Just One Night

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "What did he say? What did you say?"

  Andrea couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Nothing much."

  "Isn't he gorgeous?"

  "He's all right. Not really my type."

  Linda scoffed. "I know he doesn't look a thing like Chris Hemsworth or Jason Momoa. But he's still friggin' gorgeous."

  That he was, she had to agreed—especially standing naked, dripping wet, while he fucked her against the wall of his luxurious shower.

  "He's not bad."

  Linda would have gone on and on about him, but Andrea had had enough. "Hey, I have another call." It wasn't a lie; she did. She was going to call the man her friend was drooling over. But then, she drooled over so many men—it wasn't at all surprising that she was thirsty for Rad.

  "Okay. Is it him?"

  "Maybe."

  She'd never heard anyone squeal so loudly in her life. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I want to hear everything."

  "Yeah, I'm going to sleep after this call, so not until later, all right?"

  "Yeah, fine. Just keep me in the loop, pllleeeeaaasssseeeee! I'll do anything you want! Just tell me all about it!"

  Andrea actually looked disbelievingly at her phone. Her friend was friggin' stark raving crazy. "Talk to you later."

  Before Linda could get another word out, she pressed the red disconnect button and sighed. She didn't know why the other woman had to react like that to every man she saw—it was friggin' embarrassing.

  As if her talk with Linda had dissipated any of her concerns about appearing needy, Andrea brought him up and called him, before she lost her nerve.

  He picked up practically before it rang the first time. "Good evening, minx," he purred at her, and she was instantly, alarmingly close to the edge.

  "Good evening, Rad."

  "To what do I owe the honor of this call, hmm? As much as I've wanted you to, I had kind of thought you wouldn't call me."

  "Well, you're not wrong. It took me a while to convince myself to do this, but I do have some questions."

  "Well," he replied smoothly, "I'm sorry you had to struggle with it, when all I want is for you to reach out to me any time at all. I mean it. It's good that you have questions, though."

  "Good?"

  "That means you're thinking about my suggestion. That's a very good thing, in my book."

  "Of course, I am. It's not every day a man wants to have a relationship of any kind with me, and I am seriously considering it."

  "Excellent."

  A sudden thought occurred to her. "Do you prefer that I call you or text you?"

  "Call, if possible. I'm old school enough that I love to hear the sound of my woman's voice."

  Andrea ignored his possessiveness in favor of complimenting him. "Well, yours is pretty damned potent, too. I think a British accent was voted most sexy by women in some online poll. There wasn't any female on the planet who was surprised about that."

  "Well, I do have some small talent for mimicry, Andrea, if you think you'd prefer a different one. I'm always willing to do my best to accommodate anything you desire. I'm nothing if not amenable." He proceeded to cycle through Scottish, Irish, Australian, and finally—jarringly—American in that one sentence.

  "Eww. You're not allowed to speak American to me."

  He chuckled warmly at that. "Done."

  "And I think I like your British accent best."

  "Which one would you prefer second, I wonder?"

  "Scottish or Irish."

  "I'll remember that."

  "You say that to me a lot."

  "Because I will. I am also blessed with a relatively reliable brain, and I have particularly good recall for facts I consider important."

  She was glad he couldn't see her pinken. "Stop that."

  "You're blushing again, I take it," he murmured, then growled, "I wish I was there to really give you something to blush about, Ms. Evans."

  "You are incorrigible."

  "And you wouldn't have me any other way."

  He'd taken control of the call, of course. She could see that it was a habit of his. He liked being in charge. And, God help her, she liked him being in charge, too—more than she wanted to.

  "So, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if that's okay."

  "Andrea, my dear, I would be disappointed if you didn't have anything to ask me." She heard him move around a little, then sigh. "Fire away."

  "Where are you in the house?"

  "I'm not in that house, honey. I'm in Bangkok."

  No one she knew had ever been to Thailand. "Really?"

  "Yes." He had to hold back a laugh at the undisguised wonder in her voice.

  "For work?"

  "Yes."

  "So you're in a hotel?"

  "No, the company owns a couple of apartments downtown, close to work."

  "Oh. That must be nice." She suddenly wondered if she was punching well above her weight with him.

  "It is. I like to travel, and I do a reasonable amount of it."

  "Oh."

  He had relaxed on the comfortable couch, but he was alert to the fact that it sounded as if that bit of information had unsettled her, for some reason. "Was that why you called?" he prompted.

  "No—oh. No."

  "Does it matter to you that I travel for my job?" It wouldn't be easy for him to stay put, but he'd arrange it for her if it was a problem.

  "No, of course not. I wouldn't want you telling me what I could or couldn't do in regard to my job, and I would never try to dictate to you about that, either."

  "Good. Maybe I could take you with me sometimes."

  Damn, that sounded wonderful! She would love to travel—Connor hadn't wanted to. They'd never been out of the state together, except on their honeymoon, and that was only to Niagara Falls. She would love to go pretty much anywhere.

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Is that an added incentive to accept my offer?"

  She squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to admit just how much of one it was. "Yeah, I'd like to travel more. But I don't get a lot of vacation time, so I don't know that it would really work."

  "We'll make whatever accommodations are necessary, I assure you."

  Andrea realized that he was speaking as if she'd already agreed to see him again, but she recognized it for the subtle tactic that it was. "Y-you sound as if… as if you want a real relationship with me. You want us to be exclusive, you want us to travel, or am I reading into it too much? Do you just want it to be casual? Because I'm not sure I could do that—"

  Rad could hear in her tone that she was spiraling out with worry and anxiety, and he used every bit of his talent to control his voice when he spoke to her, making it as soft and soothing as possible. "Shh, honey. Take a deep breath. You're getting all wrapped around the axle over nothing."

  "No, I'm not."

  He could hear that she was close to tears, and he wanted to race across the world to her to hold her in his arms. "Andrea, do as I say and take a deep breath slowly in, to the count of five, then let it out to the same count. Do it with me. Concentrate on your breathing and nothing else."

  They did that three times.

  "Any better, doll?"

  "Yes," she said, although she was terribly embarrassed to have done that in front of him. "Sorry."

  "There's no need to apologize for your emotions, honey."

  "Connor was always mad when I cried."

  What was it with men who didn't know how to treat a woman with basic courtesy? He would never understand anyone being that way—so dismissive of another's feelings.

  "You might have noticed at some point, but I'm not Connor." He was teasing. There was no edge of rebuke in his tone; he was just trying to lighten her mood.

  She gave him a watery laugh. "No, you're not. You're about three feet taller than he was."

  "Oh dear. Really?"

  "Yes. He was only a few inches taller than I am."

  "Well, I'm definitely a sea change, then, aren't I?"

&
nbsp; "I-I like that you're tall," she confessed softly.

  He chuckled again, realizing it was the first time she'd really complimented him without wrapping it in a joke. "I'm glad. I think I mentioned that night that I like that you're not."

  "You did."

  She was quiet for a moment, so he spoke up. "So, you forgot to hold me to it."

  "To what?" She frowned, trying to think what she'd missed.

  "You accused me of being egotistical about my talents in the bedroom, and I said I'd ask you at the end of the night whether you thought I'd lived up to my bragging. Well, did I?"

  "Fuck yes," she sighed, and he laughed at her unbridled vehemence.

  "I'm very glad you think so. It makes you more likely to want a repeat performance."

  It fucking well did!

  She began to nibble her lip nervously, then said, "You didn't answer my question, Rad."

  "Are you in bed right now, Andrea?" he asked, answering a question with a question.

  "No. I'm in my living room."

  "What are you wearing?"

  That stopped her, because she wasn't quite sure how he wanted her to answer.

  "Are you still there? And if so, why aren't you answering me, petite?"

  Damn, he could do a French accent, too!

  "Uh, because I don't know what you want me to say."

  "No, baby. That's never the kind of answer I want from you. I don't want you trying to tell me what you think I want to hear. I always want you to tell me the truth—your truth. And if I ever forget that, please remind me."

  She relaxed considerably at that, taking him at his word. "I was just thinking that you might regret not having me say something much more tantalizing. I'm in a pair of ancient sweats and a holey t-shirt. It's generally what I wear to bed."

  "Nope, that's perfect for what I have in mind. I want you to go to your bedroom and stretch out on the bed."

  "I'm assuming you want me to take you with me?"

  "I do, smarty pants."

  "Okay. I'm there."

  "Already?"

  "Not all of us have ginormous houses, Rad."

  "Ah. I'm sorry."

  She laughed then, and it was one of the best things he'd ever heard in his life. "Are you sorry for what you said, or that I don't have a bigger house?"

  "Yes."

  "Good answer!"

  He could hear in her voice that she was still smiling, and he had a tremendous urge to kiss her. The thought flashed through his mind that his pilot was on call, and he wondered how quickly he could get to her. But not soon enough, unfortunately, and besides, he did have work to do here.

  "Is your hair up?"

  "Well, I usually pull it up behind my head when I'm lying down, otherwise I'm lying on it all the time. It's a pain."

  "I'm not your Dom yet, but don't you dare cut your hair!"

  "You're not? You mean you're this bossy with everyone? I think I'm glad I don't work for you."

  "Grr."

  But she only laughed at him.

  "No, I'm not your Dom, but we'll talk about that over the weekend."

  "Still got that ego, I see."

  "Still want to get fucked silly and get your ass spanked by someone who knows what he's doing, I'm willing to bet."

  He was not wrong, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

  "Are you wearing a bra?"

  She snorted loudly in his ear. "Does any woman wear a bra past the moment she enters her own home? Hell no."

  "Good. I want you to pull the hem of your holey—and I'm sure that's h-o-l-e-y and not h-o-l-y t-shirt—"

  "Damn straight."

  "—up so that it's above your breasts, but don't touch them—yet."

  Her nipples bloomed into almost painful tightness as soon as they were bared, as if she was cold, but she definitely wasn't. If anything, she was much too hot!

  "Now spread your legs. I don't want you to be able to cross them and relieve any of the ache I'm going to create in you."

  Her whimper was almost soundless, but he heard it and it brought him to full mast behind his own pants, which were not ratty sweats, unfortunately. He wished they were that forgiving!

  "Put your phone on the pillow next to your ear. I want you to use both hands and just skim them down over your body, everywhere but your little cunny, so you can just barely tell they're there. That's what I would do to you if I was there with you."

  She gasped embarrassingly loudly, mostly because of the last thing he'd said, and not her own hands on her body.

  "Bring them back up—"

  Andrea already had, but she put them back on her feet again.

  "—and touch a bit harder this time, but still just skimming, still avoiding that beautiful quim of yours."

  Her "hmm" was a quiet protest against that edict, but she obeyed him.

  "Good girl," he whispered, hearing her moan immediately.

  "This time, I want you to do the same thing to your breasts, up and down, touching with increasing pressure until the whole of your hands is touching your breasts every time."

  "Oh, fuck!"

  There was that disturbing chuckle of his that only got her hotter. "Are your nipples peaked, Andrea?"

  "Yes! And they're sore and achy!" How could she possibly have sounded so sultry and pouty? That couldn't possibly be her!

  "Good. This time, I want you to cup your breasts, and while you do that, I want you to very gently tug your nipples away from your body with your thumbs and forefingers. No twisting, no pinching hard. Just do what I said until I tell you not to anymore."

  He could hear her breathing becoming more and more rapid as he let the time drag on. "Very good. You may stop now."

  Andrea whimpered yet again, not sure whether or not she wanted to stop by that point.

  "Now, I want you to do the same thing, only I want you to pinch your nipples with one hand, and I want the other to move slowly down over your belly to the waistband of your sweats, then slip down to cup yourself. Nothing more, just cup yourself. And I want you to tell me when you're doing that, please."

  So polite and courteous in the midst of phone sex! It was an incredible turn on!

  "I've done it."

  "Done what, my dear?"

  "Well, I can't say it," she said, as if any idiot should know that.

  He wasn't concerned with her tone, just her outdated morals about such things. "Of course, you can. Tell me exactly where both of your hands are, Andrea."

  Rad could hear that she was trying to obey him, but nothing was coming out except a few hesitant non-verbal stops and starts. That wasn't enough, and he didn't wait long before letting her know that.

  In that rich, honeyed tone he knew how to use so well against her, he scolded, "I don't hear anything, honey. Are you going to disobey me about this and earn your first real spanking?"

  "No!"

  He gave her about a half a minute before he warned, more sternly, "I'm not going to ask you again, Andrea."

  He almost relented at her obvious sounds of distress, because he knew she was trying to obey him.

  "My… my hand…"

  "Which hand, baby?" he whispered.

  "My left hand is… is on my breast."

  "What's it doing there, pretty girl?"

  His compliment got her flustered. "It's… it's p-pinching my nipple."

  "Good, good. And your other hand? Where is that?"

  "It's, uh—"

  "Is it on top of your sweats?"

  "Nooo." She drew the word out because she didn't want to say anything else that she knew he was going to make her say. "It's beneath my sweats."

  "And your underwear?" He hadn't said that explicitly, but he hoped she had interpreted it that way.

  "Yes," she whispered, and he could feel her delicious reluctance, despite the distance between them.

  "And what is that naughty hand doing?"

  "No, Rad. Don't make me say it," she pleaded, voice barely detectable.

  "Yes, Andrea." It w
as said in the perfect tone, warm and encouraging, but with the slightest touch of warning.

  He heard her take a breath. "It's c-cupping me."

  She should have known he wasn't going to let her get away with vague generalities.

  "Cupping you where?"

  "Between, between my legs."

  "Say it now, honey. I've given you much too much leeway as it is. You should have been due a spanking when you refused to obey me the first time I told you to describe where your hands were—"

  "Cupping my pussy!" she breathed, as if it was a State secret.

  Damn. She didn't even need to be in the room to reduce him to putty!

  "Now, was that so hard?"

  "Yes!"

  She could hear him laughing at her, but she didn't feel offended in the least. She'd told him the truth. It had been terribly hard for her to say that. It was just something she would never have thought of doing in her boring, almost middle-aged existence. It was something she'd never done before, but she had a feeling that if she accepted him, it was going to happen a lot more often.

  "Now, I want you to keep pinching your nipple and add a bit of a twist at the end. With your other hand, I want you to slip whichever finger you usually use to bring yourself off between your lips—and I'm not talking about the ones on your face."

  "O-okay."

  "Are you wet, lovely?"

  "I think I'm going to need some hip waders and a rubber boat."

  She loved his laugh almost as much as his tongue and cock.

  "Well, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? So I want you to get the tip of your finger nice and wet and bring it up to your clit, but don't move it."

  About damned time, Andrea was thinking, until he said the last part. "Don't move it?" she whined.

  "Only if you want your bottom blistered the next time we see each other."

  "Grr."

  He arranged himself a little more comfortably, then he said, "All right, you may begin slowly stroking your finger over your clit." He drew a deep breath, then admitted outrageously, "Do you know that I can still taste you, even now?"

  "Rad!"

  Her false outrage was adorable.

  "How far along are you?"

  "Very far."

  "Ah. Okay. Well, keep stroking, and let it happen while I answer your question."

  "What question?" It had been the entire reason for her call, but it was completely lost to her at the moment.