Читать книгу Too Hot to Sleep - Stephanie Bond - Страница 9

AFTER SIX YEARS on the police force, Officer Ken Medlock should have been used to late-night calls, but he still had trouble focusing on the voice at the other end of the line. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand, but remembered a split second after the sound of the hollow click that he’d forgotten to replace the burned-out bulb.

Did the woman say she was “Georgia”? His mind spun as he tried to place the name—a new dispatcher? Blinking seemed to help clear the cobwebs. One-thirty. Damn, the last time he’d looked at the clock had been less than an hour ago. His intermittent insomnia seemed to have grown worse as the temperature climbed—and now this interruption.

“Rob, I know it’s late, but I’ve been thinking about…us…all evening and I was wondering…that is…” The woman with the sultry voice inhaled and Ken opened his mouth to tell her she had the wrong number.

“I’m not wearing panties.”

His mouth snapped shut and his manhood stirred, proving at least one part of his body was processing information.

A small trembling laugh sounded. “I’ve always wondered if you were a boxer man or a brief man.”

What was the mystery woman’s intention? Engage in a little late-night dirty talk to entice this Rob guy to come over? “Boxer,” Ken blurted, then swallowed and leaned back onto his requisite three-pillow stack. Had he lost his mind? Or more appropriately, had he lost his shame?

“Mmm. Do you sleep in them?”

When I sleep. He couldn’t remember such a welcome interruption though—few of his dreams were this good. He might have thought his partner was playing another practical joke on him, but even Klone wouldn’t go this far. And the woman sounded so sincere, she had to be the real thing. His job required him to make life-and-death split-second judgments, but suddenly he was gripped with indecision—’fess up, hang up, or play up.

His body made the decision by sending a flood of desire to swell his deprived loins. What would be the harm in succumbing to one wild impulse? Before he had time to reconsider, he muttered, “Mmm-hmm.” Knowing she might realize her mistake any second, he held the mouthpiece a few inches away from his mouth. On the other hand, if she didn’t know what kind of underwear Robbie Boy wore, maybe she’d just met the man. Or maybe she was a prostitute. Ken had lived in the South for most of his adult life, but had never met a woman named Georgia.

“I thought it was time to let you know how I feel.”

Or maybe her boyfriend simply didn’t know how good he had it. “Okay,” he offered.

“But not if this makes you uncomfortable.”

He found the crack in her confidence endearing. Did she have any idea how sexy her voice sounded? And the only thing uncomfortable at the moment was his hardening erection. “I’m fine. Um…go on.” When silence followed, he was afraid she was onto him.

“Can you shed those boxers?” she whispered.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Ken reached beneath the warmish pilled sheet and slid off his shorts in three seconds flat, not an easy feat in a waterbed while juggling a phone. The TV remote he’d left on the bed crashed to the wood floor. “They’re gone. Are—” Ken wet his lips, “are you undressed?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m wearing a white button-up blouse and a white bra.”

Ken closed his eyes. “Take…take them off,” he urged.

From the rustling sounds, he surmised she was stripping. His mind whirled, wondering what this woman who called herself Georgia looked like. Was she redheaded? A brunette? Blonde? Brown eyes? Blue? Hazel? Long hair? Short? Sections of his fantasy woman clicked into place like the tiles in a vertical slot machine. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, a great smile, curvy. And peeling off her clothes.

“They’re off.”

Ken bit his tongue to keep from asking more questions that might end the phone call. His hand slid beneath the sheet, and he imagined Georgia easing into the bed next to him.

“It’s hot over here,” she continued, much to his relief. “And I just couldn’t sleep after leaving the club. All that nudity affected me.”

She was a stripper? That explained the stage name. His conscience eased somewhat. At least she wasn’t some innocent lady shedding her modesty for the first time. And she must have an incredible body. Her shadow of an accent didn’t belong to a Southern belle, but in his mind, Georgia was as lush and sticky-sweet as her name implied.

“I need to relax,” she said, sighing.

Ken could almost feel her breath warming his neck. His answer was a low groan of encouragement.

“Lately I’ve been hoping we could become more…intimate.”

“I never knew,” he replied in a low tone. The truth.

“We’ve both been a little shy, but somehow, it’s easier to talk about my fantasies on the phone like this.”

A hot flush traveled over his skin. “Go on.”

“My breasts,” she said, her voice suddenly tentative again.

Round? High? Firm?

“Sensitive. So sensitive.”

Not as visual, but he could make it work. “Mmm-hmm.”

She was breathing harder now. “My hair is down and tickling my breasts.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Can you picture me lying next to you?”

Could he? “Uh-huh.” She was killing him. Moonlight streamed through a window next to his bed, transforming the tangled sheets into a woman’s figure. Her skin was smooth and golden with faint and minuscule tan lines. Beautiful. Their hands tangled as they stroked and caressed each other.

“Touch me lower,” she murmured.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Lower,” she urged, and he moaned, picturing the dip of her navel and the tangle of dark hair in the vee of her thighs.

“There,” she moaned, gratified. “Yes, there.”

Ken tensed, moved by the emotion in her voice. “I can’t wait much longer.”

She was practically panting now. “Yes…now.”

He imagined himself ready over her waiting body. Their moans would mingle at the union. She would close around him as he sank deeper and deeper in her warmth.

Her voice reverberated in his head, a stream of soft moans, punctuated with throaty inflection to capture a rhythm he matched without hesitation. He could never tire of her voice. “Talk to me,” he begged.

“S-so…good…ohhhhhhhhh…harder…faster…”

Ken obliged, his breathing becoming more ragged with every thrust. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, “take me with you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Together…now…oh, yes…”

Ken’s eyes rolled back as he joined her powerful release. Their voices culminated in staccato cries, then gentled to quiet moans. Satisfied sighs hummed on the line as they both labored to control their breathing.

“That…was…great,” he managed between great mouthfuls of air. His body spasmed with residual pleasure and he felt utterly drained.

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed with a silky laugh, then cleared her throat. “I…guess I’d better let you get back to sleep.” She’d retreated into shyness. “Good night, Rob. Call me tomorrow.” He heard a faint click, then a dial tone.

Ken floundered to sit up and managed to knock the phone and other clutter off the nightstand. He swung his feet to the floor, his heart still recovering from his unexpectedly naughty phone call. He’d seen, done, and heard a lot of things during his years as a beat cop, but this was a first. Unbeknownst to her, the woman had performed a public service.

Today—no, yesterday—had been one of the lousiest days he could remember. No deaths, thank goodness, but he’d answered an excessive number of domestic violence calls, and the criminals seemed to get younger all the time. He became a cop partly because he wanted to pass a safer world on to his nieces and nephews, and partly because he felt law enforcement was the best possible use of his God-given physical strength and mental discipline. He’d simply underestimated the sheer malice with which people treated one another, especially members of their own family.

Every cop experienced times when he simply didn’t want to get up and go to work, and Ken had been entertaining such thoughts when he lay down. And although his body now tingled with muscle fatigue, his spirit sang with new vitality. Ken decided he needed to get his priorities in order and find a good woman, then maybe he wouldn’t dwell on the misery he encountered every day.

And maybe he wouldn’t be tempted to steal an orgasm meant for another man.

His conscience poked at him, but what could he do now? Nothing, he decided hastily, rising and striding toward the bathroom. Chalk up the misdirected phone call as a once-in-a-lifetime experience and let it be. Tomorrow, Georgia and Rob—whoever they were—would have a big laugh when they realized she’d coaxed a wrong number to climax.

Ken leaned against the sink and ran a hand through his flattened hair, thinking about the sometimes shy voice of his unwitting partner. What if, instead, she felt humiliated and kept her secret? What if she worried about the identity of the person with whom she’d shared such an intimate experience?

Nah.

He splashed his face with handfuls of cool water, then stumbled back to bed, unable to stop a slow grin and a wide yawn as he fell onto his pillow. One thing he did know. His insomnia was cured for tonight.