felt compelled to do— she couldn’t wait to hear his voice, for real instead of a recording.
Life without Harper was going to be grand.
“ARE you married?” It wasn’t a statement on her morals, but a need to know. Scott wouldn’t share, even if she was just a voice on his office phone.
She waited a beat too long to answer, and his gut tensed.
“No.”
His tension didn’t ease. “Are you sure?”
She puffed out a little breath. “I’m divorced.” Then she sighed. “Recently,” and before he could ask, she followed up with, “Satisfied now that I’ve bared my soul?”
He liked that she was snarky. He didn’t like that he was probably a rebound thing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He’d been hooked from the moment he heard her voice through the wall.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m divorced, not so recently. Tell me your name.”
She laughed. It was musical. It made him hard.
“I’m not telling you my name. That’s my secret.”
As was her number. The company phone system went through a PBX, and there was no direct line, only his extension, and no caller ID. She was safe. That was his intention. And she enjoyed playing it.
“What should I call you, then?”
“Well, Scott”—she said his name with a definite emphasis on the T —“maybe you should call me . . . Vixen.”
His turn to laugh, and it came from deep in his belly. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t suit you at all.”
Passing the office door, his controller glanced inside, brow raised as if she’d heard something different in his voice.
“Hold on a minute.”
He rose to shut the door, but left the blinds open. His office was fronted by half windows that looked over the bullpen of accounting activity. Closed blinds meant someone was getting his or her ass chewed. Closed door, however, merely indicated he was discussing proprietary business.
“I almost hung up,” she said when he once again had the receiver to his ear.
“No, you didn’t. You called for phone sex, and you haven’t had an orgasm.” He expected her to balk or get snarky again.
“I’ve never had phone sex.”
“Never?” He’d tried it a time or two after the divorce.
She hummed a second. “What’s it like? Tell me.”
The invitation in those two words was a stroke along his cock. He had a meeting at nine with his CEO and VPs to discuss the investor meeting. Fifteen minutes. Could he get her to come? Could he at least get her to touch herself for him?
“What are you wearing?”
She snorted. “That sounds like what some skanky guy would say when he calls one of those 900 numbers.”
Scott laughed. She wasn’t going to make it easy. “Are you going to do what I tell you or argue?” He allowed his authoritative side to sift through.
“Yes, sir,” she said with the sweetest sassy edge. “I’m wearing silk pajamas.”
“Unbutton the top.”
“There, it’s unbuttoned.”
“Now pinch your nipples.”
She huffed. “But that will hurt.”
“It’ll feel good.” He remembered the shape and texture, the dusky rose tint, small but pert, eminently suckable. He also remembered that she’d pinched her nipples for him that night. Now she was just being feisty. “Do it.”
She gasped, and his cock jerked inside his pants. His controller passed his now closed door again, same raised eyebrow. She was a matronly type, perhaps a couple of years older than he was, with knee-length skirts and a sharp accounting mind.
“Told you it would be good,” he said to his mystery lady, dropping his voice. “Say, ‘Yes, Scott, it felt so damn good.’ ”
“Yes, Scott,” she whispered, “it felt really good.”
“Wrong,” he snapped.
Life without Harper was going to be grand.
“ARE you married?” It wasn’t a statement on her morals, but a need to know. Scott wouldn’t share, even if she was just a voice on his office phone.
She waited a beat too long to answer, and his gut tensed.
“No.”
His tension didn’t ease. “Are you sure?”
She puffed out a little breath. “I’m divorced.” Then she sighed. “Recently,” and before he could ask, she followed up with, “Satisfied now that I’ve bared my soul?”
He liked that she was snarky. He didn’t like that he was probably a rebound thing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He’d been hooked from the moment he heard her voice through the wall.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’m divorced, not so recently. Tell me your name.”
She laughed. It was musical. It made him hard.
“I’m not telling you my name. That’s my secret.”
As was her number. The company phone system went through a PBX, and there was no direct line, only his extension, and no caller ID. She was safe. That was his intention. And she enjoyed playing it.
“What should I call you, then?”
“Well, Scott”—she said his name with a definite emphasis on the T —“maybe you should call me . . . Vixen.”
His turn to laugh, and it came from deep in his belly. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t suit you at all.”
Passing the office door, his controller glanced inside, brow raised as if she’d heard something different in his voice.
“Hold on a minute.”
He rose to shut the door, but left the blinds open. His office was fronted by half windows that looked over the bullpen of accounting activity. Closed blinds meant someone was getting his or her ass chewed. Closed door, however, merely indicated he was discussing proprietary business.
“I almost hung up,” she said when he once again had the receiver to his ear.
“No, you didn’t. You called for phone sex, and you haven’t had an orgasm.” He expected her to balk or get snarky again.
“I’ve never had phone sex.”
“Never?” He’d tried it a time or two after the divorce.
She hummed a second. “What’s it like? Tell me.”
The invitation in those two words was a stroke along his cock. He had a meeting at nine with his CEO and VPs to discuss the investor meeting. Fifteen minutes. Could he get her to come? Could he at least get her to touch herself for him?
“What are you wearing?”
She snorted. “That sounds like what some skanky guy would say when he calls one of those 900 numbers.”
Scott laughed. She wasn’t going to make it easy. “Are you going to do what I tell you or argue?” He allowed his authoritative side to sift through.
“Yes, sir,” she said with the sweetest sassy edge. “I’m wearing silk pajamas.”
“Unbutton the top.”
“There, it’s unbuttoned.”
“Now pinch your nipples.”
She huffed. “But that will hurt.”
“It’ll feel good.” He remembered the shape and texture, the dusky rose tint, small but pert, eminently suckable. He also remembered that she’d pinched her nipples for him that night. Now she was just being feisty. “Do it.”
She gasped, and his cock jerked inside his pants. His controller passed his now closed door again, same raised eyebrow. She was a matronly type, perhaps a couple of years older than he was, with knee-length skirts and a sharp accounting mind.
“Told you it would be good,” he said to his mystery lady, dropping his voice. “Say, ‘Yes, Scott, it felt so damn good.’ ”
“Yes, Scott,” she whispered, “it felt really good.”
“Wrong,” he snapped.
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