Mayday (10 page)

Shit
. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He'd meant to turn her on, but he hadn't gambled on his own reaction to the memory of their evening in the pool. Now he was in no shape to attend a meeting.

Down, boy
, he ordered his penis.

When she spoke, her voice was strangled. “God, Wes.”

He stood up behind his desk, satisfied that she'd spend at least some of the day in as much torment as him. His suit jacket rested on the back of his chair, and he stared at it assessingly. Was it long enough to cover his erection? It would have to be, because he really couldn't delay attending the meeting much longer.

“Do you have a vibrator?” he asked.

A long hesitation. “Uh . . . yeah.”

“Have it charged and ready tonight when I call,” he ordered. “I have plans for it. And you.”

She made a choked sound he chose to interpret as agreement.

“Gotta go, baby. Talk to you tonight.”

“About the Intimate Emporium thing,” she said hurriedly, “I really think—”

“Don't worry,” he repeated. “It won't be a problem. Talk to you later.”

They'd already made tentative plans to meet for lunch the next day. He'd discuss the potential job offer with her then. And somehow, he'd convince her to stay the course with him. If he had to use sex to persuade her, so be it. In fact, he'd consider it a true pleasure.

Right now, he felt confident. Reckless. Like nothing could go wrong. God, he hadn't felt this way since he was nineteen and the world lay ahead of him. He had a beautiful, intelligent woman to woo and a promising job to consider. His personal and professional worlds had both opened up in a matter of days, revealing opportunities for happiness he'd never dreamed could be his.

After years of disappointment, he could finally see the possibility of a perfect future again. It felt amazing. Intoxicating. He was going to preserve it, come hell or high water.

L
ate that night, he sprawled on his bed as he talked again to Helen. The speakerphone projected her voice loud and clear, so he had both hands free to clamp over his face.

“And that's why the Bookmobile now has a sign stating that we can't breastfeed your children while you browse,” she concluded. “Which I really think we should reword. Because, to me, that implies we'll breastfeed them when you're
not
browsing. And that's just not true.”

She paused for a long moment. “Except with Kim. But the library fired her a year or two ago.”

He lowered his hands and interrupted before she could start another story.

“Helen, you're killing me,” he begged. “Give my poor, injured face a rest. If I cringe-laugh again, it'll freeze like this.”

She giggled. “My mom complains about my stories too. But then, when I don't tell her any, she complains that I'm holding back.”

“Have you always been this funny?” he asked. “I don't remember it from school, but . . .”

He winced again, without laughing this time. Stupid. He was an idiot to remind her of all the years he hadn't noticed her. He'd called her Tiffani, for God's sake.
Tiffani
. Jesus.

“But you never really paid attention to me anyway,” she finished for him.

“Helen . . .” he began.

“I don't know,” she said, interrupting him. “I don't think I've changed too much. I've stayed the same, for better or worse. Probably worse.”

His brow wrinkled. “What do you mean? Why should you have changed?”

“I'm just . . .” she sighed. “In some ways, I feel like I've regressed back into childhood. I live with my parents in my old bedroom. I only work part-time—”

“For now. Until you get the Community Outreach position.”

“For now,” she agreed. “But at the moment I don't make enough to support myself, even with all the extra shifts I pick up around the library. It upsets me, to be honest. I'm an adult woman. I want my own space. I want to pay my own way and become independent again.”

For the first time since his conversation with Bea that morning, an unwelcome thought occurred to him. Even if Helen decided to keep dating him after hearing about his potential departure, even if—and this was a big leap—he asked her to go with him when he left . . . Would she be willing to give up the Community Outreach position she'd worked so hard to get? The one that made her warm brown eyes sparkle with excitement every time she mentioned it?

A long silence stretched between them before she spoke again. “You know, I had a crush on you all through middle school and high school. But you never realized. Never really saw me.” She gave a laugh that sounded only half-amused. “Not even when you upchucked all over my backpack.”

He scrubbed his face with a rough hand, unsure what to say. “I'm sorry, baby. You deserved better than that.”

“Was it because of . . .” She stopped, and then started again. “Was it because of how I looked? Or because I read science fiction and raised my hand in class all the time? Why didn't you ever notice me?”

“No,” he said. “No. Not at all.”

“Then what?”

He searched for an honest answer to the question he'd been asking himself for months now. “I don't know. Swimming took almost all of my attention. The little I had left went to the other kids on my team. They made up my circle of friends and . . .”

“Girlfriends,” she supplied.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I didn't see the need to socialize with anyone outside my team. And girls like you seemed out of reach for me anyway, so I just ignored all of you.”

“Out of reach?”

“Too smart for someone like me,” he said.

He waited for her to give a laugh of agreement, or maybe change the subject so she wouldn't have to lie to him and deny what he'd said. Instead, he heard her gasp.

When she spoke again, her voice had turned stern. “This is the second time you've said something like that. What the fuck, Wes?”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “We both know I didn't do well in school. I barely graduated. The only reason I got into college was my swimming. Compared to someone like you, I was a dunce.”

“You didn't get good grades because school wasn't your priority. Not because you were dumb.”

He grunted, closing his eyes against the glare from the ceiling fixture above his bed.

“Do you really think I'd have had a crush on you if I'd thought you were stupid?”

His eyes popped back open. “That brings up a good question,” he said. “Why exactly
did
you have a crush on me?”

A rustling sound came through the speaker, almost as if she were shifting in sheets. Was she lying on her bed too? And had she remembered to keep her vibrator handy, as he'd asked?

“Um . . . well, obviously, you're hot. You've always been hot,” she said.

A weird mixture of pride and disappointment kept him motionless on the bed. Of course he loved the fact that she'd found him sexy. But was that the only reason she'd wanted him? Was that the only reason she wanted him now?

“There were other hot boys in school, of course.”

He scowled at the ceiling. Sure, he wished she'd wanted him for more than his looks back in high school. But if that was the case, he'd at least prefer to be the
only
guy she'd wanted for that reason.

“But you were the only one I felt that way about.”

Better. Much, much better. He crossed his legs at the ankle, enjoying the conversation once again.

“I think because even though you didn't notice me, you weren't unkind to me either,” she continued. “Not like some people were. You weren't unkind to anyone. On the occasions when you'd actually done the homework, you had interesting things to say. When I overheard you talking to your friends, you were funny. I never heard about you treating your girlfriends badly. As far as I know, you didn't cheat. You didn't lie. You were a loyal friend.”

She fell silent for a moment, and then spoke again. “I was fascinated by you. Maybe because the image you tried to project didn't match what I actually saw in you. You pretended to be a careless jock, but you weren't. Not really. You were always so much more complicated than anyone else seemed to notice. So much more interesting.”

The usual discomfort he felt when receiving compliments made him squirm. Still, he couldn't deny the pleasure that coursed through him because of what she'd said. Pleasure he could return in his own way. He couldn't in honesty tell her how much he'd admired her during their school years, because he hadn't admired her. He hadn't noticed her, period. But he admired her now. Wanted her now. And
that
he could show her through words and actions.

He sat up and moved to brace his back against the headboard.

“Baby, I can't tell you how good you just made me feel,” he said. “Now it's my turn to make you feel good. With a little help from your hand and your vibrator.”

He didn't hear a sound from Helen. Not a breath. Not a whisper of movement.

“What are you wearing?” he asked, his voice low.

“A nightie.”

“Take it off. Panties?”

“No.”

Now he could hear her breathing again. It sounded more rapid than usual.

“Good. I want you to lie down on your bed and pretend I'm there with you. But we have to be quiet. Otherwise, your parents might hear us.” He frowned. “Which reminds me. Are your parents there? I mean, really there? Not just part of the fantasy? Because if so, maybe we should do this another time.”

“No!” she cried out. “I mean, no. They're not here.”

“Then stroke your breasts. Imagine they're my hands cupping you, my fingers rubbing against your nipples until they turn hard.”

As he instructed her, he tugged off his sweatpants and began to give his cock a slow stroke through his boxer-briefs. He didn't dare take them off. If he wanted this to last more than a minute, he needed to keep a tactile and visual reminder of the need for restraint. Christ, simply talking to Helen had the same effect on him as full-blown sex with other women. His dick was primed and ready to go from just the sound of her voice.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice had gone hoarse.

He pictured those breasts as he let his hand travel slowly up and down his cock. Because he was a fucking idiot, he hadn't even fully taken off her goddamn bra when they'd made love in the bed beneath him. But he'd seen them bare last night, wet and pale. Gloriously soft and round. Huge. Shit, he'd never seen breasts that large in person, at least none that responded to the laws of gravity and lacked silicone components.

“Pinch your nipples. Gently at first, and then harder. Squeeze them and pull them out a little bit, until it's just about to hurt.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

Her areolae were large and pink, her nipples long and stiff when aroused. Just asking for a gentle tug with his teeth or a lashing from his tongue. And Christ, she was sensitive there. The way she'd moaned when he'd touched her . . .

He quickly removed his hand from himself as he felt a warning tingle at the base of his spine. Too soon. He couldn't let go this early.

He gave her a few minutes to enjoy playing with her nipples, and then pushed her further. “Keep doing that with your left hand. With your right, I want you to start sliding down your belly. Feel how soft your skin is there. And then keep sliding down until you reach those bright red curls I remember.”

“You remember them?” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

“Of course I remember.” Those fiery curls covering her sex had featured in more than a few of his dreams over the past few months. “Are you sifting your fingers through them?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now slide those fingers down until you reach your pussy.”

He heard a faint whimper.

“Are you wet, baby? Do your fingers feel good against your clit?”

She didn't answer, but her breathing got harder. Faster. He remembered that pattern of breathing, not only from yesterday but also from their time in his bed. She hadn't come hard that night, but she'd come. And right beforehand, she'd been breathing like she was now.

“Slide a finger into your pussy,” he ordered. “Pretend it's my finger when you're fucking yourself with it. In a minute, when you're even wetter, add another one. Rub yourself each time you push inside, wherever it feels good.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “Wes . . .”

At the sound of his name, he couldn't stop himself. He put his hand back on his cock and stroked hard. When he heard the sound of slick flesh, he stroked even harder. That wetness . . . he'd wanted to feel it last night. Wanted to see how easily he could push a finger into her pussy. He wanted the same thing now.

Soon
, he told himself.
Soon. Just stick with the plan
.

He waited a while before giving more directions, until he could hear the continual rustling of sheets as she shifted and arched in bed. Until she was keening softly into the phone, the sound somehow making his diamond-hard cock even stiffer under his hand.

“Take all that wetness and slide your fingers around your clit,” he said. “Lightly at first, and then harder. Play with yourself.”

She gave a loud moan.

“Shhh, baby,” he reminded her. “Don't want your parents to hear, remember?”

“Oh, God.”

“Circle faster. Pretend your hands are mine. I'm pinching your nipple with one of them, and using the other to slide inside you and rub your clit.”

He wanted to be doing this to her in person, not over the phone. But even at a distance, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so turned on by a woman. In his mind, he could see exactly how she'd look with her legs spread and her fingers buried in her pussy. The helpless sounds she was making had already imprinted themselves on his brain. He knew he'd be replaying them for months to come. Years, maybe.

She had to come soon. Really soon. Because if she didn't, he would.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Are you getting close, baby?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Yeah. Oh, Jesus.” She didn't sound like she was paying a lot of attention to him at this point, to be honest.

“Listen to me,” he ordered. “Put your thumb on your clit while you fuck yourself with three fingers. And pinch that nipple hard, baby. Hard.”

She gasped, and then cried out. He recognized that sound from yesterday. Orgasm. Helen had come after only a few minutes of touching herself, and just the thought of it almost pushed him over the edge too. He let go of his cock until the danger passed, trying not to imagine her pink cheeks and the wet, rosy folds between her thighs. If he thought, even once, about how it'd feel when her pussy clamped down on his cock in orgasm, he wouldn't be able to hold back.

But he needed to. He had plans for the next hour or so.

“You're a miracle, baby,” he told her.

As he waited, he stripped off his underwear, went to get his rattiest hand towel, and climbed back into bed. Finally, she went silent, although she was still breathing hard.

“You done coming?” he asked.

He gave his cock a firm stroke from root to tip. In his mind, it was Helen's hand. Helen's mouth. Helen's pussy.

“Yes,” she whispered.