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What time is it? Oh God, I fell asleep in Arsen’s apartment. I look to my side and there he is, his naked body still pressed tight against mine, the warmness of his skin seeping through mine.
It pains me to leave him. I wouldn’t mind closing my eyes and going back to sleep, my naked body against his… But there’s a whisper inside my head: I’ve got work to do. "King Henry," my new client, is going to call me at noon, and I want to be home by the time I get the call. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not even about work… I just want to talk with him again.
And so, with a perfect naked man lying by my side, I get up and get dressed. I could reschedule the call, I know that—but somehow there’s something inside of me that’s aching to hear that voice on the other end of the line. I leave the apartment on my tiptoes, wondering why the hell I'm caring so damn much about a man I’ve never even met.
12
Arsen
I don’t know why I’m so fucking excited to talk to Ashley when she was just here a couple of hours ago. But regardless of the fucking reason, I shower, shave, go work out, and get some food at the gym, and by the time I’m sitting down in front of my computer, I have nervous excitement going through me like I’m 16 and in high school all over again.
What the fuck is going on? I’m about
to call a phone sex operator. Regardless of whether I had showered or shaved or whatever, she’d be looking to get me off. This is a sure fucking thing. It’s nothing to get excited about. It’s nothing to revolve my day around.
But that’s exactly what I’m fucking doing. You’re probably laughing at me right now. I seem like that fucking 40-year-old virgin if you ever saw the movie where Steve Carrell puts on the candles and shit before putting on the fucking porno so he could jack off. Hell, chances are Dad’s company produced that porno in the first place. And now I wonder how much the old man is turning over in his grave when he sees his only fucking son getting a fucking hard on getting ready to pay money to talk dirty with one of his own phone sex operators.
Jesus fucking Christ. I gotta calm the fuck own.
I turn on the computer at my desk and scan through my emails. There’s nothing major going on in the world of sex today that’s interfering with my trying to divest out of this shit. I pull up the research on the Morozov family of companies that I had asked Gerard to do. That man is worth his fucking weight in gold. Not only did breaking up the company into chunks to sell give us who Luca Giannoni was working for, but it gives me a chance to dig a bit deeper and see just who I’m selling to.
But wait, it’s already noon. And that means Ashley’s waiting for me to call her.
Actually, let me fucking rephrase that. She’s waiting for "King Henry" to call her.
Whatever, don’t look at me right now like that, ok? Until I met her, I used to be a normal, well-adjusted asshole. Sure, I used to fuck women left and right, but I never fucking lied to them. But with her, I’m living a double fucking life.
“Hi this is Misty, who am I talking to?” she purrs into the phone and my heart skips a beat at hearing her voice all over again.
“It’s King Henry, Kitten,” I say with the affected gravelly voice. I’m not using the coat anymore, and despite the computer showing me that emails are arriving; my mind and concentration are completely focused on the line.
“I’ve been waiting for you, sir,” Ashley says with a purr.
“Have you now?” I say to her while my cock stiffens at her submissive tone. “I’m not sure I believe you Kitten.”
“It’s true, I came home just so I could take your call,” she insists.
“What are you wearing, Misty?” I ask, taking charge of the conversation. “Tell me.”
I lean back as Ashley starts to describe what she’s wearing. “I have on a purple lace thong with purple stockings and garters,” she says. “And a light purple matching lace bra.”
I close my eyes, imagining the beautiful Goddess who was with me just a few hours ago and how she’s lounging in sexy lingerie now to talk to me.
A part of my brain tells me this is wrong. This is fucking crazy. That I have plenty of work to do today.
Fuck, I even look toward the computer. There’s an urgent email that just came through from Gerard.
But the reptilian part of my brain tells me that Ashley wasn’t wearing any purple lingerie when she left here this morning. She must have changed. Or she’s making this whole thing up.
“Did you just put it on?” I ask into the phone. “Was that what you were wearing before? Be honest with me, Misty.”
There’s a pause on the line and I know she’s debating how far to go into this conversation. Because I’ve just blurred the edges of fantasy and reality now and if she plays along then she’s walking into fucking wonderland with me.
“I changed into this just for you,” she tells me slowly. “I put it on after I showered once I got home.”
“Did you come from somewhere else?” I ask. Fuck, don’t look at me okay. I don’t know why I’m asking this. I know perfectly well where she was.
There’s another pause.
