by Larkin Rose
Synopsis
Phone sex operator on speed dial. What more could a girl want?
Fashion designer Eve Harris has it all: perfect career, satisfying single life, and her very own phone sex operator in her back pocket. Lexi fills the sexual void when Eve’s hectic life leaves no time for relationships—relationships she has no desire to find.
Jodi Connelly enjoys the few phone sex clients she has left—one in particular, Eve, who makes her close her eyes in dreamy lust with sharp, lonely cries of release. How will Jodi hide her secrets when the stunning Eve lands on her side of the Atlantic for London fashion week, the picture-perfect reality of her fantasy woman? And how will Eve react when she discovers the new woman in her life, Jodi, and her secret fantasy phone date, Lexi, are one and the same?
Kiss the Rain
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Kiss the Rain
© 2011 By Larkin Rose. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-507-9
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: March 2011
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
I Dare You
No Leavin’ Love
The Pleasure Planner
Vapor
Kiss the Rain
Dedication
Jove. Thank you a thousand times, and I freaking miss you!
Toni. You’re an amazing friend and grandma. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Barbara Karmazin. You will never, ever, be forgotten. Thank you for my wings.
Rose. Fifteen years and counting. You’re still the one.
Finally, to my mother, Linda, who went to sleep with the angels. I love you. To the moon and back.
Chapter One
“What are you wearing, my sexy Eve?”
Eve Harris welcomed the familiar tightening of her insides in response to Lexi’s question. She wasn’t normally a sucker for sexy accents, but the way the mellifluous British rolled smoothly off Lexi’s tongue was a different matter. Her voice alone was orgasmic. The accent, laced with erotic commands, jerked Eve to screaming spasms with every phone call to her personal sex operator. She tucked the phone closer to her ear. “Jeans and an old ratty Ozzy Osbourne T-shirt.”
“Mmm. I would have never guessed. You don’t strike me as a heavy-metal headbanger,” Lexi said.
Eve chuckled and snuggled deeper into the pillows on her bed while eyeing the bright blue vibrator lying in wait beside her. She fingered its silicone length. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“True, but I know the most important thing.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I know what you sound like when you come, screaming my name.” Lexi’s voice dropped into that husky tone she used just before she started commanding Eve to touch and finger herself, to fuck herself with the very toy she’d insisted Eve purchase.
Eve swallowed a moan while her pussy clamped into a painful vise. Those commands were what kept her dialing Lexi’s private sex line every spare minute her busy life allowed. Her time was at a premium with almost every priceless hour of daylight spent poring over new clothing designs. From choosing the right material to create the perfect drape, crinkle, or crease, to matching colors, coordinated accessories, and jewelry for that flawless finishing touch. Eve inhaled her career. Craved it, in fact. There was nothing more satisfying than watching a new design evolving into reality, every stitch breathing life into the gorgeous fabrics she sourced from around the globe.
Well, she thought things were satisfying until she’d stumbled into a stranger while in London for fashion week two years ago. The woman had been ridiculously femme—whore-red lipstick with her matching dangerous nails caressing long, perfect curls as one would a loving pet, and a pearl necklace leading a path to an almost nonexistent cleavage. Eve had recoiled with a shudder, not her type at all. She just couldn’t do femme, and this woman screamed lipstick lesbian. She was tall with high cheekbones and plump, naturally pouty lips.
They both sat alone in a smoke-filled nightclub and eventually struck up a conversation. To save from yelling over the music, they made their way down the length of bar stools as the subjects ranged from life, careers, and the most dreaded of all, love. Eve wasn’t into love. She’d been there, drowned in it, and never wanted to revisit its lack of life preservers again. Her scarce time didn’t allow for coddling or wooing some hug-hungry “spend all of your waking moments with me” woman. There just wasn’t time to devote to sulky, whimpering partners who pouted because Eve’s career always came before them.
Eve had been fascinated to learn the woman shared her peeves about dating, how people were always looking for love instead of running from it, putting themselves second to bow to a partner’s needs. That kind of life was for her mother, not Eve. Her mother had subscribed to being the best little housewife and mother she could be while her father climbed the rungs of a successful career ladder. As her father had, Eve moved hell and earth to be at the top, to rise above all else. Except she hadn’t left a little missus behind to raise a family along the journey.
The woman giggled while Eve related horrendous stories of old flames, how every relationship seemed to die a slow, agonizing death long before the sex had burned out. Sex. It was all about the sex for Eve. Why did stable sex have to come with a price tag? Her undivided attention? Her companion had laughed, agreeing with every word.
“I must go. It’s been refreshing meeting someone with the same values about life and love.” She scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to Eve. “You’ll find all you need with a single phone call. Her name is Lexi. She’s the complete package. All you have to do is dial the number. She’ll take care of the rest. Utter discretion and no strings attached.”
Eve had taken the napkin to study the numbers, curious as to who this beauty was pimping out, or exactly what she was pimping out. She found two sets of digits.
“The bottom number is my cell. I’m Zara Manis, by the way. My daddy is Phillip Manis.” Zara delicately held out her hand as if Eve should recognize the name and kiss the ivory flesh.
Instead, Eve shook her hand like a business acquaintance. First, she didn’t bother with such unimportant things as well-known names on foreign soil, no matter how much they spent on her designs. Second, she’d be damned if she fawned over someone who already had herself on a pedestal. “It was great to meet you. I’m Eve.”
“I know who you are, Eve Harris. I’m a huge fan and rarely miss the fashion events. I happen to be in town this week to visit my daddy. He spoils me so. Especially during fashion week. Lucky you.” She leaned toward Eve and whispered, “I’ll be sitting in the front row, and I won’t be wearing underwear.”
Stupefied, Eve begged her mind to find a respectful rejection. Zara was all femme. So was Eve. That combination didn’t fly. And neither did sleeping with the daughter of a man whose wallet seemed as deep
as space.
“We have too much in common not to fuck and walk our separate ways, Eve.” Zara gave a sinfully sweet smile. “Give me a try. I can be as hard as any butch you desire.” She squeezed Eve’s hand. “Friday night, right after the finale dinner at La Pierre Hotel, Royal Suite. I promise to make it worth your while.”
She sashayed out of the club on spiked stilettos, leaving Eve stunned and uncharacteristically curious.
Like the idiot she’d fought hard to never be, curiosity had led Eve to Zara’s hotel suite, and against her better judgment, to her bed. Their one-week relationship was nothing more than passing lust between two people who shared the same beliefs—that women could fuck and be fucked and walk away with their heads held high after lust ran cold. However, Eve couldn’t even say she’d been in lust. Quite the opposite. They’d both somehow gotten caught up in the whirlwind abnormal sex. Or so it was for Eve.
Those quick fucks had been more than enough. She had fucked her clone, minus the high-maintenance. Sharing fashion tips and designer dresses with a femme proved utterly disturbing.
It had also proved a salutary lesson. Proved she was a genuine butch lover who didn’t play well with other femmes. Eve vowed she would never fuck another female with fingernails the length of deadly weapons for as long as she lived.
Now here she lay in her Manhattan apartment, long after grabbing hold of her scarred sanity and promising to maintain a friendship with Zara, which she’d done, her pussy hot and needy, yet more satisfied than she believed could be possible, with Lexi giving her everything her body craved from across the map.
Zara had been right about one thing: Lexi was the complete package. They barely shared personal or business matters, didn’t exchange sweet nothings, though on occasion they’d swap some private tidbit about themselves. She knew Lexi lived in London, that there was no food she wouldn’t try, and she loved walking in the rain. Lexi knew that Eve lived in Manhattan and worked nonstop, that she ate nutrition bars for breakfast and lunch and sometimes dinner too if time didn’t allow her a hot meal, and that she hated the rain. There were no arguments, no sharing bed space, no fighting over something as ridiculous as a toothpaste lid or which way the toilet paper should unwind, and best of all, no simpering females fighting for her attention. Lexi was perfect, and she made Eve’s life complete. Eve reveled in the hot, heavenly, and erotically challenging sex, and succumbed willingly to reversing her powerhouse role with every call, with every command easily given in that risqué accent.
Lexi made her feel connected to her otherwise disconnected sex life, as if she were lying right beside her, inside her, teasing, stroking, and drawing out a satisfying orgasm with skilled hands.
“I need to hear you come, Eve.”
Eve closed her eyes and let Lexi’s description of herself float inside her mind. Tall, with broad shoulders, six-pack abs glistening after a heavy workout, short brown hair that she towel-dried and left disheveled. The image ended with ivy green eyes staring down over her. Eve’s temperature spiked as the illusion blossomed. Lexi had described her fantasy woman, and now, Eve wanted to fuck that 3-D image while the voice of reality stroked her to convulsions.
“Then make me.” Eve fanned her legs open and closed, anxious, desperate for those commands.
“Unsnap your jeans.”
Eve did as she was told, ripping at the button and tearing down the zipper with desperate tugs. She didn’t dare take her jeans off. She’d learned the hard way that disobeying Lexi’s commands could be brutal. Lexi could withhold an orgasm as easy as pressing a button to cut the phone connection.
“Done.”
“Slip your hand inside.”
Eve worked her hand down until she found her swollen clit. She gently massaged herself, afraid Lexi would hear the catch in her breath. “Okay.”
“Don’t you dare flick yourself.”
“I didn’t—wouldn’t. I won’t.” Eve stilled her fingers, her body a mass of nerves and her insides clenching.
“I don’t believe you, my horny little workaholic. I need you to push that hand farther down, away from that tight, sensitive clit, and drive those fingers inside. Tell me how wet you are, Eve.”
Eve pressed two fingers inside herself, easing the heels of her bare feet against the mattress for leverage and thrusting against the palm of her hand. “I’m soaked…need relief, Lexi. Soon.”
Lexi chuckled. “You always need relief. Isn’t that why you call me? Isn’t that what I give you?”
“Yes. Shit, yes.” Eve pumped her hips and thrust deeper, needing to be free from the denim constricting her movements.
“How does it feel, Eve? Tell me.”
“Good. It feels so damn good. I need more, Lexi. Please!”
“Not yet. It’s not time. With your free hand, raise that middle-school garb over those delicious tits of yours. Free them one at a time, over the top of your bra. I want you looking like a two-bit slut before I let you come.”
Eve shoved the T-shirt up to her throat and yanked the edge of her bra down, freeing each breast as told. Her nipples puckered under the cool apartment air, and she couldn’t resist pinching one between her fingers. A spark of fire corded in her pussy, and she bucked against her hand.
“I’m so fucking horny.”
“Stop!”
Eve growled but stilled her thrusts. She unscrewed her eyes and looked down the length of her body. Indeed, she looked like a two-bit slut, her shirt up, her tits out, and her hand down her pants. Instead of the sight repulsing her, it only made her hornier, and against her better judgment, she pressed her fingers inside herself once again and let out a mew of pleasure.
“I heard that, naughty girl. That’ll cost you a few minutes,” Lexi scolded her. “Remove your hand.”
Eve huffed and jerked her hand from her pants. “I couldn’t help it. I’m on fire.”
“Silence!”
Eve clamped her jaw tight, her pussy a fire pit. If only her sex life had been like this in reality all these years, she wouldn’t be spending a tiny fortune on international calls. Maybe she would have skipped out on work to spend time on a relationship. In bed, of course.
As long as Lexi answered that call, she’d never have to face the cold, hard facts that this kind of sex life didn’t exist outside this bedroom, beyond this telephone. Panic nipped at her mind. What if that day came? The day Lexi didn’t answer the line. The day Lexi didn’t exist.
As quickly as the thought rose, she shoved it back in place. So what if Lexi vanished? Like fish in the sea, there were more Lexis where this one came from. Oh, but could they dare be as deliciously naughty as this one?
“Push your jeans and undies down around your ankles.”
Eve shoved and kicked the jeans until the bunched material locked her ankles together. “Okay.”
“Show me what you look like. Let me see you through your eyes.”
“I look exactly how you wanted me to look—like your two-bit slut.” The sight of her body, exposed and open and vulnerable, ankles shackled in place, made Eve miserably horny. “I look like I was fucked in haste.”
“You think fucking in haste makes you look like a slut?” Lexi’s voice dipped to an animalistic purr. “I’d fuck you in haste. I like fucking.”
Eve swallowed hard and her pussy stung. “And I’d let you.”
“Where’s that silky-smooth dildo, Eve?”
“Right beside me.”
“Pick it up. Lick the head.”
Eve did as told, her body coming dangerously alive with the anticipation of filling herself. She spread her legs wider and awaited her next command.
“Are you ready, Eve?”
*
Jodi, otherwise known as Lexi in her role of fantasy artist, trapped the phone between her shoulder and ear as she tugged on a pair of tuxedo pants.
“I want you to spread wide, Eve, but first, I want you to drag the dildo over your crotch and clit. Do not enter until I say so. Do you understand me?”
<
br /> “Yes. Shit, this feels so good.”
Jodi pulled her stiff white shirt on and buttoned the cuffs while Eve panted and whimpered. “That’s it, baby, tease yourself. Close your eyes, Eve, feel me driving inside you, thrusting you against the mattress, shoving you toward the edge. You feel so good. Taste so sweet.”
Eve hissed. “I’m so close.”
Jodi had to admit, of the three remaining clients who had her private sex line, Eve was her favorite. Something about the way Eve cried out grabbed at her and made her close her eyes in dreamy lust. She wasn’t attached by any means, always kept the calls as sexual as possible, and just as distant. Well, besides the rare times they’d shared a few personal things, like the fact that she loved the rain. Why the hell had she told Eve that particular fact? Not even her best friend Amelia knew why she lived for its cold dampness. Because it made her feel whole and clean and pure.
“Do you feel me, Eve? My weight pinning you down, my thighs bunched tight as I drive inside you. As I fuck you.”
“I feel you…thrusting, pumping. I feel your sweat. Fuck me, Lexi. I’m begging.” Eve’s breathing was erratic.
Indeed, she was close. Lexi knew the pattern, knew exactly when Eve would lose control. She’d never forget that first phone call, Eve shy as she stammered, embarrassed, anxious to finish their phone call. Soft persuasion soon had Eve crying out over the line, the sweetest cries she’d ever heard.
“What am I doing to you, Eve?” Jodi sat on the end of the bed and put her shiny black shoes on. She was running behind for her date—a woman who’d paid handsomely for an escort. Jodi wasn’t ashamed of who she was. The path she chose in life had kept her off the street corners at fifteen after her mother’s death had left her alone in London, a foreign land, far away from her birthplace in Dallas, Texas. Being a military brat, always moving from state to state, country to country, she rarely had time to make deep connections with friends. This life had kept food in her belly, had kept her alive, and for that she’d never hang her head in shame. She’d outlived the hard knocks of life, survived grabbing an hour of shut-eye under bridges with the other homeless when safety allowed, dodging perverts who wouldn’t hesitate to rip away a teenager’s innocence, and stealing morsels of food from the sidewalk vendors. Thankfully, she’d landed a job as a phone sex operator, immediately adopting the British accent—a subtle mix of south London where she lived first and the more cultured voices of the media. The women ate it up.
