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“Are you back yet?” I message Beck. We’ve been texting through most of his trip, and even shared a few late night calls. The last I heard from him was this morning—a short, apologetic sentence as they waited for clearance. I rescheduled his meetings for him, pushing them back to this afternoon, but now even that looks unlikely. Depending on when his plane arrives today, I doubt he’ll have a chance to show up at the gallery either.
My phone rings, and I answer it, already smiling after seeing the number on the screen. “Hi, Beck.”
“We’re in the air now, so my connection is iffy, but I wanted you to know I’m safe and sound. Sorry I didn’t text you earlier; I was in desperate need of some shut eye if I’m going to have a chance to make it to the gallery tonight.” He punctuates his sentences in yawns, and I feel guilty about asking so much of him.
It is unrealistic of me to want him at my art show, but it was his urging that convinced me to try again. Having Beck believe in me, in my passions, makes me feel hopeful again. With him gone, I’ve channeled the desire I have for him, the emptiness with him gone, into my art. I hate to say that he inspires me; an artist should never have someone else as her muse, but my love for him has been an inspiration.
I want to impress Beck with my art, to show him that I can live up to the potential he sees in me. To do so has been expensive. All my money has gone into paying bills and saving up for this show. Paint, clay, metal working tools, and a new air compressor were not cheap, but the money I make at Huntsworth has opened doors to me I had not imagined in a long time.
Making money even has Jean being nicer. I’ve helped with groceries, picked up some of the chores around the house that Jean usually takes care of, and I even paid a bit extra as rent, despite my dad’s protests. I get that her behavior is probably because she’s into Beck and hopes I’ll spill some details about him. That’s the biggest reason I couldn’t find the nerve to send him any nudes or even teasing photos, for quite a while. I can’t chance Jean finding out about us.
Some days, we only had mundane “How was your day?” type exchanges. It really depended on how tired we were. When my dad and Jean were out late for a party, Beck wrapped up his work for the night and called me. We spent hours on a video call that evening, only ending the call after we both had come at least twice. It wasn’t just about getting off, though. It felt like what a couple would do to stay together during an extended absence. I do wish I had photos of Beck on my phone for the lonely nights, but it’s too risky to get caught.
“Are you wet for me, Lia? Just thinking about getting to see you has me hard.” Beck’s yawns have changed to a raspy whisper. “Can I show you how much I’ve missed you?”
I laugh into the phone. “Yes, I am, and maybe. My father and Tasha will be at the gallery. I don’t know how great it would look if I disappear from my show, Beck.”
“Maybe I could show you now. Go in my office, Lia, and lock the door.”
I start to question him, not knowing what he’s up to, but the sound of his zipper going down is enough to silence me. “Oh, fuck, Lia,” he moans, making me run from my desk to his. “My hand does not feel anywhere nearly as good as your pussy. Are you in my office yet?”
“Yes.” His leather chair cradles me as I spread my legs.
“Touch yourself for me. I want to smell you in my office when I get in later. Where are you?” His whisper makes me even hotter, and I’m trying to picture how he’s hiding that gorgeous cock of his from view.
“Your chair.”
His answering groan is everything to me. “Fuck that’s hot. If I were there, Lia, I’d kneel under my desk and lick your pussy. Would you like that?”
I nod, my mouth going dry. “Yeah,” I manage to whimper. The phone is tucked between my ear and shoulder as I reach both hands down. “I’m so wet for you, Beck.”
“Pretend your fingers are mine. I want you to put your phone on my desk, put me on speakerphone, and lean back in my chair. Fuck yourself, Lia. Put your feet up on the desk, too. I want to hear how wet you are as you fuck yourself. Those are my fingers doing it though. Can you feel me?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “That’s it. Pump them a little faster. There you go.”
I’m so wet that I have three fingers thrusting into me with nothing but pleasure spreading through me. And when he tells me to start pinching my clit, I don’t know how long I can make this last. “Beck!”
“No coming yet, Lia. Roll your clit around for me, tweaking it like you would if it were a nipple. That’s what I want to do to you. Mmmm…” His voice trails off, softer than the hissing slide of his hand and a squirting sound of lotion. “I can hear you fucking yourself for me, getting ready for me to fuck you. Lia. I can just picture you there in my chair, spread open and ready for my tongue, my hand, my cock. I want to give you all of them.”
I can’t stop myself from arching upward, barely holding back from coming. “Please!”
He laughs, a dark, lusty sound. “If only you were here with me, Lia…” His hand speeds up; I try to match his pace. “I want to give this all to you.”
I’m poised on the edge, tight and loose all at the same time. My fingers haven’t stopped, and I don’t know if I could now even if someone walked in on me.
“All for you, Lia. All—for—you,” he grunts out. “Come for me, Lia.”
I barely hold back from crying out his name.
He has no such restraint. “Oh, Lia! Oh, fuck!” Beck comes loudly, a gravely groan punctuated with wet slides of his fingers over his cock.
My body convulses one more time as I shudder through a mini second orgasm.
A chime sounds from somewhere on his end of the call, and Beck fumbles with his phone. “I have to go, Lia. The pilot put on the ‘no electronics’ light, and I should clean up, I think. I’ll see you soon.” The line fills with static before the call ends.
It couldn’t be soon enough. Having sex with Beck was the most magical experience of my life. I doubt anything can top that. We were perfect together, better than I had ever dreamed it could be, and I have dreamed about him a lot over the years. The only problem with it—other than him being Tasha’s father—is that it was my first day on the job, and I was already fucking the boss! How can he take me seriously after that? Beck admitted to not having sex in a long time; despite his declaration that he had wanted me, our sex and the phone sex could have just been relief. I really don’t want to think that way, but it’s hard to do otherwise. I’m worried he thinks we made a mistake, despite the continuing sweetness and flirting during his trip.
I couldn’t bear it if he rejected me now, so I think it will be easier to just avoid the issue altogether. If I go on as if it didn’t happen, we can continue working side by side and enjoy the memory of how good we were together. This company is too important to Beck for him to jeopardize his reputation with the board by sleeping with an employee. After the show tonight, I’ll try to talk to him about it.
On shaking legs, I make my way to Beck’s bathroom to wash my hands. There’s no hiding the wet marks on his chair, and I’m torn between wiping them off or leaving them for Beck. I’ll leave them; it’s not like I can hide the musky sweet smell in here anyway.
My desk phone starts ringing as I go back to my office, and I actually smile when I see it’s my step-mom’s extension. I’m still on an endorphin high from Beck’s impromptu phone sex, and with my loan almost paid off to Dad, Jean’s been on my case a lot less. We even had a nice brunch together last Sunday while my dad was out golfing with friends. “Huntsworth Industries, executive office. This is Lia speaking. How can I help you?” I answer. It doesn’t hurt to keep in practice, even when I know who is on the other end of the line.
