimsy excuse, but now he knew better for sure.
