Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  I huff, wishing I got a bonus check, but I play along anyway. I give a wave to Harry and Larry, two of my co-workers. “You’ll see when the pizzas come in at lunch!” I joke back.

  Harry rubs his Monday shirt, a stretched and faded Pizza The Hut custom job he got off the Internet. “Just remember, no sausage!”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” I tease, and Harry snorts. He claims to be a ladies-man love machine, but I have more than a sneaking suspicion that’s all talk and some serious next-level self-aggrandizing. He’s a good guy, though, and he doesn’t take anything too seriously.

  “Yeah, well, hope you’ve got another doozy cooked up,” Larry says. “My latest game’s gonna have me taking your shine soon enough.”

  I laugh and head to my cubicle. I’ve finally gotten it exactly the way I want, with triple screens that allow me to code, visualize, and debug all at the same time.

  I immediately pull up my next project, an ambitious attempt at totally integrating calendars, social media, and office apps that could turn the whole damn system on its head.

  I need to focus because the coding on this is going to be tricky. Integrating all these systems is easy. Doing it without turning someone’s smartphone into a brick that works at the speed of a turtle? That’s tricky.

  As I work, I know I should be focusing on code. Every line has to be correct and every phrase has to be perfect. I can’t have any mistakes or any clogs. But instead, my mind keeps wandering back to my phone conversation with Derrick.

  The conversation had been nice until it got a little too heated. I mean, he had me half moaning even before he said what he did. I can’t believe I just bailed like that.

  Sure, I know I was a total coward, but I truly wasn’t expecting it and I didn’t know what to say. Especially since all of my blood was rushing to my neglected pussy, making me squirm around in my seat and tempting me to pull over right then to take matters into my own hands once again. I was this close to telling him exactly what I needed.

  Face it, Kat, you wanted to, my mind tells me. In fact, you wanted him to be there, his silky voice telling you what to do, talking you through every action as his eyes watched you with rapt attention.

  Shaking my head, I try to get back to work, putting in hour after hour of work and making little progress. Coding is a lot like speaking a foreign language. For some people, those folks who get paid big bucks, they can translate on the fly, able to listen in one language and talk in another almost instantaneously.

  Others, like me, might be just as fluent in both languages but can’t operate in both at the same time. So for me, coding means I have to put my brain in ‘code mode’ to really get in the groove.

  Just as my left-hand monitor flashes me a signal that it’s noon and time for lunch, my phone rings. It’s my sister Jessie, who’s learned to never, ever call me during my work hours unless someone important is dying.

  Jessie’s always been like a second mom to me. Eight years older, we never really had that period when she was a teen where she thought taking care of her little sister was a pain in the ass. Instead, she looked out for me, making sure I got my schoolwork done and never letting me veer too far off the path into crazy.

  She’s not some stick in the mud though. Actually, the first time I ever got drunk was with Jessie, and we both have had plenty of good laughs along the way. With hair two shades darker than mine and another three inches on me, she’s beautiful and a stellar wife and mom, all the while holding down a full-time job as a risk management specialist for an insurance company.

  She’s truly Super Woman and everything I want to be when I grow up, whenever that’ll be. With my new promotion, I’m at least halfway there, the professional success coming more readily than the personal. “What’s up in the land of vehicle recall calculations?” I ask her. “Got anything that’ll blow up in my face?”

  “Very funny,” Jess says with a laugh. “Actually, I called to say congrats on work and your promotion. Good job, Sis. I knew you could do it. Acing it at work, and on the home front too? How’s Kevin?”

  I wonder for a split second if she can read my mind, the professional-personal discrepancy coming out of her mouth just a beat after it crossed my mind. I can tell she doesn’t care but feels like she should ask.

  “What about Kevin?” I ask, trying to not sound snippy. Hell, maybe I should listen to her more because she was spot-on with him and has been right before about boyfriends too. “There is no more Kevin.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, and I tell her about our breakup, leaving out the issues with our sex life and focusing on his cheating and my not putting up with it.

  When I finish, Jess gives me a little cheer. “Good for you, girl. You’re beautiful and smart, and there’s no reason you should have to put up with any man who can’t see that.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be a downer, but not everyone finds a fairytale Prince Charming who loves you like Liam does you. Gonna be honest here. He’s the only thing giving me hope that such a man exists in the real world, because all the ones I run into are cheaters, liars, and users looking for a booty call and nothing else.”

  Jess knows my experience with men so she gives me a pass. “He’s out there,” she tells me reassuringly. “You’ll find him soon. Probably when you least expect it.”

  Unbidden, my mind jumps to Derrick and how that was so unexpected. But I don’t even know him. Not really, just his radio persona, although he did seem genuine and real when he was listening to my drama about breaking up with Kevin.

  Of course, he seems to have a bad boy side too. Good guys don’t start talking about how they want to watch me toy my pussy on a second conversation unless they’ve got at least a decent naughty streak running through them.

  There’s a part of me that wants to get my own bad girl vibe going . . . kind of. I mean, I want to, but my wild child streak is sadly narrow, but maybe I could learn a few things from Derrick.

  “Yeah, well,” I finally say, not wanting to go down that particular rabbit hole at the moment, pun intended, “either way, I’m single now.”

  “Sexy and single,” Jess replies. “Whatcha gonna do with all that ass inside them jeans?”

  “I’m wearing a skirt today, actually,” I retort. “But I do need to get some lunch.”

  “I gotcha,” Jess says, letting it drop. “Listen, don’t let any of those cretins you work with have a heart attack because your beautiful ass goes walking by, okay? And if anyone tries to grab anything, you break their wrist with one hand and slap a sexual harassment lawsuit on them with the other.”

  “I will,” I promise her, smiling. “See you later, Jess.”

  “Will do. Call me tonight. We can catch up on Mom,” Jess says. “Love ya, Kat.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  Getting home tonight, I can’t help it. I find myself listening to Derrick’s radio show.

  “Good evening, listeners, your Love Whisperer Derrick King here, and tonight, our topic is something that seems mysterious to most men. Some men say it doesn’t even exist.”

  “The stupid bastards,” Susannah says with an exaggeratedly venomous tone of disdain, making me chuckle.

  “I wouldn’t say stupid, just . . . uneducated and in need of some enlightenment,” Derrick purrs, making the muscles on the insides of my thighs tremble. Oh, what this man could educate me on.

  “So tonight, our topic is The Female Orgasm. We’re going to start off with an email. This is from . . . H. H writes that she and her girlfriend have sex often, but she is frustrated that her girlfriend can only climax from a dildo or a strap-on. H feels like that’s off limits. What can she do?”

  I lift an eyebrow. Derrick’s chosen a doozy to start the night. “Sounds like someone needs some dick,” I murmur to myself before my body whispers back that yes, it does need some dick.

  “H,” Derrick says, his voice sure and slightly stern, making my mouth go dry, “first, penetration has nothing to do with sexual
orientation. What your girlfriend needs is what she needs. There’s nothing wrong with her body saying that’s what it likes best. It has nothing to do with how she feels about you as a person or her attraction to you. I’m just going to be straight with you. What your email tells me is that you might need to deal with your own insecurities. Talk to your girlfriend. I’m sure you two will be just fine.”

  I’m hanging on to his every word, and I idly wonder if perhaps my confession to him last week inspired this topic.

  “Susannah’s got us another caller, Z. Z, go ahead.”

  “Yeah, D, listen . . . I’m trying my best with my lady, but it seems like no matter what I do, she just doesn’t get there. Like, we have sex and stuff, and she says she enjoys it, but she rarely has an orgasm. It’s messing with my head and I really want to please her.”

  In his velvety voice, Derrick tells the caller to take his time and he’s gotta build up to the main event with foreplay, not just dive in and pound her and think that’ll do it.

  “It starts in the mind, talking to her and telling her how sexy she is, what you want to do to her,” he purrs. I can’t take it anymore. I can feel my nipples tightening in my t-shirt and I cup my left breast, imagining Derrick telling me this face-to-face.

  “Cup her face in your hands and kiss her gently at first, then devour her. Move down her neck, maybe tease a little nibble to see if she’s into that, and lick along her collarbone. Make it down to her breasts which by now should be full and heavy,” he says, and I echo him, massaging both of my breasts. It feels so good I have to sit down on my couch, leaning back and my legs spreading slowly.

  “Tease her nipples, palm them and circle your hands, cradle her breasts and lick the nipples until they tighten up, then suck them deeply. If she liked the neck nibbles, maybe light bites or easy pinches here too. Your mileage may vary with that because everyone is different. Make your way down her body, layering kisses with licks and sucks along the way.”

  “Fuck,” I moan, my eyes rolling up as my pussy quivers in anticipation. I let my left hand slide down, cupping myself through my shorts, the heat making me gasp at the first touch. The whole world swims away and all I can hear is Derrick’s sexy growling.

  “Compliment her pussy and let your hot breath warm her as you let the anticipation build. Then lick her with a flat tongue from slit to clit several times before focusing on her clit for circles. I’ve heard writing the alphabet with your tongue can be good, and when you find a letter that makes her moan, do that one over and over, but if that’s too much, just trace patterns and rhythms. Flat tongue, pointed tongue, fast, slow to see what she responds to best. The answer’s easy really, just pay attention to her. Take your time. Take as much time as you need to help her get into it. You’ll be able to tell. She’s not gonna be shy about it and you’ll know. She’ll open up like a flower.”

  I can’t take this anymore. I slide a hand inside my panties, rubbing at my lips and wishing it were Derrick. I bet he’s got strong fingers that could leave me dripping with desire and a tongue that could write poetry on my clit.

  “Eventually,” Derrick continues, “slip a finger inside slowly and pull it out, teasing her opening and stretching her. Hell, who knows, maybe two or three fingers or more. Like I said, just pay attention. Curl them toward her front wall to slide across her G-spot if you can find hers.”

  I follow his words, slipping two fingers inside my soaking pussy and pumping them slowly before finding my G-spot. Derrick’s got me so turned on that finding the spot is easy, and each intense stroke leaves my toes curling on the carpet.

  “All the while, you finger bang her and you lick and suck her clit like a starving man. It might take a few minutes, it might take a lot longer, but you do what she likes and stick with it until she comes. It’ll be the best reward ever, trust me. After that, well, you see what it takes. She’ll be open to you. Just listen to her body and be creative. No wham-bam, thank you, ma’am. Most women are more complex than that, all right?”

  Susannah interrupts, and I can hear it in her voice that she’s turned on too. “Wow, Derrick. That was rather . . . descriptive. Fellas, from a female perspective, let me tell you . . . hell yes to all of that. Hell. Yes.”

  They laugh, sending the show over to a song, and Mazzy Star’s Fade Into You comes grooving out of my radio. I keep my fingers going, pumping them in and out and finding all the ways that my body likes it, grinding the heel of my hand against my clit before easing up and brushing it with my thumb.

  The whole time, I can only imagine that Derrick’s there doing it. I don’t even know what he looks like, but holy fuck, I don’t know if it matters when a man knows what he knows. My pussy clenches around my two fingers as I strum my clit with my thumb, and I cry out, pushing myself over the edge and coating my hand in my sweet slickness. The orgasm’s intense, and I bite my lip hard, moaning his name. “Derrick.”

  Fuck me. God, I want him to fuck me so badly. When I come back to reality again, I realize the commercial break’s over, and I take my hand out of my soaked panties, panting shakily.

  Holy Shit, Derrick’s cohort is right. Hell yes to all of that. Listening to his voice describe how he gets a woman to come, giving but always in control . . . it’s worshipful mastery and I want it.

  I want it so badly.

  I definitely should not have hung up last night. Kicking myself for my cowardice and the missed opportunity, I click off the radio as Derrick moves on to another caller who apparently wants to know why his girlfriend can’t come from anal.

  I can’t take another answer from Derrick. Not if I want to get any sleep.

  Derrick

  The restaurant is full, but not too busy as I scan the tables. It doesn’t take long to find my target. After all, there aren’t too many six-foot-five, two hundred and eighty-five pound men who have a build like my best friend.

  “Jacob!” I call, seeing my friend turn. He’s so massive, I didn’t even see that he was talking to someone, a petite blonde girl who’s looking up at him with one purpose in her eyes. Jacob gives me a nod and turns back, scribbling a signature along with something else on the piece of paper the girl’s holding before sending her on her way.

  “Good to see you, Derrick!” Jacob says as we embrace like we did back when we were roommates in college. It was a pure chance pairing, two jocks, one on the football team and one moving away from the sport, but it clicked.

  “You too. How’s the shoulder treating you?” I ask.

  “Not as bad as the sportswriters made it out to be. Mostly it was just one hell of a bruise. I’ve been resting it for two weeks now since we’ve got a bye week. I’m good heading into the rest of the season. Then, of course, contract talks.”

  Contract talks. Big money. Jacob’s coming off two All-Pro years, and if he’s going to stay with his current team, they’re going to have to pony up some top-flight money this offseason to do it. Everyone’s saying the team would be smart to try and sign him to an extension before crunch time.

  “Big contract so you can pay for all of your groupies,” I joke. “What is it, thirty-two girls for thirty-two cities now?”

  “Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Jacob jokes. “Green ain’t your color, bro. You ain’t a Notre Dame fan. Besides, I know that when I find the right girl, I’ll settle down. Until then, fuck it. What about you?”

  “Not my thing,” I admit, sitting down at the table across from him. The waitress comes over, taking our orders, and then I continue. “I’m not gonna hate on you, but that’s just not what I’m looking for right now.”

  “You never were,” Jacob admits. “No matter how many times I tried to bring you to the dark side.”

  “What can I say? I saw the real thing with my parents, and I’ve never been able to settle for less. Besides, it’s not like I don’t get out there at all.”

  “We all heard that. Lookin’ for that perfect freak in the sheets, lady in the streets, I guess. Anyway, I won’t bust your ball
s. How’s work?”

  “Fine. Been busy, more folks calling in and we can’t even get to them all in a three-hour show. But the show seems to be helping people and the ratings are through the roof.”

  Jacob laughs, sipping his sparkling water. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. I heard last night’s show. You probably caused every woman listening to come right then and there. Shit, I’m good, never get complaints for damn sure, but hell, even I was taking notes. Never hurts to up your game a little bit.”

  We laugh, and I remember what Jacob told me last time we got together. Apparently, more and more of his teammates are listening in to my show as well. It seems odd that celebs and people I know would be listening to the show, but I do majorly appreciate the support. Somehow, when I’m on the mic, it feels more anonymous. The ‘Love Whisperer’ is just more of an amped-up facet of my personality, not exactly the real everyday version of me.

  “You ever miss ball?” he asks me after we finish our food. “I mean, you helped me train during the offseasons. I know you still had the skills back in college.”

  I shake my head, leaning back. I remember those days, sweating it out in the winter weight room, the summers running wind sprints with Jacob up and down the steps of the stadium. Even though I’m ninety pounds lighter than him, there were too many times I was a step behind or busting my ass just to keep pace. I had the love of the game, but not that one in ten thousand talent like him. “No, not really. I miss the teamwork, the brotherhood. But it wasn’t meant for me. I’m happy where I landed. You?”

  He nods, rolling his shoulder unconsciously, and I wonder how much of what he told me about his injury being just a bruise was bullshit. If it is an injury, his season’s going to be a lot harder than he’s letting on. “Definitely happy. It’s a crazy amount of work and I already feel like an old man on some days, but it’s all I ever dreamed of.”

  “I’m glad,” I reply honestly. “You think you’ll make All-Pro again?”

  “Pretty sure,” Jacob says with a smile. “You coming to the game tomorrow? Season kick-off.”