Talk Dirty To Me

by Ginny Glass

  I miss our lunches.

  ~N

  Nora smirked. She felt sure “James” would call tonight to say goodbye. He had a surprise coming. Payback was a bitch.

  The phone rang at eleven sharp. Nora took another sip of her wine, picked up the phone and flipped it open.

  “Hello, James.”

  The other end was silent for a brief second, and Nora waited, resolve making her staunch, the silence shoring up her determination. She waited.

  “I’ve missed you.” His voice was just as husky, just as seductive, and it planted the same rapid-fire reactions in her head, her stomach, in between her legs.

  “Have you?” she asked lightly. “I’ve been busy with a lot of things.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  Nora smiled slowly, knew the slyness would edge into her own voice. “You ask what and not whom?”

  “As much as I applaud your correct use of the word whom, I have no concern about whom you might have been with. I am disappointed that you didn’t miss me. Have you been coming before bed all alone?”

  “Not exactly all alone.”

  He nearly purred into the phone. “Your Bullet?”

  “Oh, no. A fantasy.”

  “Another? Tell me.”

  “Well, I did have a date last weekend.” Nora let the static lapse for several seconds. “Another member of the campus staff. He teaches English Lit. You two would get along well.”

  “If he wants you, I doubt that.” James’s—Jarod’s voice heated, and not with passion. The jealousy in that rasp sounded like warm cherry brandy, decadent and biting.

  Nora grinned wickedly, delighting in torturing the man at the other end—those expressive eyes, that slashing mouth. She stretched out on her bed, curling her toes. “I cut the date short. I made an excuse, told him I had to come home and take a call from a research partner, but God, James, if I hadn’t left at that minute, I’d have fucked him in the parking lot.”

  “What?” His astonishment charged through her. She had him now.

  “You’re right, James. I’m not broken. He kissed me and everything in me caught on fire. He touched me and I got so, so wet.”

  “Nora.” His exasperation bled in a tortured moan. “What in the hell makes you think I want to hear thi—”

  Nora let loose the softest, lowest, most tremulous moan she could. “I’m wet just thinking about him. I came home and had the best fantasy. I’ve had it for days now. It keeps getting better, hotter.”

  “I don’t want to hear about another man, Nora.” His objection sounded weak.

  “It starts out in a classroom. I’m finishing up a late project. He’s at his desk grading papers.” His moan, a deeper twin of her earlier exhalation, burst through the earpiece and pushed her on. “He has these broad shoulders, but he’s lean. Strong. He could haul me up and have me on his desk easily. He has fantastically sexy hands. I still feel them on my skin. I want them on me—in all the ways we’ve talked about.”

  “Nora.”

  Nora suddenly understood the high Jarod had gotten from his alter ego, understood the power and the drugging perfection of it. There was a strange, electric intimacy in deceiving Jarod, in making him a voyeur in his own head.

  “He comes around me, behind me. I know he’s going to touch me, but he’s making me wait.”

  “Why?” The word was a victory; it gave Nora the advantage, told her Jarod ached to hear every dirty detail about how she wanted him.

  “Because it turns me on, knowing he wants me, knowing he’s going to take me, any minute, any second. His breath is warm on my neck, my ears. He starts to unbutton my shirt. I let him. I sit in the empty classroom with the dusk light spilling through the blinds and I let him push my bra straps off my shoulders. I let him put those gorgeous hands on me again.”

  Jarod’s only response was a low hiss.

  “My nipples are already hard, even before he touches them. I tip my head back and just as he pinches down on my nipple, hard, he leans over and takes my mouth.”

  Low curses and the soft, damp rhythm of flesh on flesh came through in place of words. Nora shimmied out of her own panties and leaned back again.

  “His tongue is in my mouth and I suck it. He kissed me. God, how he kissed me! I know what his mouth tastes like. I want more. I need more.”

  “What do you want? What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me.”

  “I want to know what he tastes like everywhere, James. His fingers, his earlobes, that spot just under his jaw where he missed shaving.” She had him. His frayed breath scorched her ear. Slipping two slow fingers inside her own slick heat, Nora let her eyes drift closed. “I want to suck his cock. I want to bite his thigh when he comes.”

  “Holy shit,” he breathed, “who are you and what have you done with my Nora?”

  “My fantasies don’t belong to you, James.”

  “I started all of this.”

  “But only he can finish it. He can get me out of that chair and lead me to his desk. He can push me onto my back, climb up over me and he can…”

  “You want to be fucked with so little preliminary? So little foreplay?”

  “I don’t need foreplay. He makes me burn.”

  Arrogance darkened his growl. “I make you burn.”

  “Don’t you want to know how slowly he slides his cock into me, how I stay so still? I’m afraid that after so long without sex he’ll hurt me. But he doesn’t. It’s a slow stretch, a feeling of being full to bursting, but…”

  “But you still want more. Sweet hell.”

  She could hear the friction increase as he worked himself faster. “You’re turned on right now, aren’t you, James?”

  “Nora.” His snarl was a warning. Her fingers drummed on her clit, keeping time with his strokes. She panted, near frenzy as she pictured him, no longer faceless, seconds away from coming for her. A tease tumbled from her lips on a giggle.

  “It’s okay, James, you’re a normal, healthy, functioning male. You’re supposed to respond like this when a woman talks dirty.”

  “Screw supposed to, sweetheart, tell me about being on your back, full of my cock. Keep. Going.” The command held so much of the rasp of James and so much of the familiar lilt of Jarod that Nora jackknifed to the edge of an orgasm, hovering.

  “Jarod…” She let his name roll from her tongue, gave it all of the sweetness and all of the sting built up inside of her. She wasn’t broken. She had power and it was a heady, addictive feeling. She said it again, wielding that power. “Jarod, make me come.”

  His breathing was jagged and irregular, a steam train, full force ahead. “You want my cock inside you sweetheart? Take it all.”

  “He doesn’t hold back. We’ve played too many games already for that. He’s hard and fast and I’m carried away. All I can feel is Jarod’s body pressed into me, all I can taste is the salt of his skin, all I can hear is…”

  “Mine. You can feel my body pressed over yours, you can feel my cock slamming into you.”

  She shuddered, climbed, twisted the sheet under her in a skyrocketing frenzy. “Jarod, don’t stop.” James’s voice. Jarod’s face. It had been right all along.

  “I won’t. Your legs are open wide for me. I wanted to be sweet. I wanted to be slow for you but you’re too much. Too tight. Too hot. Too wet. I can hear your body sucking me in, letting me go.”

  “Mmm, gonna…”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He went primal, monosyllables and gasps for air and a long, shuddering roar that hauled Nora hard into a spiral of pleasure so profound she could only throw back her head and ride it out, clinging to the safest thing she knew in the vast and volatile space. The right name.

  “Jarod, oh, Jarod.”

  As she crashed back down, she knew only a sense of sharp, primitive satisfaction at the still-choppy breaths that burst from the phone.

  After a minute he spoke. “Nora.”

  Her heart twisted at the soft vulnerability that edged out James’s rough
influence. Was this what she had sounded like to him afterward—afraid? Timid? Exposed?

  “That was my fantasy. Too bad real life never lives up, right?”

  “What if it could? Would you want it, Nora?”

  Her eyes slid closed and she gathered the tattered edges of her plan. “Yes, Jarod. I want it. You know my fantasies and I know your name. What are you going to do about it?”

  She pulled the phone from her ear and disconnected.

  THURSDAY

  All vitals normal

  I don’t care to record more

  He never called back

  He was avoiding her. Nora pulled the last of the student lab coats from the bin and shoved them into the laundry hamper. Thursday morning she’d awoken to an e-mail. No, an e-note. That short thing didn’t qualify as an e-mail.

  Nora, be in touch soon ~J

  J? James or Jarod, which one was avoiding her? Did “be in touch” mean he’d call, e-mail, see her in person, send smoke signals, do interpretive dance, what? She had no answers and a million questions. They all boiled down to one thought. Were they over before they’d begun?

  She’d tossed the ball into his court and he didn’t seem as if he wanted to play. All her bluster blew away like the snow-peppered wind tugging at her hair. Arctic air stung her cheeks as she lugged the basket across the quad. Her eyes darted to Jarod’s classroom. He normally taught Intro to Lit at this time but the shades were pulled and no light shone in the dark window. He’d been a no-show this morning and for lunch, too. She’d nursed that pathetically cold cup of coffee for nearly an hour before leaving the café. The waitress had only brought two creamers. An undergrad had delivered a thick sealed manila envelope with her name just after lunch. Jarod had returned her cassette tape, her damaged book and included a new copy, but there was no note.

  The cassette tape that held her priceless interviews was a piece of cold, hard plastic that filled her with no satisfaction. She’d be able to finish her dissertation on time but she’d lost something far more valuable. She’d lost a chance. Fine, he’d made his choice. She should count herself lucky and move on. The prickly eyes that blurred the Commons Building steps weren’t from the ache in her chest. They were from the biting snow and cold wind. Her hands shook and her throat was tight—all from the weather. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

  Her footsteps echoed down the empty basement stairwell, ringing off the hallway tile like muffled gunshots. Wash the double load of freaking lab coats that no one else is apparently capable of washing. Then go crawl into bed and have a good cry fest. Then she could move on. She’d just avoid the Literary Arts Building for the next hundred years or so. Piece of cake.

  She fumbled with her keys, pushed the laundry room door open with her hip and flipped the light switch on. Someone had swept, which was great. They’d emptied the trash and pulled the blind, preparing for the winter break. She dumped the lab coats in, starting the machines with barely a thought. Same old routine.

  The vaguely damp smell of detergent and fabric softener blew through the air ducts with a noisy rattle. No one used this old room anymore, which was why Nora liked it. It only had two dented washers and dryers and the students didn’t have keys, so she was normally alone to do her grunt work. She used the time to do her research, read or grade papers. Today she sat with her head in her hands and pretended her heart wasn’t breaking.

  The lights flicked off with a loud snap. Nora bolted upright on the chair. A silhouette in the doorway hammered her heart. “Hey! I’m sitting right here, asshole!”

  The silhouette stepped into the laundry room and closed the door. In the darkness, the flip of the lock thunked with ominous tones. Nora grabbed for her knapsack on the metal table. A buttered toffee voice reached through the gloom.

  “It’s all right. Relax. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m just a voice in the dark, remember? You have all the control here.”

  A galloping pulse beat under the knot in her throat. She forced it down. “Jarod?”

  “Shh.” A scuff of denim brushing denim grew closer. The brisk scent of late autumn spice wrapped around her. Shaking knees pushed her to a stand and she reached for him. “No. Put your hands down. You told me your fantasy. I need to know if real life lives up to your expectations.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought…”

  “What? That I would be able to stay away after you said you wanted to bite my thigh when I came?” The dark figure moved closer, the molten cream of his words seducing her in darkness. He stepped behind her and an erotic chill raced down her spine. Warm, moist breath feathered the hair at her nape. “No man would be able to resist that line, resist you.”

  The dark was unsettling, but it threw her right into the fantasy James had pressed her to finish—the voice in the dark. Nora sucked back a short, sharp laugh. She felt for the table in front of her, marveling at how he could see his way in the near-pitch black. Softer than a whisper, his fingertips skimmed up her arm, across her shoulder and up her neck. A shiver bloomed in her bones. “Jarod?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?” His laugh rumbled, low and throaty. The slow warmth of his hand cupping her throat closed her eyes and she sighed at the endearment. This was too surreal.

  “What are you doing?”

  He nuzzled her hair from behind, pressing tightly to her back. A firm ridge nestled into her ass and her breath froze in her lungs. He was already hard. Blood sped through her body, zinging with nervous anticipation, pooling to a hot ache deep in her pussy.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No!”

  “Good. It’s not a classroom but I can improvise.” The sultry promise slithered across her skin in tendrils of want. His hands slid down her shoulders, over her breasts, past her ribs. “No blouse buttons so—” the hem of her sweater inched up, “—I’m improvising.”

  “Jarod,” she said, gaining momentary sanity, “the door…”

  “Locked.”

  “Anyone with a key co—”

  “Shh. Some ingenious person put an Out of Order sign on the door—” a liquid velvet tongue glided across her nape, “—the lights are off—” he pushed the sweater higher, over her bra, “—and if anyone does come down here, they’re just going to hear you screaming my name while I fuck you.”

  Instant, blinding lust surged through her. Soft wool covered her face and she lifted her arms, helping him undress her. The rhythmic swish of the washers echoed her churning need when his hands covered her breasts. He pinched the tips through her bra. Instinctively her hips arched back, pressing against his strained zipper. A low humming moan brushed her skin, and his lips fell to the curve of her neck. “I’m going to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”

  This was her fantasy and Nora took an active role, turning and reaching for him. Her fingers found the crisp cotton of his dress shirt and slid up—up over his throat, over his chin, to his lips. He bit at her fingertips, sucked two into his mouth. He dropped his hands to her hips and hauled her against him. Nora gasped at the hard cock barely restrained by his jeans.

  “Jaro—”

  He pressed two fingers over her lips. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. She could see the faint outline of his face, the aquiline nose, the wedge of his jaw. The weak light filtering in shadowed the small dip above his upper lip.