by T. K. Leigh
With my head held high to make my five-foot-two frame appear bigger than it is, I grab my espresso and walk toward her. “One of my hook-ups kept a pair of my underwear. I wanted them back.”
I avoid her stare as I skirt past her, heading toward the conference room. I’ve never looked forward to our Friday staff meeting as much as I do right now, if for no other reason than to give me a few minutes to figure out what to tell my friends.
I should be able to gush about this new guy in my life. But that’s never been my thing. In fact, there’s never been a guy in my life to gush about. Isn’t there a waiting period required by law before doing that or something? Lincoln and I aren’t even an item. At least, I don’t think we are. I’m not sure what we are. All I know is he’s got me all out of sorts.
And he likes stealing my panties.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Chloe.” Evie’s right on my heels. Relentless, as always. “We’ve known each other over five years now. Hell, we practically worked on top of each other until last week when I moved into the assistant editor office. If you think you can say you went to get a pair of panties back from one of your ‘hook-ups’ without me calling bullshit…” She steps in front of me before I can disappear into the conference room. “You’d better think again.”
I take a sip of my espresso, doing my best to remain confident.
“There’s no way this was just a hook-up,” she continues. “Not with that shit-eating grin that was plastered across your face last night. I know that look. It was the look of someone excited about something. You had a glow about you. Come to think of it…” Squinting, she scans my body.
I wonder if this is how criminals feel when they’ve finally been apprehended and try to convince the officer the bag of drugs in their coat isn’t theirs. Except I wasn’t caught with drugs, although Lincoln’s more addicting than even the most potent narcotic.
“You still have a glow about you.” Her eyes brighten. “You had sex last night!”
“Evie,” I hiss, trying to hush her.
While I’ve never been one to keep my sex life to myself, this is different. I care about Lincoln. I don’t want to broadcast our fantastic sexcapades for all to hear. I don’t want to share him with anyone. Not yet. I want to keep him all to myself for a little longer. I fear the second I talk about him, it’ll make it real. I’m not ready for that yet.
“I have sex a lot… Well, not a lot, but enough that going to see some guy isn’t a big deal.” I straighten my spine. “It’s not the first time I left you and Nora at the bar to hook up with somebody.”
“No, it’s not.” She wraps a strand of her striking red hair around a finger, toying with it as she continues assessing my demeanor. “But I don’t think last night was just a hook-up. I think you like someone.”
I open my mouth to protest when the conference room door swings open, Maggie, the editor-in-chief’s assistant, standing there, an air of superiority about her. “Are you two coming? Viv’s waiting on you.” She spins around. “As usual,” she adds under her breath.
My expression brightens as I smile cheerily. “Come on, Evie. We don’t want to be late,” I chirp as I head inside.
She leans toward me. “This conversation isn’t over,” she murmurs, her voice low.
“I didn’t think it was.”
Thankfully, after the pitch meeting, Evie’s too busy with assignments to continue to press me about the new man in my life, which gives me time to figure out how to address the elephant in the room.
Or at least the very large cock in my life.
As I attempt to catch up on all the work I missed while I was out of the office, as well as come up with a way to spill the beans about Lincoln to my friends, my phone dings with an incoming text. At first, I ignore it, assuming it’s a tip about a breaking story in the world of the rich and famous. I can’t be bothered with that stuff, not with a deadline looming on articles that go to print in just a few days.
But when it beeps again, I float my eyes to the screen, smiling when I see it’s not from a source, but from my very own panty thief.
And that smile only grows wider when I open the text, which reveals a photo of a familiar pair of panties.
Missing you like you wouldn’t believe. But at least I have a souvenir. And the scent is intoxicating.
You really do have a fetish, don’t you? Is it ‘bring some random girl’s panties to work’ day? I didn’t receive the memo.
I hit send, relaxing into my chair as I focus all my attention on my phone. One text, yet I’ve forgotten everything I’m supposed to be working on. Hell, if Lincoln asked, I’d probably sneak out of work to meet him for a quickie, although I’m not sure Lincoln’s capable of a quickie. His bedroom skills are those of an expert, a man who’s made sex an art form. He’s a masterpiece I doubt I’ll ever tire of experiencing.
You’re not just some random girl, Chloe. You never have been.
My heart warms as I read his words. Then the text bubble appears, indicating he’s typing more.
And to answer your question, I do have a bit of an underwear fetish. At least when it comes to your underwear.
Well then, I hate to disappoint you. I haven’t had time to do my laundry since returning from Vegas, so I had to go commando today.
Fuck…
A part of me wishes I were with Lincoln so I could see his expression. Pupils dilating. Green eyes darkening with unbridled lust and need. Jaw clenching. Muscles tightening. God, I love that look on him, knowing I make him react that way.
You really know how to torture a man, don’t you, Pixie?
Only you.
I like the sound of that.
I want to say I like the sound of that, too, but I don’t, responding with something safer instead.
Think of me today.
I haven’t been able to stop since the moment I saw you.
Me, either.
I hope that’s enough to make him believe I’m willing to try, even if my words aren’t overly amorous. I’m just a work in progress.
When no additional texts arrive, I return my attention to my computer, concentrating on my work once more, hours passing. I’m so focused, I don’t tear my eyes away from my screen until I hear a slight knock on the exterior wall of my cubicle, the receptionist holding a large white box with a pink bow wrapped around it.
“A courier just dropped this off for you.” She places it on my desk.
I eye the box much like one would glare at a device with a timer and wires attached. “What is it?”
“I’m sure if you open it, you’ll find out,” she snips, then whirls around.
I’ve always wondered how some of our receptionists got their job, since they all seem to have a stick shoved up their asses, unless a handsome man walks through those doors. I can’t really complain. I started at that desk myself. I’d like to think I wasn’t so bitchy, but I probably was.
As I look back at the box, a suspicion it’s from Lincoln forms in my gut. Who else would send me something at work? How does he know where I work? I don’t think I told him, apart from the fact that I work at a magazine. But there are hundreds of magazine offices in New York City.
After loosening the ribbon, I lift the lid and pull back pink tissue paper, laughing when I see what lies beneath it. I reach for the envelope placed in the center and slide out the small card, Lincoln’s familiar scrawl greeting me.
My dearest Chloe,
* * *
I’ve worked out a solution to our little…dilemma. And your lack of undergarments for the day.
I glance at the contents, my cheeks flushing at the dozen or so pairs of panties before reading the rest of the note.
They’re all laundered and ready for you to wear. It was torture sitting here, thinking about you not wearing any panties. No one’s allowed to steal a glimpse of what’s mine. And rest assured, Chloe, you will be mine.
I’m already yours…
Lincoln
P.S. - In addition to
the panties, there’s a little extra something for you. I’d love to see you in it. Whenever you’re ready.
I place the card on my desk and rummage through the box, pushing the panties aside. My pulse increases when I find a sexy black lace negligee with a matching thong. The thought of Lincoln’s reaction to seeing me in this has my blood pumping, electricity coursing through my veins.
Phone in hand, I type off a quick text.
What makes you think I’m interested in seeing you again? A little cocky, don’t you think?
Not a little cocky. At least I think it’s impressive. It gets the job done.
I burst out laughing as my fingers fly over the screen.
It certainly does.
I’m about to type out another reply when my cell rings, Lincoln’s name appearing on the screen. My heart catches in my throat, face heating as I bring my phone up to my ear.
“Hello,” I answer as seductively as I can get away with at work.
“Say thank you.”
His deep voice murmuring those words brings me back to that bar in Vegas when he picked up my tab.
Say okay. Say thank you.
It hypnotized me, and I succumbed to his request without a moment’s hesitation. That spell is still cast over me.
“Thank you.”
“Good girl.”
A shiver rolls down my spine, renewed desire igniting deep within. This feels so surreal. How far will I take this? Will I always do what he demands? The idea doesn’t scare me. It excites me. I want him to tell me what to do. I like not having to think about all the potential ramifications of every single one of my actions. It’s refreshing to turn it off for a minute. To quiet all the noise and drama that usually clouds my mind.
“Now, tell me… Do you want to see me again?” he asks, his voice as calm and collected as ever.
I picture him in a large office sitting behind an impressive wooden desk, one wall lined with AmJurs and the CJS, much like in my father’s own office, despite no one using hard copies of legal encyclopedias these days. Everything is probably impeccable. It’s not stacked high with boxes containing evidence or notes or other case material. There’s a place for everything, and everything’s in its place. A far cry from my cubicle, which on a good day looks like a bomb went off.
“Or are you having second thoughts about giving me a chance?”
“Never,” I admit breathlessly.
“Good answer. Then I look forward to seeing you…soon.”
“You’re not going to ask me when?” I blurt out after a beat.
“No, I’m not. I understand this is new territory for you, so I won’t push. When you’re ready, so am I.” His tone lightens. “Although I hope you don’t wait too long, because now that I’ve had a taste, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to go without you in my arms.”
A flutter erupts in my belly and I feel like I’m floating, the force of the butterflies’ rapid wings lifting me up.
“Have a good day, Pixie.”
“You, too.” I linger on the line a moment longer, about to hang up when I call his name. “Lincoln?”
“Yes?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “How did you know where to send my…gift?”
It’s quiet for a beat before he answers, “What would you say if I Googled you?” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You…Googled me?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I don’t know much about you, other than your name, what you do for a living, and that you make the most adorable sound when you’re about to come.”
“Yeah. It’s called a moan.”
“No. It’s not that. It’s more like a…mewl.” His voice grows heated, wanton, lustful. “This excited mewl I can’t get enough of. So please, don’t make me wait too long to hear that again.”
“I won’t,” I respond before I can stop myself. “Promise.”
I imagine him smiling at my response. Hell, I’m smiling at my response.
“Goodbye, Pixie.”
“Goodbye, Lincoln.”
I stay on the phone a moment longer, then end the call. With a sigh, I try to return my focus to what I was working on, but all I can think of is Lincoln.
There’s this mysteriousness about him, which makes me want to learn even more. Was he born in New York? Where did he go to law school? Does he have brothers? Sisters? What’s his family like?
These are all things I’ve never cared enough to learn about any other man. Now I’m desperate to have a fuller picture of Lincoln Moore.
Navigating to my Internet browser, I type his name into the search bar. I hit enter just as a voice startles me.
“What is this?”
I quickly close out of my browser before I have a chance to look at the results, snapping my eyes up to see Evie hovering in my cubicle, staring at my gift.
“I was low on underwear and didn’t feel like doing laundry,” I lie nonchalantly.
“Bullshit.” When she reaches for the card, I don’t fight her. It was only a matter of time before she found out anyway. We spend over forty hours a week together.
She takes a few seconds to read. Then her wide eyes dart to mine. “Who’s Lincoln? How does he know you’re not wearing any underwear? Is he the one you went to go see about your panties last night? And why is he…yours?”
“He’s…a guy.”
“I gathered, but—”
I hold up my hand, cutting her off. I take a deep breath, summoning the strength for the conversation that’s about to follow. “He’s a guy I like. And yes, he’s the panties guy.” My lips quirk into a smile. “A panty thief.”
Evie stares at me, her mouth agape, her response similar to one she’d have if she just learned I’d been leading a double life as a sex abstinence advocate. Then she squeals, her words coming out a mile a minute.
“Who is he? Where did you meet? What’s he like? What does he do? What does he look like? Where’s he from?” Her questions come like rapid gunfire.
“Evie… Evie… Evie!” I say in between each question, having to shout the last one to get her attention.
She snaps her mouth shut. “You’re right. This calls for reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh my goodness!” Nora squeals, placing her hand over her heart as we sit in a row of spin machines, sweat dripping from our bodies. Upbeat music blares, overpowering the sound of wheezing breaths and the whirring of the wheels on the stationary bikes. “It’s better than any movie! It was meant to be!”
I roll my eyes at her reaction to the story I’d just told, slightly breathless, about meeting Lincoln in Vegas.
“It’s a total fairy tale.”
“Fairy tales all end with ‘And they lived happily ever after’,” I taunt, using air quotes, imitating her light, dream-like voice. “That’s not us.”
Nora scowls, an adorable pout on her face, as if she’d just learned a car had hit her childhood dog. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s too soon to be planning a future with him.” I pedal harder, pretending to focus on my workout when, in reality, I want to flip off the instructor, who seems to get off on people’s anguished expressions. If I hear her say “Pain is weakness leaving the body” one more time, I’ll show her some real pain. “We agreed to take things slow.”
Evie snorts a laugh. “Yeah. Him practically telling you he owns your pussy is really taking things slow.”
“He didn’t say he owns my pussy,” I protest, somewhat loudly.
A few people glance in our direction, the women scrunching their nose in disgust at my use of the word “pussy”. It makes me want to shout it repeatedly at the top of my lungs.
“He’d stolen yet another pair of my panties, and I haven’t been home long enough to drop off my clothes at the laundromat, so I had to go commando.”
When an attractive man in his thirties looks our way, I flash him a smile, then noti
ce the wedding band on his hand as he not so subtly adjusts his shorts. Facing my friends, I lower my voice to avoid any more stares.
“Once I told him that… Well, you can fill in the blanks. He didn’t want anyone to catch a glimpse of what could be his. But don’t worry. It’s not his yet. I still own this pussy.”
“And his cock, by the sounds of it,” Nora chimes in.
“I don’t own his cock.”
Evie and Nora share a look before fixing their gazes back on me. “You do,” they say simultaneously.
“Impossible. We haven’t even known each other a week. Not to mention, I didn’t know his name until Tuesday. That’s only three days ago! Hell, the only thing I know about him is that he’s a lawyer. I don’t even know what kind of law he practices…” I trail off as I shift my eyes to the large mirrored walls, the reflection of dozens of people’s legs cycling on their spin machines dizzying. “But there’s one way to find out.” I grab my phone off the bike and navigate to the browser.
“What are you doing?” Evie asks, a brow quirked up, slowing her pedaling.
“Googling him.”
Her eyes widen as she shares a look with Nora yet again. In a heartbeat, she snatches the phone out of my hands. “No. Don’t.”
“Wha—”
“I get that you’re a curious person by nature, that you love digging for dirt on every celebrity out there. And you’re damn good at it.” She waves my phone in front of me. “But don’t do that here.”