Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  I pause for a minute, wondering if I can do this. I’m feeling adventurous and a little turned on still from the call with Sir and Rachael. Getting up, I push the chaise closer to the wall where a large full-length mirror hangs, ready to give the solo performance of my life. Once again, my sexual naïvety shines through as I suddenly realize the mirror’s potential as a perfect visual aid for a situation like this one. The Conrads must have an amazing sex life.

  “You there? I didn’t scare you off, did I?”

  “Of course not. I’m just getting ready.”

  “Thank fuck. I can’t wait to hear everything.”

  “Are you getting ready too? I want you ready to touch yourself. It will make it so much better,” I say, grabbing my vibrator from my kit and placing a towel on the chaise just in case I end up needing to use lube for effect. Wouldn’t want to make a mess.

  “I’m beyond ready. Are you naked?”

  “Almost. I’m just stepping out of my lacy pink panties.” It wasn’t quite the truth. I was wearing black yoga pants, not quite ready to give Jake a full-on live performance despite how turned on I might be getting. I was nervous as hell. Thankfully, something about this caller calmed and soothed me and I knew I could do this.

  “You’ve got me all excited, beautiful. I’m happy you’re gonna do this for me.”

  “With you, Jake. We’re going to help each other. It’s my first time. I might need a little coaching,” I say, dropping a subtle reference to the story I told him the first time he called.

  “Christ. Tell me you’re ready.”

  “I’m all set.” I turn the vibrator on low, so he can hear it’s true.

  “Where are you?”

  “Well, I’ve got this big chaise. I’m lying on that with my legs spread wide, half sitting up so I can see my reflection in my full-length mirror that’s mounted on the wall.”

  “Tell me what your pussy looks like.” I hear a glass clink, assuming he’s putting a drink down.

  “I’m bare. My skin looks soft, a pretty shade of light pink. Girlie pink, and I feel even better. I feel like velvet. A hint of my excitement is permeating the air now as I think about touching myself for you,” I tell him, and hope that it sounds true.

  “I bet you smell and look fucking incredible. How do you taste. Give me a little sample.”

  “I’m running my index and middle finger slowly along my pussy lips, making myself wetter. My fingers are becoming slick from my touch.”

  “Lick them. Fucking lick yourself off your fingers. Tell me how it tastes,” he grits out, and it’s sexy as hell. Out of nowhere, an image of Ace standing in his office—voice similar and him sexy-angry—flashes in my mind, and I let out a moan, wishing it has him I was doing this for. Courtney’s right, I do have it bad. Those green eyes zeroing in on me in class behind those dark-framed glasses, the way his lip pulls when he gives me that sexy smirk. A second later, I pull off my pants and panties deciding I need this. And I touch myself like I described then do what Jake’s asked next.

  “Oh God. I’m sweet. I taste like passion fruit with a hint of honey, enough to leave a trail of sweet goodness on my tongue and lips,” I tell him slowly licking my fingers. I’ve never tasted myself before. Sure, I’ve had a boyfriend kiss me after going downtown but never of my own accord. But after all of tonight’s calls, now compounded with images of Ace, there’s no way I can’t do this for real.

  “You’re sweet. I fucking knew your tight cunt would taste sweet. Shit.” I hear a slow moan escape on his end, which makes me moan as I start to move the vibrator over my clit.

  “I’m going to rub myself with the vibrator. I’m so wet. I need the relief. This is making me so hot. It’s on my clit, Jake, and it feels so fucking good. I…can’t, oh God, it’s so good, you should see it.”

  “Tell me. Fuck, I need to hear. Turn it up higher, lovely, tell me every move you make.” It comes out as a command and goosebumps rise on my arms with his tone.

  “I’m sliding it along my folds, giving it some of my wetness. Making it easier to slip and slide around my pussy,” I tell him, doing exactly what I’ve described. “Oh God, it looks so sexy sliding in and over and between my lips. The purple tip is glistening, coated with my juices.”

  “Jesus, that’s perfect. Tell me more. Fucking hell. My cock’s so hard. I’m circling my head, down along my hard shaft for you. Taking what I wish was your sweet juices and rubbing them with my pre-cum smoothing it all over the head, imagining it’s you.”

  “Oh fuck, Jake. I’m turning it up. I need to run it along my clit, faster, harder,” I say, cranking it up.

  “Fuck, yeah, do it.”

  “Shit. It feels too good. I’m spreading my legs wider, I’ve got my heels digging into the base of my thighs and ass. I’m running the smooth head of it up and along my folds, then up to my clit, alternating the speed and pressure before pausing to let the vibrations tease me. I’m so wet it’s hard to keep it in one place, my greedy cunt wants it to slip inside and stay there. Shit, yes. It feels so goddamned amazing.”

  “Fuck, Chanel, I want to slip inside. I want to feel you clamping around my hard cock. Letting you feel every ridge and vein while I take you fucking hard and fast.” Images of what I imagine Ace’s hard cock would look like sliding into me pop into my mind. I envision how perfectly his thick, smooth hardness would feel sliding in and out of my wetness as he hovered above, fucking me, so hard and so fast, the fantasy so vivid I’m driving myself crazy.

  “Oh my God. Yes, Jake, I want it. Give it to me. Oh, it’s slipping inside me. Fuck, Jake, it feels so good. Pulling it in and out, tormenting myself. My pussy’s contracting with each push and pull. Fuck, I’m close. Tell me you’re close too, Jake. God, I can’t hold off. I’ve slipped it between my lips, the rounded edge now pulsating against my clit, oh shit, ohh fuck!” I scream as I continue to hold the vibrator against my pulsing centre, then letting it glide into my wetness, only prolonging my orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

  “Motherfucker, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fucking cum all over the place,” is all I hear as we both go off like explosives. “Jesus fuck, that was incredible. You’re amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper, embarrassment over what I’ve just allowed to happen sinking in. I just finished masturbating over the phone with a complete stranger.

  If only I knew how to process how I feel about that.

  Should I feel shame or liberation?

  Is it okay to feel both?

  Thankfully, Jake gives me a rough-voiced, “Talk soon,” before simply hanging up.

  Deciding to take a cab home later that night, I vow to never allow myself to get carried away like that again.

  Damn you, Ace Ryan, for getting in my head and in my panties. I blame you.

  Chapter 28

  Ace

  I sit in my office trying to convince myself—or, rather, trying to pretend—that I’m not waiting.

  When it’s exactly what I’m doing.

  Waiting.

  Again…envisioning how this meeting will go between us.

  Waiting…

  For her.

  Again.

  It’s Monday and I’m staring at my computer screen, attempting to respond to the shit ton of emails from the weekend, ones that I told myself were the reason I came in so early, when what I’m really doing is clock watching. I’ll make one hell of a timekeeper in my next career. Bet my Ph.D. would give me an edge over the competition. I’ve been here since seven, sitting. Impatiently waiting.

  Lucky for her, she’s smartened up this time around, and arrives early with almost ten minutes to spare. Rather than make her wait like I could, I invite her in as soon as she knocks, despite not wanting to give the impression that she’s my sole purpose for being here.

  I stand to greet her. “Good morning, Ms. Hughes. Please, have a seat.”

  I note how striking she looks, a jacket resting over her arm. She’s dressed in a long, deep-purple sweate
r layered over a pair of those sexy tight jean/legging things that are exactly that—tight, showcasing her toned runner’s legs. Legs I’d like to feel wrapped around my waist, as the short heels of her ankle boots dig into my ass. I usher her inside, her honeyed voice wishing me a good morning.

  “Thank you for seeing me. I’m really excited to speak with you about my thesis.”

  I’m excited too, but for a completely different reason.

  She moves to the small chair where I’ve gestured for her to sit. I lean against my desk; I’ve been sitting here for over an hour already.

  “Glad we could make this date work for you, Ms. Hughes. Glad you could make it on time, as well.” I add the dig, being an ass. I know she felt bad and I shouldn’t bring it up again, but I want her to realize I need to be respected regardless of whatever has or is developing between us.

  “Again, I apolo—”

  I cut her off. “Let’s move on. It’s in the past. Just know I appreciate your punctuality today.” Jesus, I need to tone down the asshole, it’s not her fault she fucks me up the way she does.

  “I’d like that, to move on,” she agrees, her voice low, doe-eyes cast downward, and I hate that I’ve taken her initial good mood away from her. Hate that I’ve put tension between us again.

  “Damn.” I take my glasses off, huff on the lenses, cleaning them, when in reality I’m purely stalling for the words to turn this meeting around. “Honestly, I know you didn’t mean to be late. I’m being arrogant. Please accept my apology. It seems you have an effect on me, Ms. Hughes, one I’m not sure how I feel about,” I tell her truthfully, putting my glasses back in place.

  She mutters something, but it’s too faint to make out.

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, nothing, I…uh-hmm. I’d never willingly be late to see you, is all. Honestly,” she blushes, looking down at her lap.

  “Ellie, look at me.” Thankfully she listens. “I know, E. I knew it that day, too. I’m the sorry one. Understand?”

  “Yes. I think so,” she says, gifting me with a faint smile, but a part of me doubts she gets it at all. I’m sorry, most of all, that I can’t take her in my arms and show her rather than tell her.

  “Please, let’s begin. Tell me what the objective of your thesis is and how far along you are at this point,” I say, looking into her maple-coloured eyes. I wonder if the colour purple always makes them seem a shade lighter, like they are right now.

  “Well, I’m pretty excited about it, albeit a bit nervous…”

  I turn her iPad around so I can see the title of her document.

  “‘Princess Leia Should Have Wielded a Lightsaber: the Feminist Role Carrie Fisher Never Knew She Was Starring in…Until Now.’ You’re kidding. E, tell me you’re pulling my leg?”

  She’s kidding me, right? I’m on a new show called Thesis Jokes and Outtakes, U of T Edition.

  “No. I’m not joking. I’ve been working on this for a while. It’s a strong topic.”

  “Ellie, are you aware that I’m a Star Wars nut?” I point to the shelves where I’ve recently unpacked a bunch of movie paraphernalia along with having added another batch of framed posters around the room, all Star Wars. “It’s my all-time favourite movie franchise. But without sounding unsupportive, I’m completely intrigued and a bit mystified at how this will lead to a forty-plus page paper. I’m sure you’ve got strong points, Ellie. I’m more concerned with the writing being the required length; you don’t want a lot of filler or inconsequential information, with Leia not being the main character. Like, say, if you were to write about a protagonist like Bridget Jones from a feminist perspective, I could see it…but Leia? That might be tough.” I cross my right leg over the other at the ankles, bracing both arms on the desktop, wondering if she’ll see through my goading her and put me in my place like I expect. Or will she surprise me and back down on this topic?

  “It’s a favourite of mine, as well,” she retorts, “all the more reason you should trust my instinct, trust that I wouldn’t choose this if I didn’t think I could pull it off or do it justice. I know it’s a bit risky; I’ve been doing my research, though. Leia is one kick-ass superhero,” she smiles, dropping a reminder of our Tarantino kick-assfest from weeks ago.

  “I agree,” I say, “she’s very kick-ass. Strong and sexy. You’ll have to sell this to me, though. Tell me more about your direction. I’m rather concerned that you’ve wasted precious time on a dead end,” I tell her, testing her further. I’m curious to see how she gets when she’s passionately defending her ideas, sticking up for something she believes in. And looking up to meet her eyes, I see it immediately—the challenge.

  “I thought you were supposed to guide me? Support me? You went on in the seminar about all the reasons it’s important to trust you guys as advisors, to come to you. And here you are being a jerk. You’ve not even given me the chance to defend my topic or back it up. I’m not an idiot, Ace…sorry, I mean, Doctor Ryan. Please hear me out before you slam me,” she retorts, annoyance more than evident. I’d say pissed is the better term.

  “I’m not ‘slamming’ you, Ellie. Calm down a minute. I think you’re bright, so I want what’s best for you. Getting published is huge. I’m trying to wrap my head around this. I want to help you to achieve the end goal here. It’s my job to push.” I put a hand on top of hers, having moved to sit beside her.

  “Right. Push. Then pull. Hot, then cold. Nice to not-so-nice. That’s what you do best,” she says, cutting the air, calling me and my bullshit out without actually calling me out. She slips her hand from under mine. “Now, are you going to listen or do I need to talk to the department chair about how I need a new advisor, seeing as we seem to have an apparent conflict of interest here?” She gestures between us. “One I’m not sure either of us is fully acknowledging, or wants to admit, or knows what to do with, like you said.” She crosses her arms across her chest, my eyes following the move.

  What the actual fuck? I stand up and lean back on the desk a little, for distance. It’s not her threat that confuses me; I know it’s empty. The flush on her face confirms she’s simply being the passionate Ellie I’ve come to know and respect in class, the same one who shines when she feels strongly about something. And the idea that this woman just might feel strongly enough about me to have researched what would happen when or if there ever was a conflict of interest between the two of us makes me giddy as fuck. Hell, I’m an employee, and it took Mercer to tell me the steps I’d need to take if I decided to pursue her.

  We sit staring for a few minutes, seemingly collecting our thoughts, before Ellie makes the next move.

  “Now are you ready to listen, Doctor Ryan?” she says, the bite to her voice the hottest sound I’ve ever heard.

  “By all means, E, the floor’s yours. Try to convince me your paper is valid.” I wave my hands.

  “In the words of Master Yoda: ‘Do. Or do not. There is no try’. Watch and listen as I ‘do’. Don’t ‘try’ to underestimate me, Ace,” she jabs, her tone now a little snarky for my taste. I get that she’s pissed, however, I do admit I’ve been an ass more or less since she walked in.

  “Be thankful I have a soft spot for you, Ellie. Students rarely get away with speaking to me in such a tone.”

  “Rarely?” she questions, probing for more.

  “Well, yes, there are times I can be an ass and deserve a little lip,” I share, and her eyes move to my mouth, before making a slow burn down the rest of me where I stand leaning against my desk. It takes a whole lot of restraint not to rush back to her, to show her what I think of her sassy mouth right now.

  “And don’t call me ‘E’. It confuses me. I never know when we’re being friends or when you’re my professor.” A hint of something passes over her face, the sincerity of her voice confirming what I already knew; she’s feeling the same thing I am. Confusion.

  “Friends.” I pause. “Drop the ‘Doctor’ when we’re not in class. It’s pretentious, and drives me insane falling from
your lips. Now, you done with all this bullshit? Ready to convince me, and give me time to figure out how the hell I can help you with this paper of yours, Ms. Hughes?” I ask, raising my brows, unable to hide the smirk pulling at my lips, seeing her flush in response to my words.

  “Yeah,” she pauses, cocking her head and watching me for a beat, “I can do that. Now that you’re over your ‘Star Wars is my favourite’ nonsense and are ready to actually hear me.”

  Jesus, this girl. My trifecta.

  “We good to go?” she says, adjusting her iPad and pulling out her notebook.

  I nod.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of research. I’m still working on which aspects of the feminist perspective I’ll defend, but I’ve got heaps of points justifying that Leia’s character was actually totally feminist—even if by accident, as some would try to claim,” she says, flipping through the pages on her iPad, talking a mile a minute, giving me all kinds of points, a few points I truthfully would never have considered or seen her way until now. “…and she’s feisty, fearless, I mean, she took that stormtrooper out in the first scene with her blaster, no hesitation, no fear. And…and, she’s the one who leads them to the vent that lands them in the garbage chute, saving them in the end. Right? And this is all pretty much in the beginning. I can do forty pages, Ace. Easy.”

  “Hmmm, I’ve never looked at it from this point of view. I have to admit those are pretty good points,” I compliment, earning me a sexy proud-of-herself smile before she goes on.

  “Leia’s wardrobe alone offers the theory that she wasn’t seen as a sex object like, say, Wonder Woman with her tiny shorts, caked on make-up and cleavage-baring top.” She closes her iPad, satisfied she’s explained herself.

  “You’ve not won yet, E. Two words: gold bikini,” I smile, knowing I’ve got her; I’ve thrown her a wrench. I just hope she doesn’t wield it at me. We’ve been here for about an hour and I’ll be honest, Ellie has me convinced. Princess Leia absolutely should not only be given a lightsaber, but be given the right to maim whomever she wants, as the woman certainly earned it. Princess Leia is a completely kick-ass character that I’ve got a whole new appreciation and respect for. Same goes for the woman sitting in front of me.