"I will be allowed to speak, correct?"

"Maybe...if you say please."

With my feet kicked up on the desk, I pondered the stamped tin ceiling tiles overhead and replayed those few moments over and over through my mind.

Was it me or had there been something sexually charged in that?

Was he into bondage?

The master and slave stuff?

That idea freaked me the hell out, and not in a good way, but there was something about his teasing voice when he'd said it.

Maybe...if you say please. The memory made me shiver.

There was some unfamiliar part of me that was already willing to say please to Jake in a number of ways. For a number of things. It was embarrassing to acknowledge it, but more than once, I found myself wondering how one might handle approaching a man in his position.

Not that I enjoyed sex really.

I actually kind of sucked at it.

I could get myself off with a vibrator just fine, but if I had a guy with me, once we got past the petting stage, things got really, really boring. And awkward.

That being the case, I didn't understand why I kept thinking about all the petting...and the more stuff. The stuff that usually made my brain freeze up.

His hands sliding my clothes off.

His hands sliding up and down my body, between my thighs, or cupping my breasts...his fingers...

I gasped when I felt the brush of my own fingers against my clitoris, not aware until that moment that I'd been stroking myself. Biting my lip, I moved my legs until they were farther apart and shifted in the chair a bit. The skirt I wore fell open around me. I trailed my free hand up over the thigh high, thick woolen socks I'd pulled on under the skirt I'd put on earlier.

It's all about gauging her reaction...following the cues her body gives you, he'd written in the email. When you touch her thigh, does she sigh or shiver?

Smoothing my fingers up my skin, I decided if he'd been the one doing this, I'd probably be sighing and shivering.

Does she need a bit more time to warm up? Tease her a bit. Touch her through her clothes, but it's just to tease and you keep the touches light.

I brushed my fingers against my clitoris again, the nub of flesh hard and stiff. I was wet already, and I rubbed harder, enjoying the friction of the material against me.

A smart man knows when she's ready for more. I like to think I'm a smart man.

I dipped my fingers inside my panties and gasped at the heat I discovered there.

When she's ready, a woman will all but bring herself to that first climax if you're not careful – and sometimes, that's just fine. I don't mind going along and enjoying the ride.

I thrust my fingers in, panting. In, out. I'd never ever felt this wet, this aroused. The chair wobbled under me and some latent sense of self-preservation had me lowering my feet to the floor. That change in position thrust my fingers deeper, and I cried out. Flinging a hand against the desk for leverage, I started to rock against my touch, riding my own hand now.

Once she's close, I'll sometimes pull her back and draw out the pleasure.

Fuck that idea.

I'd never felt a climax quite like this.

I broke, right there in my chair, in front of my computer. Climaxing so hard it ripped a cry from my throat, I sagged bonelessly forward, my head dropping onto the keyboard as my body started to shut down on me.

Multiple orgasms are all about the timing, you know.

Hell. All I'd done was think about him, and this one had all but wiped me out. I wasn't sure I could handle the timing, and the thought of multiples almost melted my brain.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, reenergized by a shower, a sandwich, and coffee, I settled back down at my desk. Somewhat bemused by what I'd done, I brought up his email and read it again.

It wouldn't happen again, surely. Reading through it wouldn't cause that same erotic buzz that I'd been feeling all week, ever since I met him, compounded and complicated by his written words. It had just been a while since I'd broken out my vibrator. A couple of months, probably. I'd just been on edge, and I'd needed the release.

But the second I started reading and thinking about Jake, the hotter and heavier my body felt.

Sometimes, a lady I'm with will be done after just one session. But sometimes, she'll need more. I'm always happy to oblige. I just watch her and see what her body is telling me.

If he was here right now, my body would be screaming...do me!

Of course, five seconds after he made a move toward me, it might scream something else entirely.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, closing the email, and scrolling up to catch up on messages from last night and this morning.

There were three from Aunt Blair, two last night and one from this morning. The last from twenty-five minutes ago. Call me or I'm calling you.

Blushing, I thought about what I'd been doing twenty-five minutes ago, and I wondered if she would have guessed just what I'd been up to by the sound of my voice.

With a nervous laugh, I picked up my coffee. "I'll call in a few, Aunt Blair," I murmured, toasting the picture of the two of us near one of the bridges in Central Park. "Just let me get a little more–"

The phone rang mid-sentence, and I had no doubt as to who was calling. Well, shit. With a mental groan, I picked up the phone.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Aunt Blair said, her voice ringing out. She sounded like she'd been awake for hours and already downed about a gallon of coffee. She probably had been awake for hours, but she didn't drink coffee. I didn't understand her. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine. You sound too awake for me," I said, hoping she'd attribute any sluggish moments to me being tired or...something.

"You don't rest enough, eat right or exercise enough. Do all those things and call me in the morning."

"Ha, ha."

"You also don't get laid enough," Aunt Blair continued blithely. "What you need is to hook up with some guy who will eff your brains out once or twice a week."

I could have choked on the coffee I'd just taken a sip of. "Thanks," I said after a few awkward seconds. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do that. So...listen. I've got news." Tension hummed between us before she continued. "The powers that be loved your article. It's running in the next issue and...they want more."

Excitement exploded inside me. More? They liked it? Would I write them? Would I be able to see Jake again?

A million questions started to fire inside my head.

But she squashed them flat in the next second.

"Gina's recovering pretty well. She can sit up in a chair for longer periods of time, and she's already at work editing some of her other pieces. We think she'll be able to handle the series the higher-ups want, but thank you for doing such a bang-up job, sweetheart. We will definitely be using you for more pieces."

Disappointment had turned the excitement to ashes, and I had to fight to make my voice brisk and professional as I responded, "I'm very glad you all enjoyed it, Aunt Blair. Please give my best to Gina. I've got to go. I've got lunch cooking and it's about to burn."

I hung up before she could say anything else.

I couldn't fake the brisk tone for more than a few seconds, and I didn't want her to hear my dismay.

Granted, I couldn't even lie to her properly. Was I more upset about the fact that I wasn't finishing the series? Or the fact that I wouldn't have a reason to see Jake again?

I had no idea.