by Jove Belle

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Copyright © 2007 by Jove Belle. All Rights Reserved.

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I cradle the phone to my ear and turn slightly toward the window. “Uh, Cari, now is not the best time for this conversation.” I try to keep my voice low, but it sort of squeaks its way out.

Your voice is melted butter and syrup. “Really? I think it’s the perfect time.”

“Can I call you back?” I want to tell you what I’m wearing and hear all about what you’re not wearing.

“You could,” you offer generously, “but I’m unbuttoning the top button now and I would hate to finish without you.” You speak slow and deliberate, letting each word marinate and settle in my brain, a promise of the sizzle yet to come.

I glance over my shoulder and smile nervously at the woman patiently waiting for my full attention. I need to pay the mortgage and a discussion of our wardrobe is not going to get that done. “I’m with a client.” That’s the understatement of the year. Amber Wellington isn’t just a client. She’s the client. More money than she could possibly spend in one lifetime and she wants me to help her invest it, help her make more. Her old broker was indicted for embezzling, so she’s a little gun shy. We are still in the trust-building phase and this meeting will determine if we have a future together. Moreover, Amber will determine my fate with this firm, whether I get to keep the office on the 55th floor with the bank of windows and view of the top of the skyline. If I fuck it up, I’ll be back on the 40th in the middle of the floor. No windows. No view.

And you want to know what I’m wearing. God help me, I want to tell you.

“Who is it?” Your interest is piqued. “Is it Amber?”

I nod, then realize you can’t see me. “Yes.”

Amber arches one eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. A slow, seductive smile curves over her lips and she says, “I’d take the call if I were you.” She doesn’t make a move to leave.

Sweet Jesus! My vision swims with the implication and your voice grounds me in the moment. “Tell me what she’s wearing.”

My answer is reflexive. I don’t think about the consequences before I speak. “A cream-colored suit with navy flats and a matching bag.”

Amber’s other eyebrow shoots up and her smile grows.

“Cream?” You purr. “What kind of fabric?”

You know I don’t know the answer. I can’t be trusted to pick out my own suits. That’s your job. According to you I would end up with some horrid off the rack number with shoulder pads and stitched-in belt. You’re probably right.

“Jen, what kind of fabric?” You ask a second time.

You’re pushing me to talk to her, invite her into your game. My tongue swells to three times its normal size and my mouth fills with sand. “I don’t know.”

Amber’s engaged, a sexy smile on her face. She stretches over the desk and hits the speakerphone button. She takes the receiver from me and drops it back in the cradle. I forget how to breathe.

You push forward, determined to carry this on. “Ask her.”

“Ask me what?” Amber’s voice is lower than it was a few moments ago, more intimate.

You catch your breath, then speak again. “Ask her, Jen.”

My heart pounds against the back of my throat and I swallow hard. My eyes are locked on Amber’s. Hers are smoky brown, the kind that are sexy no matter what she’s thinking. Right now they are smoldering.

“What kind...” I clear my throat to rid it of the rough, squeaky edges. “What kind of fabric is it?” And with one little sentence, my career goes up in smoke.

Amber relaxes back in her chair. Her elbows are on the armrests, but her hands meet in the middle, her fingers laced together. She crosses her right leg over her left and openly studies me. I definitely have her attention now. A moment before the phone rang, it was wavering.

I don’t think Amber is going to answer and I’m not sure how far you are going to push it. I dig my fingers into the padded curve of my armrests. The straining whiteness of my knuckles is in stark relief against my tanning-bed-cultivated skin. You cough. Not a real cough, but one of those polite attorney “answer my question” coughs. And it works.

Amber glances at the phone, then back at me. Most people think the eyes are a window to the soul. Mine appears to be a window to my clit because Amber’s gaze goes through me and lands square in the middle of it with a heavy thud.

“Raw silk.” She places a guttural inflection on the word raw and it tears through me.

You’re breathing just a little faster now. “Is it soft?” There’s victory in your voice. Not only am I on the hook, but Amber’s nibbling at the bait as well.

It takes me a minute for your question to register. I hear your voice, demanding and familiar, but I’m looking at Amber. It’s a disconcerting combination.

“Jen?” You’re growing impatient.

“Hmmm?” I can’t focus on your question long enough to answer it, but it doesn’t matter. You already know what the fabric feels like. You just want me to touch it and tell you how that feels. As soon as I regain control of my motor functions, I just might do it.

Amber rises from her chair and rounds the desk, fluid and graceful, like a dancer. Or a jungle cat. She spins my chair until I’m facing her and places her hands next to mine on the armrests. Her lips parted slightly, she puts her head down close to mine. My throat tightens up when she presses her lips to my ear and says, “I think she wants you to touch it.” She draws it out, low and sexy, just loud enough that the speaker phone can pick up the intention in her voice, if not the words themselves. She quirks one eyebrow up again, waiting for me to make my move.

She’s wearing this tailored cotton button-down. Only it’s not the traditional style where the buttons go all the way to the top. It’s got French cuffs and an oversized collar that’s small by the standards of the seventies. Hell, they aren’t even real buttons. They’re these shiny, little pearl-esque snaps. And they start where the third button would be on a normal shirt.

The front fell away as she leaned down, giving me a perfect view of all her secrets. Victoria has nothing on Amber. I can’t move. All I can do is stare down her shirt at the black lace bra. And the tops of her breasts.

My hands are almost touching Amber’s. Just a breath separates them. I slide them carefully forward. If our skin touches, I’ll be lost and I know how much you want to dictate the play. I lift my hands and curl them around the edges of Amber’s lapel. It’s not soft, but it’s not rough either.

She pulls back and looks in my eyes. “Well?”

The only way you’re going to know what’s going on is if I tell you. I’ve got to speak. “Not really.”

Your voice rushes out of the phone. “Where are you touching her?” This isn’t a question I ever expected to hear you ask, but you’re excited to be asking it.

I slide my hands up to Amber’s shoulders, then down her arms. “Her jacket...the lapels.”

Amber lifts her hands off the chair, but doesn’t rise up. She takes my hands in hers and asks, “Do you want to know what my shirt feels like?” She’s looking at me, but talking to you. And I’m desperate to touch her shirt. My fingers twitch with anticipation and I hope your answer is yes.

You don’t hesitate. “Definitely. And Jen...” you pause here and your voice drops to that intimate level you use when we’re all alone and the lights are off. It’s the caress that comes in the moment between telling me I’m beautiful and pressing your tongue to my clit. “Describe it for me.”

Reality swirls and dips, then slams back into focus as Amber places my hands flat against her abdomen. I spread my fingers and curl them around the curve of her waist. I have no idea what the fabric is, but it’s definitely soft. The muscles underneath are not.

“Cari?” My voice isn’t as strong as normal, I’m on serious sensory overload and it’s amazing that it’s working at all. “It’s white, with little snaps down the front.” I try to think of everything you might want to know about it. “And it’s soft.”

I trace a winding pattern with my thumbs and Amber catches her breath hard and straightens up. She’s looking down at me with hazy, lust-filled eyes and I want to go a lot faster than you’re dictating.

“Where are your hands now?”

Before I can answer, Amber steps in. “They’re on my waist, just above the swell of my hips--” Her breath catches as I squeeze gently, asserting my position. Then she continues, “I want her to touch me...my skin.” She hesitates slightly. “Is that okay?” The question has a waver at the end, caught between a whisper and a whimper.

“Yes.”

One word and I’m given a key that I didn’t ask for. I close my eyes and try to focus my breathing. It’s erratic and my head is swimming.

I hear the telltale pop, pop, pop of the snaps being opened. I want to help her with that, but you didn’t say I could.

“Jen, are you unsnapping her shirt?” You heard it, too.

My eyes fly open. “No.”

“You should.” I barely hear it, a breathy whisper between lovers. I picture you now, your shirt open, no bra, your fingers squeezing first one nipple then the other. I’m desperate for that little gasp you give when I suck one between my teeth.

I open my eyes and look up at Amber. She’s toying with the next snap, apparently waiting for my help. I push my chair back and stand, and my hands slide lower, to her hips.

We’re the same height, Amber and I. That puts us face to face, close enough to kiss. She doesn’t step back and neither do I. The hunger and need in her eyes are more than an investment banker should ever see of her client.

Amber’s hands tremble between us, still resting on the top snap of the two that remain fastened. I move my hands up to cover hers and grip the fabric around her hands. I tug hard and the snaps give way – poppop. I push the shirt open and pull back slightly. Her skin is golden, tanned to perfection. A shiver runs over her abdomen and I trace it with my index finger, then lay my palm flat against her stomach as if to stop it from happening again.

She moans at the contact and you must hear it because you ask, “What did you do?”

I want Amber to answer the question so you can hear the heat in her voice. Instead of speaking, she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and holds it there.

“I’m touching her stomach. Her skin is soft, but the muscles are hard...tense.”

This isn’t going to be enough. I want you on your back with your legs looped over my shoulders. I want to dive into you and feast for hours. But you’re not here. Amber is and she’s trembling beneath my touch.

“What do you want me to do now?” For this question I look away from Amber, focusing momentarily on the phone. I want to beg you to let me throw her against the desk and feel her from the inside. But I don’t. I wait, hoping you will say yes.

And you do. “Pretend she’s me.”

“Oh, god.” Amber finds her voice, but it’s rough and uncertain. She sucks in a ragged breath.

That’s all I wanted. Now I can move at my own pace. “Yes.” I think fleetingly of my closed but unlocked office door then dismiss the thought. I’m not stopping to check it.

I push Amber’s shirt off her shoulders and her jacket goes with it. She looks like she’s thinking of catching it before it hits the ground, but I push her bra up and suck one nipple between my lips – hard. The blazer and shirt ripple to the ground and Amber gasps. She winds her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer.

I abandon the slow maneuvering of earlier and push her back against the desk, turning her without releasing my hold with my lips. I graze my teeth across the sensitive tip and pull back, smiling. “This has to go.”

I follow the fabric of her bra around to the clasp and release it with practiced hands. The black lace sags forward and I hook one finger under the thin strap on either shoulder. A trail of goose bumps rise in the wake as I slide it down her arms and let it drop to the floor. I think about kissing her, but decide not to. Too much intimacy. I’ll save my kisses for you when I get home tonight.

I return my hands to their previous home, curved around her, low on her hips. She’s trembling, her breath shallow, eyes closed, head thrown back, she draws me to her. She wants my mouth on her breasts again, but I’m drawn to the pulse point at the base of her neck. I press a kiss into her flesh and inhale deeply, taking her in. She smells nothing like you. She’s citrus and lavender. You’re sage and sandalwood.

And you’re breathing into the phone, harsh and uneven. I know you hear us. Amber’s light whimpers and my desperate fumbling. I want to give you more.

“Cari,” my voice is a hoarse whisper. It’s all I can manage. “She smells so good...” I run my tongue along the curve of Amber’s neck. “Tastes so good.”

You moan and Amber pushes my head lower. I leave a trail of wet kisses down her shoulder and kiss the inside of her arm, that soft, sensitive spot that should never be neglected during love making, but always is. I work my way down her arm, dropping to my knees as I go, and suck her index finger into my mouth. I bite down slightly before pulling back and pressing a light kiss to her palm.

“Now these.” I tap the belt at the top of her slacks and pull away to watch. I’m talking more than normal, but it’s all for you. I want to hear you come and to do that, I need to make Amber scream.

Amber’s manicured French tips tremble as she unfastens her belt. I push her hands out of the way. She’s moving too slow and I want her pants off now. I open the button and slide the zipper down. I reach to tug them off, but she stops me.

“Wait.”

Wait! The single most frustrating word a woman can say. But I do because it’s never a good idea to take more than what’s offered.

I groan in protest. “I can’t.”

Amber weaves one hand into the hair on top of my head. She tilts my head back until she can look in my eyes. Hers are heavy and dark and I know she doesn’t want to stop. She winks and gives me a slow, sexy smile.

Then she moves her hips in a heated, undulating sway. Small circles, like she’s dancing with me inside her, coaxing me to the right spot. My jaw drops open and mouth goes dry, instant Sahara. The pants ease down her hips and pool at her feet. She steps out of her shoes and kicks the slacks aside.

You’re gasping into the phone now, wanting more. I know by the sound of your stilted breaths, you have progressed beyond us. I want you to stop. I want you to wait for me.

She leans back against the desk and loops one leg around my shoulder. Her panties are small and lacey. If I’m not careful, I’ll destroy them. And I don’t care. I should take the time to remove them, gently. But I’m done waiting.

I hold the lace to the side with my left hand and push two fingers from my right into her up to the top. I don’t go slow and easy. That’s not what this is about and it’s not what she wants.

I pull out and push in again, harder than before. She’s soft and velvety and I want to crawl inside her and get lost for days. I want to make her wait, just a little bit, but your breath is coming hard and fast through the phone and it makes me go faster.

Amber falls back against the desk and pulls my head closer with her leg. Her goal is obvious, but I want her to ask for it. I stop moving my hand, just for a moment. My face is close to her cunt, close enough for her to feel my breath and for me to smell her need.

“Please...” Amber moans, louder than is safe in an office building in the middle of the day. But not loud enough for me.

“Please, what?” It’s a long drawn out whisper and I force my breath out in slow little puffs against her clit.

Her legs twitch and she wiggles closer to my face. “Please...fuck me.”

My fingers are still deep inside her and I curl them up and back until I find just the right spot – the one that makes her jerk and beg and cry all at once. She cries out and I press my tongue flat against her clit, just to say hello.

When I’m with you, I take my time. I draw this part out. I want you to come harder than last time, harder than ever before. But Amber’s not you. You can’t feel my tongue flicking across her clit. I slam back into her. She’s close, gasping, and I fuck her hard enough to make her cry out.

“God,” you moan into the phone, “tell me what you’re doing.”

I start to pull back, so I can answer you. Amber’s hands clamp down on my head.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

I groan into Amber’s cunt. I need to answer you, but I can’t stop fucking her. I don’t want to stop fucking her. I suck hard on her clit and add a third finger as I slam into her again.

“Please,” you beg, “Jen...” You’re so close and I want to push you over the edge.

Amber clutches me tighter. “She’s...god...fucking...me...” Amber forces it out through clenched teeth. “And...su...sucking me...off at the same time.” The last part comes out in a forced jumble.

“Oh god, Jen,” And you’re there, right on the edge, balancing a moment before you go tumbling over.

Amber tightens around me, her clit hard and throbbing and I push just a little harder. I feel her body tense, one fist balled in my hair and the other gripping the edge of my desk.

“Yes!” It’s loud and drawn out and it’s not the kind of yes that goes with good investment returns. Amber’s body slackens and she releases my head.

I extract myself from Amber. This is the time when I would crawl up your body and hold you as you fall asleep. But I’m not at home and Amber’s not you. I go over to the sink in the corner and wash my hands and face. It gives Amber the opportunity to pull her clothes back on without an audience.

The clock on the wall says our meeting is over and I know we’re not likely to have another one. With her clothes back on, Amber is once again the cool business woman who walked into my office. She stretches out her hand to me and I take it. Completely professional.

“Jen, thank you for meeting with me this afternoon.” She smiles warmly. No hint of the sex that colored her eyes moments ago. “Please have your assistant send over the paperwork you’ll need to move forward.”

I shake her hand in a daze and nod. “Absolutely.”

She smoothes her jacket one last time and exits my office. You’re still on the phone, waiting.

“Jen?” Your voice is back to normal, full of love and hope. “When are you coming home?”

“Soon. I just need to finish up a few things here.” We’re talking like we do this every day. “What’s for dinner?”

“You.” The promise is full of want and I can’t think of a single thing I need to stay here for.

“I’m on my way.”

I press release, grab my keys, and head home to you.

The End

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