Little Black Book (sWet)

by Azod, Shara

  Little Black Book

  By

  Shara Azod

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  Little Black Book © 2013 Shara Azod

  Editor: Stephanie Parent

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

  Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  Contents

  1. 4

  2. 8

  3. 11

  4. 14

  1

  The little black notebook was right there on the corner of Dontae’s desk. Though it was a complete violation of her privacy, Parson picked it up without qualm. Day after day he watched her scribbling in the damn thing, tuning out the world around her. Okay, not the world, just him. Dontae Brooks fascinated him, incensed him, turned him on in a way that made it impossible to even try to think about any other woman. What was worse, she was oblivious to his plight. She rebuffed any effort he made to get to know her better, and they had worked in the same department for three long, tortuous years. Over the past fourteen months, three weeks and four days Parson hadn’t been moved to date, or even just hook up. His damn body rejected all but her. And she wouldn't give him the time of day.

  The more often Parson attempted to get Dontae’s attention, the more she studiously ignored him. His jokes were met with a blank stare or a quizzical frown. Never so much as a shadow of a smile crossed her pouty, lightly glossed lips. Glossed in colors ranging from a deep pink to a dark plum; he’d categorized every one she wore. Inquiries of a personal nature such as “So, what did you do this weekend?” were never answered beyond a simple “Nothing much.” He would’ve just assumed Dontae was antisocial to the extreme, only he knew that wasn’t the case.

  Everyone else in the IT Department received smiles, laughter, jokes, banter. Men, women, straight, gay and otherwise—Dontae was a friend to just about everyone. She listened to problems, offered advice, met for drinks after work, discussed religion, politics and entertainment. But for him? Nada; not one kind word, not one question, not much of anything. It rankled the hell out of him. Not just because of the blatant snubs either. Every single time he attempted a conversation, especially one just between the two of them, she blew it off as quickly as she could get away. The thought had occurred to him she might be scribbling about him. Maybe the reason for her extreme dislike was to be found in these pages.

  Was it a journal? Most people wouldn’t keep something that personal at work, unguarded, if they were writing about those around them. Taking a quick look around the cubicle maze that made up their main office space, Parson flipped it open. Dontae was out on a trouble call to one of the departments with the most technology-challenged individual imaginable. She’d been gone for a while. Most of the cubicles were empty, so no one was around to run their mouths.

  I never realized white men could have such full lips. Then again, before Parson I never took much notice. How long had I stared at his lips, imagining them on mine, imagining them feasting from between my legs? Those lips were just that juicy. Now there was no escape from them, not that I would want to. He took my mouth in a slow, drugging kiss, and I swayed on my feet as his mouth sucked away all my will. Who was I kidding? I let it go willingly. Yes, his kiss made me drunk, it turned my knees to water. It made me burn deep inside my womb and it caused my panties to become drenched with my need. As our tongues intertwined, our bodies rubbed against one another. The light friction was not nearly enough to satisfy. His kiss was melting my bones, turning me into a vessel of pure need. My clit throbbed against the flimsy silk of my panties. Strong, steady hands traveled down the curve of my spine in a slow, sensual swipe, ending at my buttocks, which he then cupped, pulling against the rigid proof of his arousal. My hips rocked reflexively. Thankfully I had worn a dress to work today, so I could feel the heated pulse of his cock through my panties. Unfortunately I was soaking into the fabric of his jeans. But I couldn’t stop! I needed him, wanted him so bad I would fall down on my knees and beg for it if I had to. I needed him inside me, invading me, pounding me. Without shame I writhed against him, grinding desperately as the hands on my ass assisted my rocking rhythm.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Dontae,” he growled in my ear before biting along the collar of my neck. “Fuck you without mercy. And then I am going to make love to you, slowly.” Breaking away from my heated flesh, he fixed me with a stare I couldn't break. “Tell me you understand, Dontae.”

  “Yes,” I breathed, so very close to my first orgasm.

  “Yes, what?” His hands stilled my hips, causing me to whimper. I didn’t understand. It must have shown on my face because he pressed. “Say my name. Prove to me you know who is talking to you, who will be taking you.”

  “Yes, Parson.”

  God, those eyes! The hot hazel gaze burned me alive with their intensity. He could ask me damn near anything and I was so spellbound by the way he looked at me, I just might do it. Here, in the tiny equipment room where they kept obsolete spare parts, I was about to be taken, just like he declared, without any shame.

  “Please, Parson, I need you.” Forget pride, she had wanted him for far too long to let a little thing like that to get in the way. “Please fuck me.”

  Holy shit! Rubbing his eyes, Parson re-read the passage he’d flipped to, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Maybe he wanted her so much that he’d transposed his own private fantasies to the page. No, that really was his name written in that fancy handwriting of hers. Hands shaking with a mixture of disbelief and some emotion he hadn’t yet defined, Parson found it was all similar. Stories about the two of them in various little hidey holes around their workplace. A couple public scenes too. The words leapt off the pages to surround him with possibilities that left him thunderstruck.

  The writings stroked his cock like a physical being, stealing caution and common sense from his brain with every word he read. This wasn’t the Dontae he thought he knew. The one that smiled sweetly and spoke softly....to every fucking person in this damn place but him, that was. The conservatively dressed woman who tried to hide her woman’s body never uttered a bad word that he could remember. A deep russet blush crept up her cheeks whenever a subject was brought up that was the least bit risqué. That woman wrote this? And it featured him?

  Suddenly the steadfast refusal to allow him to get to know her better made more sense. While it was a greater relief than he cared to admit to learn that she didn't hate him, it just pissed him off that he hadn't had the foggiest idea that she might want him. How many damn hours had he wasted sitting in his cubicle looking her direction, mentally stripping her out of those shirts buttoned to her neck or those pants that swallowed her figure? How many times had he been forced to excuse himself to go to the bathroom because he had stared at her bountiful ass a little too long? He’d itched to see that luxurious figure he knew was buried under all those layers of clothing she wore. He’d obsessed over what kind of panties she might wear, if she had any panties at all. Did she shave or wax? Did she like to be on top or on the bottom, or maybe mounted from behind?

  The woman had driven him half out of his mind, and not just
because she wouldn't talk to him. He’d been attracted from the very beginning. The reason it had upset him so much that she had never responded was because he wanted her. Craved her. And all this time she’d been hiding an equal attraction. While he was pining, she was fantasizing, leaving him out in the cold. That ended here and now. No way was he going to ignore this. Not with the way he wanted her. There’d be no more hiding for sweet little Dontae. They were about to get real acquainted—and that was just the beginning.

  2

  Dontae rounded the corner, muttering under her breath about giving complicated equipment to the technically challenged, then came to a dead stop. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest as she witnessed Parson thumbing through her little black book. Holy crap! She’d forgotten to put it back in her desk this morning after she'd run into him in the server room. It had been too loud to talk, but the way he’d looked at her...she'd run to her desk, taken out the notebook and penned a little fantasy. They served to relieve the ache deep in the loins she got whenever she was alone with Parson. The man was devilishly sexy. With deep auburn hair, intense eyes that flashed green, amber and she swore sometimes gray, and a body to die for, he just did things to her.

  Knowing it was foolish to want him the way she did, Dontae had started her little black book to work out all the riotous feelings he stirred in her, and in real life she tried like hell to stay as far away from him as possible. Guys like that liked the Barbie type, which she was definitely not. Her hips were a little too big, breasts too natural, and she didn't wear makeup or heels. Dontae liked who she was, liked the little bit of extra meat on her bones. But she was all too painfully aware her “type” was an acquired taste. Usually only men sporting liberal amounts of gray on their heads or seriously bony guys ever asked her out.

  The thing she had for Parson seemed harmless enough. Sure she felt like ten kinds of a fool for not being about to speak a coherent sentence in his presence, so she avoided him and kept her crush to herself. Writing little fantasies wasn't hurting anyone. The outlet kept her from making a complete fool out of herself. And now he was reading it. Every dirty little thought that had ever crossed her mind about him was in that book. Things she’d never actually done, but always wanted to find the right person to do them with. Humiliation rode her hard as she struggled to pull in enough air to keep her from fainting. There was no way around what she had written. The name Parson was clear as a bell, and he would know.

  She should turn and run. Go home sick until she found a plausible excuse. Right about now her mind had gone completely blank. He'd feel sorry for her, she knew. Parson was a nice guy, more or less. There was just the right touch of asshole in him to make him interesting, but not enough to kill a woman’s interest. He would look at her with those eyes, and she would see the pity. Damn it, she didn't want his pity.

  But just as she was about to turn away and tiptoe into her boss’s office with a sob story about some kind of sudden illness, Parson looked up. His stare pinned her to the spot. Oh God, his eyes really were hot. Right now they were searing her. She should run. Just turn tail and get the heck out of dodge. But she couldn’t move. Parson’s gaze seemed to burn right through the heavy sweater and skirt. Did her bra just get a size too small, or had her nipples grown about an inch? It was just so wrong to be this turned on by the sight of a man who was madder than hell at her.

  “Interesting reading.” That was odd. He didn’t sound like he pitied her, he sounded pissed. There was certainly anger in his eyes, and something else too. Something she couldn't name.

  “I’m sorry.” Of course. She should’ve considered the possibility he might be upset finding he was the subject of a co-worker’s tawdry imagination. Parson didn't seem like the uptight type, but she barely knew him despite having worked with him for three years. “I didn’t mean to...I mean, I never meant for you to see it.” Never meant for anyone to see it.

  Parson stalked toward her, expression fierce. How messed up was it that she got wet in response, her nipples tightening into granite? He didn't stop until he was directly in front of her, their bodies touching ever so slightly. Dontae was caught between the urge to run versus the urge to press closer. In the end she did neither, just waited for whatever he had to say.

  “For three goddamn years I have watched you, wanted you, needed you. You rebuffed me at every turn. Pretended I didn’t exist. And now I find this?” Parson already had a deep voice, but now it vibrated with suppressed anger, mixed with a healthy dose of desire. He held up the book, his jaw clenched, looking like he just might push her against the wall and fuck her right there. God, that was so hot! “Everything you wrote in this book, you could have had. And now you’re going to have it all.” Her knees buckled ever so slightly. Holy crap, this was really happening. “Equipment room D in five minutes, Dontae. Don’t be late.”

  Oh damn! That really just happened! There wasn’t anything in his expression to indicate he was anything less than dead serious. Leaning against the wall, Dontae pressed her hand to her chest in a futile effort to get her heart to slow down. Ohmygawd, ohmygawd, ohmygawd! The man of her fevered dreams just went from damned sexy to straight Alpha-gotta-do-him in the bat of an eyelash.

  Just as he started to walk away, it occurred to her he still had her notebook.

  “Um, Parson?” He turned, but didn't say anything. Just arched his brow and waited. Almost daring her. Dontae swallowed hard then pointed to the book. “Can I get my journal back?”

  “No.” Dontae opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? The one-word statement was said in a way that left no doubt this wasn't open to negotiation. “The book stays with me. The next time you have a fantasy, you will tell me. I will write it down, just to be sure we don’t miss a single scenario.”

  “What?” That didn’t mean what she thought it did. It couldn’t. He couldn’t be thinking....

  “We are going to go to act out each and every one of these little stories, then make up some of our own.” Parson walked back to where she stood, bending down so they were nose to nose. “Don't ever try to hide from me again, Dontae. And you now have three minutes. Not a second more.”

  3

  Although he had been the one to issue the ultimatum, Parson was shaking a little as he entered the seldom-visited equipment room. It was the very same room Dontae had mentioned in the first story he’d read. There was not a lot a space to maneuver, but there was a table against the back wall, about waist high. Looking at it now, it was impossible not to imagine Dontae spread open for him there. Soon she would be. How strange a day that’d started out like any other had twisted and turned, bringing him the opportunity of a lifetime. He was bound and determined to make it count.

  Glancing at his watch, he noted she had a little less than a minute to show. Would she? What would he do if she didn’t? The answer wasn’t really forthcoming, but he wasn’t going to ignore this thing between them. So much wasted time believing the other person wasn’t interested. Perhaps it was his fault. Maybe if he had pushed a little more, been a little more forthright. But then, he had a feeling Dontae would’ve run from that. In the end, maybe this was better. Now there was no doubt they wanted each other, and from what he had read, Parson was sure they were compatible.

  Because the door only opened with a key, Parson heard Dontae long before the door pushed slowly open. She hesitated a little before stepping through, looking over her shoulder as she did so. There was no point in locking the door; the only way a person could get in was to have a key, and there were only two keys. He had a set as a section leader and the other hung in the main office, which Dontae had used to come in. Parson had to smile at that. She’d considered that when she wrote out her little fantasy, no doubt.

  “You’re thirty seconds late.” Parson wasn’t really upset about it. However, he had been scared she might run. Now here she was, nervousness etched plainly on her face.

  Parson wasn't sure whether it was fear or uncertainty that kept her hovering by th
e door as if she might dash at any moment. While she played with the hem of her sweater, there was still underlying heat in her hesitant gazes in his direction.

  “Are you going to keep me waiting?” It was pushing, but he was sure she needed that.

  “I’m not sure about this.” Dontae looked at him, down to the floor, then back at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  He didn't answer. Wouldn’t. He could show her a hell of a lot better than he could tell her. Stalking to her until his body had pressed hers against the door, he grasped her hand and placed it on rock-hard proof of how badly he wanted her.

  “This has lasted for three long fucking years, and it has been all for you.” He was growling, but fuck if he could help it. His cock pulsed with hunger, wanting her, needing her. Brushing his lips against the soft cushions of hers, Parson breathed her in. Whatever the hell perfume she wore was light, clean. Not overly floral or sickeningly sweet like so many women favored. The way she smelled made him ravenous. “Do you have any idea what finding out you have been hiding your true self from me is doing to me right now?” As he had wanted to do for so long, Parson took advantage of her stunned silence to move back, just a hair, but only to strip that goddamn bulky sweater from her. Her clothing fucking offended him. Everything keeping her from him offended him.

  And just as he had long suspected, underneath all those clothes she liked to wear, she was stunning. Although the overly voluminous skirt still shrouded the lower half of her body, the top made his knees damn near buckle. Underneath the most conservative packaging, Dontae wore a lacy push-up bra pressing her breasts up to almost overflow the delicate cups. The crescent-shaped tops of her areolas were clearly visible, her nipples standing tall and pressing out against the fabric trying to contain them.