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She realized she was sucking on the end of her fingertip, thinking about sucking his cock. What the hell was that about? Giving head was okay, but it wasn’t something she fantasized about.
“What’s the kinkiest fantasy you’ve ever had?” he finally asked.
To tell him, or not to tell him? Maybe she shouldn’t admit to it when she was drunk, especially since she’d never told anyone and hadn’t planned to . . . ever.
“I’m vanilla!” she protested. “You wouldn’t find it very interesting—not compared to what you’re into.”
“No one is that vanilla, sunshine, and I’m very interested in hearing what you think about alone in the dark.”
She huffed indignantly. “Maybe I’m totally vanilla and you’ve just convinced me to go against my true nature.”
“Spill it, you prissy little bitch.”
She whimpered. How had he made a rude order sound so hot? “Or what?”
“Or I’m coming over there to make you tell me in person.”
Feeling restless, she got up and started pacing.
“Oh, like that’s supposed to scare me?”
“It should.”
A shiver of delicious apprehension coursed through her.
Ugh. Why was she even flirting with him on the phone? This was supposed to be over. But she was horny and this was too fun to hang up on.
“Fiiine. One sec.” She walked into her bedroom, seeking the comfort of her bed with its fluffy duvet. The idea of getting in with club germs on her clothes was sort of gross, though, so she stripped off her dress and bra before she got in.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I just got into bed. It’s late, you know, and I’m drunk. You really shouldn’t be making your contractor call you so late at night. It’s completely inappropriate.”
His snort made her grin.
“So now that you’ve gotten into your Tweety Bird jammies, spill it.”
“Oh . . . no jammies here. Just me and some very, very small panties,” she admitted. “I’m feeling all drunk and vulnerable, and you’re a complete jerk for making me admit humiliating fantasies to you.”
“Fuck, woman. You’re killing me.”
“They’re pink panties, if you really must know,” she went on as though he’d asked. She took a close-up pic from her navel down to her waistband and sent it to him. “I’m sending you a picture reference.”
There was a long pause.
“You fucking tease. Have I mentioned you have a sexy belly button?”
She chuckled evilly. “I couldn’t send anything lower than that. My underwear don’t leave much to the imagination.”
“Well, you wouldn’t want to give me the wrong impression.”
“You know how uptight I am. I’d hate to be improper.”
“I know how tight you are, all right.”
She gasped in mock dismay. “Rude!”
“Quit trying to distract me with your pussy and tell me this fantasy of yours.”
