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By Wednesday, he had wrapped up his first two meetings. As he suspected, there wasn’t much point in them. Both teams had PR in-house. They were looking more for collaboration and use of some of their connections. He wasn’t really sure where they’d end up, but he was a little resentful that he had to come to New York for what could have been talked about on the phone.
When Deacon finally made it into the city and checked into his hotel, it was almost 11:30 p.m. He was wiped out, and he missed Sara. Desperately. Realizing it was only 8:30 p.m. on the west coast, he called her.
After a few rings, she picked up and said, “Wow. It’s late. Did you make it into the city okay?”
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Grumbling, he said, “Yes, finally. The last couple of days were a total waste of time.”
Running his hands through his already messy hair, he said, “I’m whining. Sorry. How was your day? Do you have time to talk?”
“Yeah. I’m home for the night. Thank god. It was a long day. My focus was terrible.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about you all day.”
Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Oh really? Tell me more!”
Laughing, Sara said, “Not like that. Okay, maybe a little bit like that, but mostly, just missing you.”
Softly, he said, “I’ve missed you, too. We’ve seen each other almost every night for the last couple weeks.”
Dryly, he added, “And for the record, I’m pretty much always thinking of you like that.”
“Oh really? Tell me more,” Sara said, repeating his own words back to him.
Grin stretching across his face, he settled back onto the bed and asked, “So, is this the part of the conversation where I ask you what you’re wearing?”
After a moment, he heard her exhale, then softly say, “It could be.”
He could picture the look on her face. Her biting her lower lip.
“Of course, you understand what my next question has to be. So what are you wearing?”
“A black tank top and a pair of black boy shorts with pink polka dots. You?”
Closing his eyes for a minute, he imagined her, then asked, “Mmm. Where are you right now?”
“Laying down in my bed.”
Shifting, Deacon laid down on his hotel bed, and said, “Me too. My hotel bed, anyway. Navy-blue boxers.”
Obviously interested, Sara said, “No shirt?”
“Nope. Just a pair of boxers and a smile.”
After a moment, Sara said, “You’ve got no idea how sexy your chest is, do you? One day I’d like to run my mouth over every inch of it.”
Feeling a surge of pure lust, he said, “That feeling is entirely mutual. Your breasts and those perfect pink nipples. They drive me crazy. I could suck on them for hours. Would you touch them for me?”
“Yes. I slid my tank top up just now.”
He heard the phone being adjusted, then her slightly breathy voice saying, “I’m stroking them. They’re getting tight now. God, I wish these hands were yours.”
Groaning slightly he said, “Fuck. Me too. That’s so hot. Cup your breasts and rub your thumbs over your nipples for me.”
After a moment, he heard her breathing change as she complied with his request.
