Читать книгу Sex at Work: Come Back to Me / This Is What I Want / Psychic Sex - Cathleen Ross - Страница 4

“Are you wearing the panties I sent you?” A deep voice I had come to know so well, whispered huskily.

My breath quickened and my pussy clenched in automatic response to his deep, chocolate-smooth baritone.

Oh God, it was him again. I swallowed nervously.

We’d been communicating for less than a week and each time I had the same reaction when he’d call me after my radio talk show ended. Right off the bat, he’d asked me such intimate questions I’d wanted to hang up in his face. Yet, I hadn’t.

He’d called every night over the last week, and to my shame, I’d come to need his nightly calls. Normally, he called when my show had ended, and I’d sent my engineer home and was all alone.

I glanced at the clock mounted on my desk, surprised to hear from him so early in the night. Tonight was a rerun of a previous show, and for all intents and purposes neither I, nor my engineer, needed to be in the studio.

Yet, there was no way I was going to stay away whether I needed to be here or not. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

From the first time I heard his voice he’d captivated me and I hadn’t been able to deny him anything. He’d started out talking dirty to me. Asking me if I had a man, if I needed one, and telling me he wanted to be the one to give me what I needed. The way he’d laid it down so smooth, so hot, I tried my best to hang up. Damn, I did. I wanted to tell him to go to straight to hell. But I couldn’t.

From the first night, well, things had progressed. And after what he had me doing to myself last night…I swore I wouldn’t take any more of his kinky calls. Particularly, when I came into work and found his “gift” on my desk, wrapped in a pretty pink box with a pearl-beaded bow.

“Did you hear me?”

My heartbeat slammed against my breastbone, and my treacherous nipples beaded in response to the low-toned voice pouring from the small speakers mounted in my desk.

I quickly glanced up to see if my engineer, Trina, had overheard.

I released a heartfelt sigh of relief when she wasn’t looking my way. Thank God, she didn’t seem to be paying me any attention behind her soundproofed glassed-in booth, gathering her things as she prepared to leave for the night.

Nevertheless, I quickly snatched up the phone and sat back down in my chair.

“Please…I told you, no more calls. If you want advice on love, call during the show’s regular time, and currently we’re doing a Best of show, so that’s not going to happen tonight. I suggest you find somewhere else to get your kicks,” I answered, trying my best to infuse as much attitude as I could in my tone, but even to my own ears it came out sounding pitiful and weak.

His answering, deep-throated chuckle confirmed it for me.

“Keep saying that, Dr. Adams, and maybe you’ll convince yourself. Damn sure not convincing me,” he arrogantly replied.

“Look, Mr.—”

I waited for him to fill in the name, knowing full well he wouldn’t.

“Dr. A, I’m going to be leaving for the night, to meet my mon…aw no, woman! Is that another caller? I thought I’d put the answering machine on.” Trina came hustling out of her control room and groaned. She flipped one of her long dreads over her shoulder and came to a halt near my desk, her large hemp bag thrown over her shoulder.

“No, Trina, it’s okay. You get out of here and go and meet your man. This isn’t anything I can’t handle.” I smiled reassuringly at her and held the phone away from my ear as I spoke, purposely allowing him to hear what I said.

Some of my nervousness must have come through. Trina gave me a look. “Dr. A, Jerrod can wait, ees no problem if you need me to stay…” she said in her deep Jamaican accent, allowing the sentence to trail off questioningly. Despite the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, I laughed.

“Go! You aren’t going to get that man of yours mad at me because I kept his honey, knowing full well you two have plans,” I said, laughing, reminding her of their plans to get away for the weekend. “Honestly, this is nothing. I’ll wrap up in a minute and do some odds and ends. I plan on heading out of here within the next hour or so myself,” I reassured her.

“Are you sure, then?

“Yes, I am. I’ll have one of the sound guys make sure the tapes run smoothly. There’s no need for me to be here.” I reminded her that I wasn’t needed at the station, either. “I’m going to head home early. In fact, could you close the blinds for me?” I asked.

“And I’ll be believing that when I see it, Doctor A! I don’t tink you’d know what to do with yourself if you weren’t here.” Trina laughed.

I took a mock swipe at her. “I’m fine…now go before I change my mind and keep you here with me all night!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” she said, laughing, and quickly closed the blinds before she scurried to the door.

Right before she opened it, she turned back to me and gave me a small, half grin, a look of concern crossing her pretty cocoa-brown face. “Seriously, Dr. A, you give all the great advice on love, and you know I be admiring you…but maybe it’s time for you to take your own advice, woman!” she said, stretching out the word woman. “Let go and have some fun.” She blew me a kiss before closing the door behind her.

I smiled and almost forgot the one waiting for me on the phone. As if he’d allow that to happen.

“She’s right,” he said before I’d had time to gather my thoughts, and pull myself together. “You give all that great advice on love, life and having fun. When’s the last time you had any fun? When was the time you let go and enjoyed a man?”

“What makes you think you know anything about me?” I asked around my pounding heart. I rushed on, filling in the answer before he could speak. “You don’t know anything about me. Not one damn thing.”

“I know enough. Enough to know you’re tired of talking about sex and ready to do it. But not just any sex. You need hot, raw, dirty sex.”

Oh god, please make him stop. My eyes drifted close and the walls of my pussy clenched at the way he dragged out the word raw.

I released a shaky breath, “You don’t know anything—”

“Enough to know you’re wearing the special panties I sent you. How long did it take you to convince yourself to put them on when you received the package today?”

“I am not wearing—”

“Shh,” he interrupted me. “Close your eyes. Slide your fingertips along the inside of your thigh. Pretend they’re mine.”

I bit my lower lip and did as he demanded.

“Push up your skirt and spread your legs. What do you feel?”

Why was he doing this to me, forcing me to do things I shouldn’t, feel things I didn’t want to feel?

“Exposed, vulnerable,” I admitted, my voice barely above a throaty whisper.

“Are you wet?”

Unable to hold back, a whimper escaped.

“That’s okay, baby, you don’t have to answer. I already know. Good, because I want that pussy drenched, bared and ready for what I want to do next.”

“I’m not doing this with you, again,” I choked out, determined not to give in to him.

Despite my denial, I found myself obeying every single one of his edicts. It was late, no one was around the nearly deserted radio station, but even had they been, I knew it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. I would have still given in to his every demand.

“How does it feel to have those beads scraping, rubbing against those plump, juicy pussy lips?” He didn’t even have the decency to wait for me to respond. “Spread your legs, rock back and forth, and ride those beads, baby. Pretend it’s my fingers, my tongue licking, stroking you, and tell me how good it feels.”

Oh God, it felt so good.

My body was humming; what he was doing to me—forcing me to do to myself—was the most incredibly erotic experience I’d ever had.

Yet I was ashamed of myself, even as I slid my creaming pussy over and against the beads attached to the panties, not caring that anyone could walk in the studio and catch me in the act of pleasuring myself.

“This is so wrong,” I sobbed, the words escaping of their own volition.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just you and me, and this is good,” he murmured.

It made no sense to me, but his words soothed me. He soothed me.

The shame of what I was doing washed away.

“Put me on speaker and hang up the phone. You’re going to need your hands, now.” His voice had grown increasingly rough, and I wondered if he would come with me this time. With shaky hands, I did as he instructed and pressed the speaker button and cradled the receiver.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I answered, reluctantly.

“Good. You’re doing real good, baby. Unbutton your blouse and undo your bra for me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my trembling hands smoothing over my straining breasts. My fingers trailed along the silk-covered buttons and slipped them open. I then unsnapped the front closure of my lacy demi-bra and my breasts tumbled free.

“We can’t leave those pretty little tits of yours unattended, can we?”

“No,” I groaned.

I already knew the drill. He would draw this out, wring out every bit of emotion, every hot sinful sensation that he could from me, not relenting, until I came all over myself. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“Cup them.”

“What?” I asked, my mind spinning, body taut, ready.

“Cup those pretty tits while you ride the beads.”

I gingerly cupped my breast as I continued to undulate my body, grinding against the beads now deeply centered between my slit.

“No, that’s not good enough.”

“Wha—what do you mean?” I groaned. The sensation of the beads rocking against my clit was unbearable in its pleasure as I lightly toyed with my breasts.

“Harder. Pinch them, roll those long nipples and pinch them. It’ll feel good, baby. Trust me.” His lava-hot voice issued the demand.

I pinched my nipples, and the slight pain caused a direct zing to my clit that forced me to buck harder, my body now writhing mindlessly. The room was filled with my low moans and the creaking sound of my chair as I bounced my butt and clit against the hard beads and desperately reached for the pinnacle just out of reach.

“God, I can smell you,” he groaned and the hot words sent me that much closer to the edge. “Keep playing with those pretty nipples, pull them, tug on them.”

“Oh God, I need to come, I need to come so badly,” I cried harshly, no longer caring if anyone came by the booth and witnessed what I was doing to myself, what I was allowing someone else to do to me.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.” Again his voice calmed my spirit, soothed me. “Slip one of your fingers inside the edge of your panties, and rub your clit. Play with it, roll your fingers around it.”

Immediately I did as he said. I tugged on the blood-filled turgid tip of my clit, pinching it, and rolled it between my fingers until a sob tore from me. Dear God, it wasn’t enough. I needed something, something to quell this fire raging inside of me.

“You belong to me, your body is mine to pleasure. Say it.” His harsh demand pierced my brain, despite the fire raging inside. I refused to give him that and it hurt so badly not to, to force myself not to give over completely.

“No.” I denied him, refusing to give him that last bit of control over me even as I played with my clitoris and tugged on my nipples, all because he told me to, all because it felt so sinfully good.

“Say it! If you want relief, say it!”

“No!” I cried out, the truth of his words raining down on my head like a warm shower.

But my body belonged to him. I knew it and so did he.

It belonged to him this night. It belonged to him this week…and heaven help me, it had belonged to him for most of my life. I belonged to him.

I felt tears slip down my face, as I continued to thrust my hips and grind against my fingers.

Unable to hold back any longer, I felt the orgasm slam into me. My body bowed down, overwhelmed as sensation upon sensation flooded me. My head ached and I was no longer in control as I screamed my release.

When the trembles left my body and a semblance of normalcy returned, I glanced up, and weakly leaned back against the cool leather seat.

Naked and exposed, my skirt hiked up, blouse draped open, and fingers buried deep inside my vagina, I met the familiar blue-eyed gaze of the one man I thought I’d never see again.

My husband.

“Come back to me.”