Call On Me. Roni Loren
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too easy. Most require more effort than that.”
He got quiet for a second. “So do you get into it? I mean, it’s got to feel kind of powerful knowing you’re turning someone on.”
She blew out a breath. “We’re so not going to talk about this.”
“Aw, come on. I want to know.”
“No, Pike. I do it for the cash. My position at Bluebonnet is great and I’m hoping for a promotion, but I could never afford Reagan’s schooling on a receptionist salary alone. I do this because it’s good money that I can earn from home. It doesn’t turn me on. If anything, it numbs me. Makes me immune to things most people would find sexy.”
“Well, that would explain how you’ve so easily resisted my undeniable charms. But sexually immune? No fucking way.”
“Believe what you want.”
He sniffed. “I saw how you looked at me in the restaurant, Oakley. That look did not come from a woman who’s numb.”
“That look is called shock. I thought I heard something I didn’t. And seriously, how do you and your ego fit in the same room?”
“We work it out. And that was more than shock. You wanted me.”
“Whatever.” Great. Now she was sounding like the kids she worked with.
“Close your eyes, Oakley.”
“What? Why?”
“Humor me.”
“We’re not going there, Pike. I was not issuing a challenge.”
“Come on, close them. What can it hurt? I’m all the way across town. You’re safe from me.”
Lie. Lie. Lie. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it.
“Are you still wearing what you were earlier?” he asked.
“Oh my God. Seriously? The what are you wearing question? You could at least—”
“Tell me.”
“Ugh. The shirt but not the pants. Super hot.”
He made some sort of pleased sound on the other end. “Good. That’s exactly how I’m picturing you now.”
“Fantastic.”
“And though you didn’t ask, I’m wearing nothing. Just my sheets. I like the way they feel against my skin.”
She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into her pillow. Shit on a stick. Pike was naked. This was a stupid, stupid idea. She needed to hang up. She adjusted her headset. “You are making crap up right now. I know this game way better than you.”
“Don’t taunt me, mama. I’m not above sending you a dick pic.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Play nice then. Now, where were we?” he said, in a sleep-soft, sexy voice—all cool sheets and hot skin and long nights. “Right, you on your bed in just a thin T-shirt and panties. I bet you’ve taken your bra off, too.”
She had, but she wasn’t going to confirm it for him.
“Mmm, I can imagine that shirt is pretty see-through with nothing else beneath it. I wish I was there to brush my fingers over the front of your shirt, see your nipples rise against the cotton so I could put my mouth on them.”
“Are you charging me by the minute?” She kept her voice even, but her hand had drifted to her breast. She drew her fingertips over her nipple, casually at first, then with more purpose, sending a hot bolt of sensation down through her belly. Her toes curled.
God, what was she doing? She went through this scenario all the time with callers and never once had the urge to actually participate.
“First call’s free.” She heard the glide of sheets again. “Especially since I’m going to enjoy this, too.”
She clamped her lips together. She would not ask him if he was touching himself. Would. Not. Ask. And she would not picture what he might look like laid out naked, thighs spread, cock in hand.
She shuddered and the spot between her thighs pulsed with awareness. “I’m going to hang up now.”
“Don’t. You don’t have to pretend to hate this. I told you I’m honest. Do me that courtesy, too. This is a no-risk proposition. We don’t even have to talk about it face to face. Work is work. Fine. This—this is just a no-pressure, late-night anonymous phone call. Give yourself a break, mama. Indulge a little.”
She let out a long breath, the weight of her limbs pressing into the bed. It’d been so long since her body had tingled and ached, so long since she’d fantasized about a man. The offer was so damn tempting.
“I’m hard for you, Oakley.”
Well, hell. That fucking did it. How was she supposed to stay cool after that? Hard. It was such a filthy word when he said it. She licked her lips, tried to find her voice. “Is that right?”
“Have been since you answered the phone. Your voice does it for me. I keep hearing your song in my head and picturing you in nothing but a T-shirt. If I were there, I’d peel it off of you and tie your hands with it so I could taste your skin and feel you against my tongue, watch your green eyes go black with want.”
She let out a soft, needy gasp. One he had to have heard. But she couldn’t help herself. Those sinful lips of his running over her body, tasting her? The image was too decadent to block.
“Still with me, Oakley?”
“I’m here.” It was all she could manage to say without totally giving herself away.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked, shameless and bold. “Because I’m leaking for you. You should see how slippery the head of my cock is getting just thinking about you.”
God bless America. A rumble of need moved through her like a possessed freight train, gears that had long gone rusty coming to life and spinning too fast. She could see him there, fist around himself, thumb rubbing the fluid over the tip, making his erection glossy and flushed. Could imagine being there with him, lowering her head and swiping her tongue across that little slit. She could almost taste the salt of him. “This is such a bad idea.”
“My favorite kind. What are you thinking about, baby?” he asked, voice gruff. “Don’t censor, and I won’t either.”
She swallowed past the tangle of protests in her throat. She could do this. Hell, she did this every night. She’d just never said the words and really meant them before. “I was imagining what you’d taste like.”
He groaned, and that gave her a strange thrill of satisfaction. She was getting to him, too. “Answer my other question. I want to know.”
She knew the answer but let her hand slide down her belly anyway. Her fingers dipped beneath the band of her panties and found the slickness waiting there. She stroked a finger over her clit, the simple touch making her thighs clench. “Yes. I’m wet.”
“Fuck,” he said in a strangled whisper. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? I can fucking hear it in your voice. God, you’re driving me crazy. Hold on.”
Something squeaked on his end of the line. “What are you doing?”
“Grabbing lube out of my drawer,” he said bluntly. “I want to imagine how sexy and slick you’d feel around me.”
“How very prepared of you,” she teased, her words getting looser the more she stroked herself. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
“Not in this lifetime or the last, mama, but I’m always prepared to get off.” Mattress springs creaked as he got settled again. “Ah, fuck, yes. That’s better.”
“Tell me what you’re doing,”