Dangerous Love: Bertoli Crime Family Box Set

by Landish, Lauren

  I shake my head before remembering that he can’t see me, and I giggle lightly. “No. Never. But definitely checking that off my bucket list now.”

  “How about you don’t mark it off, and maybe we can do that again?” Derrick asks.

  “I might take you up on that,” I reply, biting my lip. Late-night sessions with the Love Whisperer? Lucky me.

  There’s a moment of comfortable silence before my brain kicks in and I remember why I called in the first place. Well, I remember the excuse I used to justify calling. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” Derrick replies easily, and I feel another notch of comfort with him. He’s not trying to cut the call short now that he’s gotten a little action. No wham-bam, thank you, ma’am here. Vaguely, I wonder if he’s the rare type that actually likes to cuddle. He might be an actual freaking unicorn . . . sexy, sweet, and dare I say it, nice. “What’s up?”

  “This is silly, but . . . I listened to the shows this week. The female orgasm topic seemed rather on point.”

  Derrick laughs softly, and another little tremble goes through my belly. I could listen to that throaty rumble all fucking day. “Yeah, you got me. You mentioned that in our conversation, and it made me think about how many women are not getting what they need. If I can help one guy be a better, more considerate lover and one woman have the orgasm she deserves, I’m calling that a successful show. Thank you for the inspiration. And I’m sure that somewhere out there in the city, there’s at least one woman thanking you too.”

  Me, an inspiration and a muse? He knows how to make me feel even sexier. “See, and here I was thinking you just wanted to get all of us ladies turned on. I bet power companies all over had to fire up an extra reactor for the electrical surge from all the vibrators turned on as soon as you finished that bit. Hell, it sounded like your cohort had to run to the bathroom to rub one out before continuing the next call.”

  He laughs in that way that tells me something else. Whoever his coworker may be, he’s not interested in her. He’s not calling her up late at night and causing her to come her brains out. “Susannah? Definitely not. Most of the time, she barely puts up with me, but she does a great job of keeping the show on track. She’s the real backbone. I’m just the pretty voice. As for the rest of the listeners, I don’t know. I just hope to help, I guess.”

  I smile, realizing he does seem like a truly nice guy, with a sexy voice and an unabashed sex drive. I feel a shot of warmth through my cynical heart, a drop of hope for mankind taking hold before I remember that Kevin was like that once too. Actually, several of my boyfriends were.

  Too many men in my life start off charming and kind, on their best behavior to get you to relax around them. They made me laugh, they were warm and built trust until I let my guard down, and they found purchase in my heart. I didn’t mind, of course. I thought everything was cool until they used that foothold to rip my life to shreds, leaving me spinning, wondering what happened.

  My mood darkens, even as my body still hums with satisfaction. Trying not to let the change show in my voice, I try to lighten the vibe. “Ah, noble Sir Sex-a-Lot, riding in on his steed to save the citizens from a woeful lack of romance.”

  He laughs at my comment, and I can tell at least this one time, I fooled him. “Well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but something like that. Hey, you asked a question. You mind if I ask you one?”

  “Sounds fair. I keep the bodies in the attic.”

  Derrick laughs, sending another thrill through me. “I’ll be sure to remember that. But . . . would you mind if I texted you during the days too? I mean, I’ve got your number, after all.”

  I smile, lying back on my pillows. “I’d like that.”

  Derrick

  I’m floating, trying not to get too far ahead of myself. But the mere fact that Kat called me back and was equally engaged in our phone proclivities makes me smile.

  Part of me can’t believe it really. It’s been so long since I found a woman interesting, and I was beginning to wonder if my work had made me jaded. I’ve certainly had several serious relationships, in college and after, but for one reason or another, they weren’t the one.

  All except one were good women. I tend to be a decent judge of character, but things never really clicked. I couldn’t picture myself with them decades from now, happily hanging out and still chasing each other around the room to get frisky.

  I don’t even really know Kat yet, but something tells me that she’s worth getting to know to see if she has potential to be the one.

  There’s a shy sweetness to her, even as she stands strong against a shitty boyfriend and says dirty things to me. It’s an intoxicating combination. It’s been a few days since our late-night session, but even with our conflicting schedules that have her working days and me working well into the evening, we’ve found time to text. A lot.

  There’s an anonymity to sitting behind a small screen, a disconnect that somehow lets you feel like you really know someone while simultaneously making it easier to spill your guts because there’s no eye contact. There’s always that built-in safety net of stopping the texting.

  But we’ve never stopped, and sitting at my desk now, I’ve got my phone out, tapping away.

  Hey KK, I text, my shorthand for Kitty Kat. What are you doing?

  It’s only moments before the reply pops up, making me feel good. Work stuff. Nothing fun like you.

  I smirk, dipping into the naughtiness that’s become a regular for us. Oh, you want to do me?

  Funny . . . I meant your work is fun. She sends back after a moment. Mine’s dry & I’m rushing to my latest deadline.

  Dry, huh? Well . . . I bet I can change that. I could distract u. Maybe make things a little less . . . dry. Maybe even slick and wet.

  So tempting . . . so very tempting, but I need to get this done. What’s tonight’s topic? Should I tune in?

  Message received. You want to talk but can’t afford to get naughty. That’s okay, there’s later. Always. I like knowing you’re listening. I don’t remember what the show is about tonight. We do the whole week’s schedule at once & I forget. Languages of love? BDSM kink? One of those.

  LOL . . . those are very different topics.

  Almost as if she were here, I shrug as I type out my reply. Not really. Both about open communication & respecting ur partner’s wishes.

  If you say so, Kat sends back. I guess I’ll have to listen.

  I glance up and see the clock, hissing at the time. Gotta go. Pre-show meeting has probably started without me.

  I see her kissy face emoji as I slip my phone into my pocket, smiling as I enter the conference room. Susannah raises an eyebrow as I sit down. She’s always one to dress nice, especially nicer than my usual jeans and t-shirt, but she’s dressed even better than usual in a creamy silk blouse with understated gold jewelry at her neck and ears. Wonder what’s up with that, who she’s trying to impress? This is radio, after all. We could do this in our pjs and listeners would be none the wiser since they can’t see us. “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Love Whisperer. Something more pressing than tonight’s show?”

  She’s scolding me like she’s my boss. There’s even a thinly veiled trace of anger in her voice, and I wonder why she’s so upset and behaving like a snarky child. Shit, I’m less than five minutes late for the meeting, and beyond a refresher on the topic, I don’t need any more prep. I’m ready to roll like I always am. I attempt to defuse, showing I’m on board. “Nope. Here and ready. What’s tonight . . . love language or BDSM?”

  She clucks, obviously surprised I knew what was on the agenda and disappointed that she doesn’t get to ream me out. Looking down at her checklist, she makes a mark with her pen. “Technically, it’s called Languages of Love tonight. Remember, we’re doing an on-air interview with the psychologist who wrote the book. She’s hot shit on the Amazon market and there’s talk she might end up on New York Time’s Bestselling list by year end. So we’re basically a big commerci
al block for the book without sounding like an infomercial. Here’s the monologue for the top of the show explaining it all, along with a background on her so you don’t stumble into any issues. I picked emails to highlight each of the points she wants to cover so we need to hit those as a priority over phone calls.”

  I take her typed notes, skimming the psycho-babble descriptions contained in each section. Boring as fuck, honestly. It takes me fewer than ten seconds to realize that whatever this lady has to say, it could be summed up in two paragraphs written in really little words. Ah well, guess my job’s the same. “Emails are the priority. Got it. Hey, Susannah?”

  She looks at me, her eyes still flinty. “Yes?”

  “Thanks for this. There’s more here than usual. I can see you pulled a lot together for tonight’s show, and I’ll try to do all of your hard work justice,” I say, but not just to assuage her hurt feelings. She’s a good co-worker and does do a great job of keeping me on track, especially with a fancy topic like this. I’m more of a ‘love her well and treat her right’ kinda guy, but obviously, some folks need a bit more guidance, and I’m glad Susannah is here to make sure I don’t do something stupid like contradict the author.

  She really is the glue that keeps the show successful, even if her work is more behind-the-scenes. There’ve been several times she’s had to feed me good advice for a caller when the questions got a little beyond dark and into whoa territory. I have a pretty broad ‘book knowledge’ at least on most things, including some of the darker sides of sexual relationships, but I’ve always been sort of the ‘good guy with an edge.’ Nobody’s ever accused me of being the bad boy.

  That’s one of the ways Susannah balances me. She’s dabbled in a lot of things I haven’t, or at least she comes off as familiar with them in a way I’m not, and she’s always focused on making the show the best it can be while I focus on helping the most folks. Without her driving us and scheduling topics, I’d have run out of shit to say months ago.

  I see her soften, and I know despite the hard-edged bitch persona she likes to project, she’s got a real side to her too. “Sure thing, Derrick. We’ve got this. C’mon, Love Whisperer.”

  There’s a teasing note back in her voice, and I know whatever made her mad about my being late is settled, or at least pushed to the back burner. Susannah is an utmost professional, and she’s ready to rock this show with me like always. “Good. Now, what’s the schedule for the other upcoming shows?”

  “Like you ever remember?” Susannah says, and I smirk. She’s right.

  “Amuse me,” I retort. “Imagine that I actually am a professional at this, and forget to remind me that I’m an idiot tomorrow and the rest of the week.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Kat

  “And that, ladies, is why you should always tell your man where exactly you want him to bury his tongue. That’s what I call ‘quality time.’ Am I right?”

  I was just getting my dinner ready and missed the opening segment of Derrick’s show, but now, as he gives advice to a woman who wrote in about her partner’s oral skills, I have to set my fork down before I drop it on the floor. The deep intensity in his voice sends a shiver through my body even as he talks to the whole city. It feels like he’s talking just to me.

  Setting the bowl of pasta down, I hold my breath, not sure if I’m listening to Languages of Love so I can get to know Derrick’s heart a bit better, or BDSM to get to know his sexual leanings better. I’ve never been into hardcore BDSM, but the way Derrick speaks . . . maybe a little spanking wouldn’t be too bad at all.

  Of course, there’s always a degree of fakeness for the airwaves. Derrick’s careful. He’s not going to divulge too much personal information, but he always manages to weave enough of himself into the advice he gives that you can’t help but get to know him. So I keep listening, mixing in the little tidbits he tosses the listeners with the information he’s shared only with me . . . and liking what I’m finding more and more.

  “Okay, here’s an email from Lexus,” Derrick says. “Now, I’d like everyone’s opinion on this one. It says, ‘Dear Love Whisperer, I’ve been with my boyfriend for three years now, and I’ve got a problem. You see, I only really feel like he loves me or gives me attention when he buys me things. For the first two and half years of our relationship, he bought me diamonds, pearls, even a new car for my birthday. Recently, though, he lost his job and he’s tried to make up for it with what he calls ‘little things’ like cooking me breakfast in bed or drawing me pictures, but it doesn’t feel the same. What should I do?’ ”

  “I have no idea what she should do,” Susannah says, “but if I were Lexus’s boyfriend, I’d be thinking it’s time to trade her in and see if there’s a better ride that doesn’t cost so much.”

  “Hold on,” Derrick says, barely holding back his laughter.

  I snort, thinking Susannah’s right. But the special guest tonight butts in. “I disagree,” she says in a haughty voice. “It’s obvious that Lexus has felt a lack of dialogue with her partner as their situation has changed, and she must take the initiative to make sure both of their needs are being met on a level they agree on—"

  Derrick interrupts, his tell-it-like-it-is self not wanting to wait his turn. “Let me put it to Miss Lexus straight. I get that some people feel loved with gifts, surprises that let you know your partner was thinking of you and wanted to give you something to make your day a little brighter. But hell, honey, it sounds like you’re venturing into gold digger territory here. It seems like you don’t want a boyfriend. That’s a relationship of partners, of equal give and take across all areas of your life. That’s what it sounds like your boyfriend’s tried to do. I’m curious how many late bills he’s accumulated to buy you those diamonds and pearls. Unless he happens to play second base for the Red Sox, I would think quite a few.”

  “Now, hold on—” the guest says, but Derrick is on a roll and wants to finish.

  “Sorry, just one second. Lexus, what you want is a sugar daddy, someone who will just take care of you and spoil you. And just so it’s clear, there’s nothing wrong with that. Just recognize what you really want and set out for that. Find someone who gets his joy from buying you things.”

  It’s surprisingly good advice for a listener who sounded rather unlikeable from the whiny tone of her email. Maybe they were a little harsh, but with an email like that, it’s hard not to get a little snappy.

  With that, the show goes into a song break, the recognizable beats of Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy” blasting out of my speakers. Feeling light and happy, I dance around my apartment a little bit, the song infectious and making me laugh at how decidedly not fancy I am.

  I’m mid-twerk, dropping it down at the start of the second verse when my phone dings on the table, signaling a text message. I’m surprised to see it’s from Derrick.

  U listening? Just had a doozy.

  Always listening, I text back, smiling. U kno I’m ur #1 fan. Btw, can you buy me a Benz, Daddy?

  Stop it. I’m on air. Can’t laugh yet. Suz is still pissed at me.

  Then y r u texting me?

  Song break. Was thinking of you.

  I smile, the simple idea of him thinking of me while he’s supposed to be focused and attentive at work somehow making me feel good.

  He’s all I think about too, playing and replaying the phone conversations and texts over in my mind. I bite my lip, knowing I shouldn’t do what I’m considering. This is going to take things to a whole new level, but it’s not too serious.

  U want something to really think about?

  There’s a bit of a delay, and in the back of my mind, I hear the song change over from “Fancy” to “Yeah!” by Usher. Nice transition.

  Song says it all.

  Fuck it, if a man is willing to send me messages through the radio, I’m doing this. I slip into the kitchen where there’s better light and pull my V-neck tee down, revealing the deep line of my cleavage and the pretty floral bra I selec
ted this morning because I was feeling extra sassy.

  I snap a pic from above, being smart while doing something totally crazy and making sure nothing else is in the shot. No face, no room, nothing identifiable. Ensuring it’s flattering and anonymous, I click Send, along with the note, think about these.

  I’ve never done this before, but he makes me feel so wanted even though I’ve never met him face-to-face. And something about the whole thing with Kevin makes me feel like taking this risk, like it’s a common cultural phenomenon I’ve somehow never participated in and am maybe missing out on. This is a fuck you to Kevin, an invitation to Derrick, and a shout from my spirit that I am the head bitch in charge of my destiny. Seems like a lot to ask from one spontaneous shot of my breasts, but I have to admit, they do look great from this angle.

  The response comes back so quickly that I know he’s watching his phone like a hawk. Holy shit, KK. So fucking hot. Look at that, they’re begging me to taste them and mark them as my own. Bad girl, gonna make it hard for me to focus on the next segment because all my blood is rushing to my cock.

  I smile, glad that it worked. This is a big step for me. And a big step in whatever this is I’m doing with Derrick. Phone calls and texts are not the same as real-life pics, and I’m well aware how quickly a simple pic can send things into a tailspin.

  But I’m not cheating like Kevin was, and I’m not trying to get more out of Derrick. I’m just having a bit of fun. I’m single, he’s single, and it’s all good.

  Right?

  Give me a call later. Maybe you can see . . . more.

  Get the Full Book Here.

  About the Author

  Want more Lauren Landish?

  www.LaurenLandish.com

  admin@LaurenLandish.com

  Other books by Lauren:

  Get Dirty Series (Interconnecting standalones):

  Dirty Talk

  Dirty Laundry