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er?” 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.”
