#talkdirtytome
THE CURSOR ON my office computer screen flashes, daring me to hit “Send” this time. Or maybe not, but I need the nudge, so I interpret it that way and click the button before I can overthink it.
I’ve written this message twice now, deleted it, and rewritten it. The third time’s apparently a charm.
From: [email protected]
Re: hi again
Hi. Apparently, I don’t know how to quit you. You’re like a drinking habit, only I don’t even get a buzz.
S
I start working my way through my jammed Monday-morning email inbox. There’s a message from the Alpha Mail attorney with good news about the property I’m trying to acquire for a New York office, word from a detective at the Chicago Police Department that an order of protection has been approved for Isaac against his crazed client, and an email from Ben that I can’t bring myself to read. No matter what he has to say, I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again without thinking about him asking me to put my entire hand up his ass.
When a response from RoughRider appears, though, I pounce on it.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Where have you been? Have you not seen the dozen plus messages I’ve sent you? And now you’re back after more than a week and pissed off at me? Should be the other way around. I was worried about you.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Do you think you should be the one making the rules all the time? I’ve been busy, and I was cooling off, because you weren’t my favorite person for a while. You still aren’t, tbh . . .
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Oh, yeah? Back at ya. Last I knew, you were going out with some guy. I’ve been wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or shacked up in bed with him in Vegas or something. And back and forth on which I’d prefer.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Really????? I mean . . . REALLY? You were frustrated because you didn’t know where I was, when you could have picked up the phone to call me and ask? Imagine how it feels to be frustrated because I don’t know WHO YOU ARE. Also, fuck you.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
That’s a fair criticism. I’m sorry for jumping all over you, and I shouldn’t have made that comment about not being sure which I’d prefer. I’m sorry for that too. So you’re right—fuck me. Forgive me?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I guess so. I’m still pissed off that I missed you, though, and I’m not getting over that until I’m good and ready.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
You missed me? I missed you too. More than you know.
Have you been seeing the guy you went out with?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No. I actually thought the guy I was going out with might be you. But then I found out he wasn’t, and it was disappointing and awful. I was upset. That’s why I stopped messaging you.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I’m sorry, Sienna. That makes me feel like shit. I never should have messaged you in the first place. You’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to hurt.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
You wish you’d never messaged me? Do you think we should stop?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No. I can never have you the way I want to, but if this is as close as I can get, I’ll take it.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Will you at least tell me why you can’t have me? Give me something.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I can’t. Telling you that would reveal who I am. Please understand.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I wish I could, but if knowing would ruin things between us, what we’re doing is probably wrong on some level. You said you aren’t married, but are you separated or in a complicated relationship? I can’t handle being part of something like that.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No—I’m not involved with any woman in any way. It’s nothing like that.
I’m relieved it didn’t work out with that guy. I was so jealous over that I couldn’t see straight.
To: R[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Is that so? I thought true alphas didn’t get jealous and possessive . . .
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I wouldn’t be if we were together. But I’m just here fucking helpless, not knowing what’s going on. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
What, something bad? No, nothing like that.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Did you fuck him?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Excuse me? Like that’s any of your business, random person whose identity I don’t even know?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Tell me. Did you?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
So when I want you to tell me who you are, you brush me off, but I owe you explanations about the intimate details of my sex life?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
TELL. ME.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No, I didn’t “fuck him,” Casanova.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Why sugarcoat it? That’s all it would have been with someone you don’t love.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
And what’s wrong with that? You think two single, consenting adults can’t have sex just for fun?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Sure they can, but that’s not for me, and I don’t think it’s for you either.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I don’t even know what’s for me anymore. I do know life was easier when I was closed off to all men, even anonymous ones.
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Easier isn’t necessarily better. I hate to do this, but I have to sign off for a work thing. IM date tonight?
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Okay.
When I walk into the break room after my message exchange with RoughRider, Isaac and Kell are sitting at a table eating sandwiches.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask as I walk over to the stainless refrigerator and open it to grab a bottle of water.
“Eh.” Kell grunts and shrugs.
“Good talk,” I say with a wry smile.
He gives me the playboy grin that keeps his client roster full. “Sorry. I just got an ass-chewing from a pissed-off husband.”
“Oh, you mean . . . his wife is a client?”
“Yep.”
“Tell him to take it up with her.”
“Oh, I did. But the douchebag still wouldn’t quit. Called me every name under the sun and accused me of giving his wife unrealistic expectations about men.”
I sit down at the round table. “You don’t have to put up with that, Kell.”
“She’s on the unlimited plan, and he was texting me from her phone, so . . . I kinda did.”
“No, I don’t want you guys dealing with that stuff. I’ll talk to the attorney about drawing up a new policy so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Thanks.” He brushes the crumbs from his hands and stands up. “Good sandwiches, by the way.”
“I think Jane switched caterers.”
“Yeah.” He glances at his watch. “Duty calls.”
I chat briefly with Isaac, who tells me he’s relieved he got a restraining order against his stalker client. Poor guy, he seems genuinely fearful of the woman who had his name tattooed on her. I can see why—she sounds completely unbalanced.
Before leaving the break room, I grab a sandwich from the fridge. I’m walking back to my office, food and drink in hand, when the sound of a deep, growly male voice makes me slow down.
“Fuck, baby. You’ve got me so hard for you right now. Tug on those nipples for me . . . yeah. Squeeze them hard like you know I would.”
My slow walk turns into a complete stop. The voice I’m mesmerized by is Dane’s. Apparently, he’s not as grumpy with clients as he is with me.
“Yeah, my hand is wrapped all the way around my cock. It’s so fucking hard. You want me to go slow or fast?”
My brows arch involuntarily, and I grip the bottle of water in my hand. I’m the boss here, and this is just another way of keeping up with what’s going on with my employees, no different from talking to Isaac and Kell in the break room just now.
Right . . . but talking to Isaac and Kell didn’t turn me on. I’m not sure if that’s a job perk or a job hazard, but I do know one thing: I’m staying outside this door, out of Dane’s sight but well within reach of his gravelly voice.
“You’re soaked, aren’t you, baby?” he croons. “Slide those fingers inside for me. Tell me how it feels.”
I close my eyes, thinking of RoughRider. Maybe I can convince him to let me hear his voice. I think if he and I could have conversations like this, I could make do with not being with him in person.
“Faster,” Dane coaxes. “I have to go faster, babe. The thought of you lying there with your legs spread, fingering that gorgeous pussy is just too much for me . . . oh, shit . . . feels so good . . .”
I should probably tell him to close his door . . . but not now. Later. I’ll tell him later.
For now, I’m riveted, straining to hear Dane’s next words. He’s right, it does feel good, in places that shouldn’t feel good at work.
Gretchen is approaching me, her mouth open like she’s about to say something. I put a finger to my lips and motion for her to stand next to me by the wall.
“Fuuuuuck, baby.” Dane groans loudly, and Gretchen’s eyes widen with surprise. “Come hard for me. Oh, shit . . . yeah, I did. I shot a huge load off thinking of you.”
Gretchen and I exchange a look that’s half curious and half concerned. I can’t help myself—I poke my head around the doorway to look at Dane.
He’s sitting at his desk, fully clothed, working on a Rubik’s Cube as he talks into the headset he’s wearing.
“Yeah, baby. Lick it all off your fingers for me. You know how I like that.”
When he sees me, he raises his hand in a friendly wave, like he’s talking about the weather right now or something. I smile awkwardly, weirded out knowing I was aroused by his fake arousal.
“Okay, babe . . . me too. Have a great day.”
He presses a button to disconnect the call and then takes off his headset.
“Hey, you need me for something?”
Yes. God, yes. I need him for all the things I just heard him talking about. He may not have been into it, but I sure as hell was. Am I just undersexed, or is Dane as hot as I’m thinking he is right now?
“Uh . . . no. I just overheard you and wanted to say, you know, great job.”
“Heh.” He reaches a hand around the back of his neck. “Thanks.”
“So . . . you’re happy here, right?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m good, why?”
“I just want you to be happy so you’ll stay. You’re good at this job.”
“I’m planning on staying till I finish school.”
“Okay, good.”
“Hey, thanks for replacing the coffeemaker.”
Sure thing. Thanks for almost getting me off as I walked past your office.
I wave a hand, dismissing his thanks. “No problem.”
“Did you need anything else?” He gives me an impatient look. “I’ve got another client.”
Ah, there’s the brooding grouch I’m used to.
“Nope, just . . . carry on.”
I turn to find Gretchen, but she’s gone. I’m okay with that. Right now, I just want to be alone in my office so I can think about what I just overheard.
I can’t wait for my IM date with RoughRider tonight. I hope I can talk him into a phone call. Hearing Dane talking to that client made me realize that while I really like reading RoughRider’s words, him saying them to me would be even better. And if that voice happens to be Dane’s . . . well, I wouldn’t be disappointed. Company policy be damned.