All Work And No Play.... Julie Cohen
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stared at the screen and swallowed.
Had he stepped into some strange virtual world, or was this one of his fantasies coming true?
Jane Miller was wonderful, beautiful, intriguing. It had been fifteen years and she was all grown up, and he’d recognised her the minute he’d walked into the restaurant. Even though her hair was pulled back neatly into a clip, the strands that escaped were still as thick and soft and wavy as he remembered. Her eyes were big and grey, her lips were a perfect bow, and her skin was as delicate as the petal of an orchid.
He hadn’t just recognised her with his eyes and his mind; he’d recognised her with his heart, as the girl he’d followed around and adored for years when he was a kid. She’d been a crush, yeah, the untouchable girl he’d dreamed unformed pre-adolescent dreams about, but she’d also been his friend. She was still his friend.
And he’d recognised her with his body, too. Because Jane had grown from a tomboy into a very attractive woman.
He’d barely been able to keep his hands off her. His first instinct when he’d seen her had been to sweep her into his arms and plant an enormous kiss on those doll-like lips. It was attraction, it was affection, and it was also a primitive urge to grab this woman and mark her as his, because he’d always wanted her to be.
But there had been her fiancé to consider, and Thom, and the charade he’d asked her to play.
And now …
This was a real date. Just the two of them. Two grownups, both of them single.
And she was asking him what he would like to happen. He replied carefully.
What do you mean?
I mean everything. What should I wear, for example?
Jonny closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
She’d been wearing a suit at lunch this afternoon, and it had been pretty modest, nondescript in colour, conservative in cut. It was probably designed to minimise her femininity, but Jonny wasn’t fooled by it. He’d looked closely enough to see the slender curve of her waist under her jacket, the wave of her hips under her skirt, the slight bounce of her breasts under her silky top.
And the graceful line of her neck, and the delicacy of her wrists, slim and throbbing with warmth under his palm when he’d touched her.
And her shoes. Her suit had been nondescript, but her shoes had been fine leather, high-heeled, and had made her legs go on for ever. He typed:
You have good shoes. You should wear heels. They’re very sexy.
I should definitely wear good shoes. What else?
A dress. Something that doesn’t hide your body.
High heels and a clingy dress. Got it. Should I wear fancy underwear? Forget it, don’t answer that, of course I should.
Jonny nearly fell off his chair.
‘What colour?’ he asked aloud, his voice hoarse, but didn’t type it. Instead, he pictured it. White lace on that porcelain skin. Black satin hugging the curves of her buttocks. Pink silk pushing up her sweet breasts, barely covering her nipples.
He didn’t care what colour, actually. His blood had rushed to his crotch and he was sporting a hard-on of epic proportions.
If he spent the entire date knowing Jane was wearing fancy underwear just for him, he was going to have difficulty standing up and walking without attracting attention.
Okay, so how should I behave?
The ding of Jane’s message broke him out of his reverie, though it couldn’t distract him completely.
Just be yourself, Jane. No man could ask for more.
You’re very sweet, Jonny, but I need more information. Should I be flirtatious? Seductive? How do I do it?
The thoughts about Jane’s underwear didn’t go away, but he also remembered her at lunch today. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Jane had tried to act normally, talking with Thom, pretending to study the menu and appreciate her food—but he’d caught her attention wandering back to him, again and again. She’d looked in his eyes just a little too long when they’d spoken to each other; she’d cast quick, fluttering glances at his body.
Since he’d started modelling he’d become used to glances like that from women, but Jane was different. Every glance from her had heated his skin with desire—and, more than that, her eyes on him had made him feel like laughing out loud with happiness.
The mutual attraction between them was the best thing that had happened to him for a very long time. He typed:
I mean it. Just be yourself. You’re seductive without any help.
And you’re not BEING any help, Jonny. I need to know how to be sexy. What would you think if a woman did something like leaning forward on the table to mistakenly/deliberately show you her cleavage? Or is that too tacky?
Jonny swallowed. Jane Miller, the girl of his dreams, deliberately leaning forward in her clingy dress, showing him her cleavage in her ‘fancy underwear’ …
That would work.
What else? I’m bad at this, remember. Tell me what you like.
Oh, dear Lord. Jonny took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and typed without looking at the laptop, because his inner vision behind his eyelids was showing Jane, doing every little thing she could do to turn him on.
Cross your legs, let your skirt ride up a little, laugh, lean back in your chair. Wear your hair loose and twist a strand of it around your finger. Reach out, with small touches, a stroke on my arm or hand. Throw back your head in that adventurous way that you have. Get close, let us breathe the same air. Let your eyes show how you feel.
He opened his eyes only to press ‘send’, and he watched his words appear in the dialogue box.
In black-and-white, the words looked different than they had in his head. Starker. More like orders, rather than fantasy.
His heart rate sped up, partly with anxiety, but mostly with excitement. His blood pounded through his body and heated his limbs and made his erection pulse in his trousers.
His adventurous Jane, the fearless girl who climbed trees and jumped into pools of water without looking first. Was she playing with him, teasing him? Was she really as uncertain as she said?
She’d made the first move by asking him out, and now she was taking it further before they even met again, and either motivation appealed to him. He could play with her or he could reassure her. Or he could do both. He could tell her what he wanted from her, as he’d never done with any other woman before, because what he wanted most from her was that she be herself.
Unless, of course, she didn’t like what he’d written.
The seconds stretched into minutes. Jonny shifted in his seat, adjusting the fit of his trousers. The hotel-room chair wasn’t all that comfortable, especially for a desperately turned on man glued to his laptop. He pictured Jane sitting in her flat, reading the words he’d written, picturing the two of them together, maybe her brow furrowed a little, thinking about what she would do.
He raised his hands to the keyboard to ask if she was still there, but then saw that she was typing, and her answer appeared.
Okay. I can do that. But I have another question. What do you think about kissing?
A sound escaped Jonny’s throat, half a laugh, half a gasp of surprise.
I like it a lot.
His mouth was in a wide smile as he typed, his head shaking in disbelief that he was having this conversation online.