by Jason Luke
Leticia nodded with sudden fervor like I was preaching to one who had been converted. She giggled with wanton huskiness. “Well you have convinced me,” she smiled. “I think I’m an instant addict.”
I got up from the bed. I was still fully dressed. I went into the bathroom and splashed hot water over my face, then combed my fingers through my hair. When I came back into the bedroom Leticia was still lying on the big bed, still naked. She looked like she was waiting for me. “Jonah… Can I do something for you?” she asked shyly.
I smiled and shook my head. I sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in mine then reached out with my other hand to stroke her cheek. “Leticia, I didn’t pleasure you expecting anything in return. I pleasured you so that you would learn what it was like to experience an orgasm at the touch of a man’s mouth. This wasn’t a night for BDSM, or for you to submit to me. All of that will come in the weeks to follow. This was another important step in your education, because without knowing what is possible you can’t ever experience true sexual pleasure.”
Leticia understood, but still frowned and shook her head. “I just don’t get you,” she said on impulse. “Every man I have ever known has wanted sex. But you’re different. You have a naked girl on your bed, offering and willing to do anything you want her to, and you say no.” Her voice was disbelieving. “I don’t think I will ever understand you.”
“Leticia, women all around the world have sex with their husbands – not for their own satisfaction – but simply because it pleases their partner. They do this expecting nothing in return… and often getting it,” I made the point. “But they do it anyhow, because it’s part of a relationship – but sadly, it’s a part that men rarely reciprocate. If I’m not like other men, then the fault is with the other men, not with me.”
Leticia sat up in the center of the bed. She hugged her knees tight to her chest with both her arms and beneath the blonde tangle of her hair, her face still showed the soft lingering glow of her climax. She looked very beautiful and very young – the child-like innocence of her expression almost impossible for me to reconcile with the womanly flare of her hips and breasts. I gazed at her, and my fingers crept up along the length of her forearm so that the unblemished skin there suddenly broke out in a rash of bumps.
“Being a skilled lover doesn’t make me a perfect man,” I said in a cautious warning as I caressed her arm. “Not perfect for you, nor for any other woman who wants true love. There is much more to a relationship than sex, Leticia. I still don’t know if I can feel for you in the way you want me to. I still can’t promise you that. You understand, don’t you?”
Leticia nodded, but there was a sudden haunted shadow behind her eyes. The pouting smile at the corner of her lips faltered and she tried bravely to keep it in place.
“I know, Jonah,” she said softly. “I know there are no guarantees…”
I nodded, and got up from the bed. Leticia’s torn blouse was lying tattered on the floor. I picked it up and held it out to her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
Leticia shook her head, and now that we were away from the submerged treacherous reefs of discussing intimacy, her smile became more convincing. “It wasn’t very expensive,” she waved her hand in dismissal. “And now I have an excuse to go shopping in the city tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Leticia nodded. “Jonah, I will have to go into the office tomorrow. I can’t sit on this material – the editor is waiting for my articles. If I get into work early in the morning, and work like a slave all day, I may have everything finished and ready for publication before they throw me out of the building.”
I frowned. “I was hoping we would spend tomorrow together,” I said. “I have a conference call to the Middle East about a property deal that must be made tomorrow night. If I don’t see you tomorrow, then when?”
Leticia made a pleading gesture with her hands. “Jonah, it’s just one more day. After that we will have three whole months together – but you must understand that I need to deliver these articles to the newspaper as soon as possible.”
“I do understand. But I’m not willing to waste any opportunity – no matter how brief – for us to be together… So I will pick you up from your office tomorrow evening and take you to dinner. If I can’t have you for the day, and my work keeps me from you through the night, then I am damn-well going to at least share a meal with you.”
Leticia looked flattered, but then became practical. “Jonah, I have no idea what time I will be working until. I have a lot that I need to do… I don’t know that dinner will be possible.”
I shook my head. I had made up my mind. “I am coming to your office,” I said firmly. “You said they throw you out of the building at night. What time does that happen?”
The tone of my voice melted Leticia’s defiance. She sighed and then shrugged. “Maybe seven o’clock,” she said with resignation. “Normally everyone finishes work at five. Sometimes the editor stays until six, but the office is open another hour so the production team can arrive for work. They are in a different part of the building, and they work through the night compositing the paper ready for printing in the morning.”
I nodded again and crossed my arms, standing like a stone statue. “Very well. I will be at your office at six thirty…” my voice trailed off as a sudden wicked idea struck me. I lowered my chin and thought for a moment then stared back at Leticia with narrow, calculating eyes.
“Leticia, describe your office to me. Do you have a desk of your own?”
Leticia frowned, puzzled, and then nodded cautiously. “Yes… I have my own desk. It’s in the editorial office.”
“And you have how many journalists working at the paper? Four? Five?”
“Four others,” Leticia explained. “Between us we cover all the local news, and then the newspaper gets national and international news fed to it through the usual media outlets.”
I nodded. I knew enough about newspapers from my own experiences. I had a good sense of how a newspaper was run. The editorial department would be separate to the administration and sales divisions.
“And your biggest newspaper of the week is on Saturday, right?”
Leticia nodded, wary because my sudden interest in her work was so unexpected.
“And your smallest newspaper of the week is probably the Tuesday or Thursday editions?”
Again, Leticia nodded. “Jonah, why are you asking me this? You have never shown any interest in my work. Just a few days ago you wanted me to quit my job for you. Now you want to know the kind of details a bank robber needs before he breaks into the building.”
I smiled enigmatically. “Call me curious,” I offered.
Leticia narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “I can accept that you’re curious,” she studied my face and perhaps saw the glint of mischief in my eyes, “but that’s not what I would call you,” she said suddenly. “I think you’re a rogue.”
Chapter 15.
I glanced at my watch. It was passed midday. I smiled grimly and reached for the phone on the edge of my office desk. I had Leticia’s cell number but I didn’t call it. Instead, I dialed her newspaper office directly and asked the receptionist to be put through to editorial.
The phone rang for several moments, and then I heard Leticia’s voice sounding breathless and harried.
“You have called the ‘Examiner’. This is Leticia Fall speaking.”
I paused for a heartbeat. “Hello,” I said warmly.
Leticia’s voice changed in an instant to one of delight and shock.
“Jonah? Oh my god, what a pleasant surprise.”
I smiled wolfishly to myself and stared out of the office window with the phone pressed hard against my ear. “Leticia, this is not about being pleasant – this is about pleasure.”
There was a heavy puzzled silence for several moments. I could imagine Leticia perched on the corner of her desk, frowning into the phone. I could imagine the muted traffic of ot
her journalists passing by her as she spoke to me. I visualized them at their desks or on their own phones taking notes and preparing the next day’s articles.
“Pardon?”
“I am calling about pleasure,” I repeated, my voice deep and deliberate. “Tell me where you are right now.”
Another brief flustered pause. “I’m… I’m at my desk, of course.”
“Are you sitting behind your desk?”
“Yes…”
“Describe what you are wearing.”
Leticia paused for a moment as though she had to think. “A white blouse, and a grey skirt,” she said.
“Good,” I said. “Now tell me, who else is in the office with you?”
Leticia inhaled a short breath. She still sounded confused, but there was a trace of wary caution that I detected in her voice, and when she spoke again, her words were muted and hushed.
“There are a couple of other journalists. Why?”
I ignored her question. “Do their desks face yours?”
“Um… one does, the other faces the wall. Why?” she asked again.
I leaned forward in my chair and put sudden intensity into my voice. “Put the phone down,” I said. “I want you to go to the rest room and remove your panties, and then come back to your desk.”
I had this sudden image in my mind of Leticia – the blood draining away from her face and her body breaking out into a cold sweat as the sudden realization of my words struck her. In my mind’s eye, I saw her eyes becoming huge in her pale face and her hands beginning to tremble.
“Jonah! Jesus! I… I can’t do that!” her voice was a harsh whisper of dread.
“Yes you can,” I insisted. “Go and do it now.”
I kept the phone pressed hard to my ear. In the background, I could hear the clatter of someone typing on a computer, and further, more distant sounds of a telephone ringing. Suddenly there was a loud crash of noise, and I realized Leticia had set the phone down on her desk.
I waited with growing impatience. After several minutes I heard Leticia’s voice, too loud and fraught with her anxiety. “I have done it,” she said.
“Good girl,” I crooned. “Are you sitting behind your desk?”
“Yes,” Leticia hissed, not with anger, but with rising tension.
“Very good,” I encouraged her. “Now tell me whose desk faces yours?”
“It’s Dirk Wattingham’s desk,” she whispered. “He’s one of the senior journalists here at the paper.”
I nodded to myself. I visualized an overweight, middle-aged guy, maybe with grey hair, or maybe with no hair at all. I pictured a guy with beady hard eyes and a stomach straining against the buttons of his shirt.
“Is he sitting at his desk?”
“Yes.”
“And is he looking at you?”
“No. He’s on the phone.”
I got up from my chair and paced around the desk. “But he might look at you at any moment, right?”
“I… I guess so,” Leticia whispered. Even though her voice was low and muted, there was rising fear in her tone.
“Good,” I said. “Spread your legs now.”
“What?”
“Spread your legs now,” I demanded. “Do it, Leticia.”
The phone seemed to go dead. There was just silence but for a sudden explosive breath on the other end of the line. “I’m doing it,” Leticia whispered hoarsely. “I have my legs parted.”
I smiled to myself. “Keep your legs open,” I insisted. “And tell me if Dirk starts to look in your direction.”
There was more silence punctuated only by Leticia’s breathing. I imagined her with a stricken, panicked expression on her face as she leaned back in her chair with her legs open and the hem of her skirt straining against the gape of her thighs.
I waited for perhaps another minute. “Has he looked at you yet?”
“No. He’s still on the phone. He’s writing notes. He must be chasing an article,” Leticia’s voice was strained.
“Lift your skirt higher,” I said, “I want you to spread your legs wider and then reach down and rub your pussy with the palm of your hand.”
There was another interminably long pause of silence, so that for a moment I thought Leticia might have fainted. I had the receiver of the phone crushed against my ear, listening for the slightest sounds, but everything I heard was muffled and confused.
“I’m doing it,” Leticia’s voice was trembling. “Jesus Christ, Jonah… I’m sitting here rubbing my pussy.”
I smiled. “Is Dirk looking at you yet?”
“No.”
“How do you feel?”
‘Fucking terrified!” Leticia’s voice rasped. “I must be out of my mind.”
“Are you aroused?”
“Shit…” she said the word like a curse. “Yes.”
“Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes. Yes, they are.”
“And your pussy? Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” I said softly. I had deliberately phoned the newspaper office because I knew Leticia would only be able to talk to me from the telephone on her desk. The cord to the receiver she held against her ear was like a ball and chain that had pinned her in place for me to torment. “Now, I have one last thing I want you to do for me.”
Leticia gulped. “You’re killing me,” she hissed.
I smiled to myself. “No… I’m arousing you.”
I heard Leticia sigh with heavy resignation. “What do you want me to do?” she asked like a soldier volunteering for a suicide mission.
“Is Dirk still on the phone?”
Leticia hesitated. I imagined her speaking with one hand cupped over the receiver to muffle her voice. “Wait… he’s just hanging up…”
“Good. Now I want you to slide two of your fingers deep inside your pussy. I want you to tell me how wet you are and how hot and tight your pussy feels.”
After a moment of heavy breathing, Leticia’s voice came back as a croaky husk. “I am very wet,” she confessed. “And when I fingered myself I could feel my pussy clenching.”
I came back around the desk and lowered myself into the big leather chair. “You have done well,” I said. “Thank you for being such an obedient, good girl. You can pull down your skirt now and cross your legs. After that, I want you to hang up the phone and then go across to Dirk’s desk and ask to borrow his phone. Tell him you are having trouble with the line. I want you to call me back. Okay?”
There was a brief puzzled silence. “Jonah? I… I don’t understand.”
I was smiling to myself. “Just do as I ask, Leticia,” I insisted. “I want you to smear your juice all over the mouthpiece of Dirk’s receiver. The next time he makes a call he’s going to be wondering why the hell the only thing he can smell is fresh, young pussy.”
I hung up.
Less than a minute later, the phone on my desk rang and I snatched it up.
“Jonah Noble.”
“It’s me,” Leticia’s voice was breathless with a giddy giggle. “I tried to call you but my phone isn’t working, so I’m calling from another journalist’s desk,” Leticia kept her voice restrained as she acted out her role. “I just rang to say that I was wrong about you last night. I said you were a rogue. You’re not. You’re the devil.”
I grinned into the receiver. “I am the devil,” I agreed. “But when I pick you up from work tonight I’ve still got every intention of showing you heaven.”
Chapter 16.
I drove downtown, parked the car in a nearby street and walked to the offices of the ‘Examiner’ newspaper. I glanced at my wristwatch. I was five minutes early. The newspaper office was on Renshaw Street – a neat, new two-story brick building with big plate glass windows across the façade and a glass door. In one of the windows was a display of recent newspaper editions, and painted onto the glass was the newspaper’s masthead with contact phone numbers below.
I pushed against the front door and i
t swung quietly open. I stepped into a wide carpeted foyer area with white walls and a long waist-high reception counter against the wall that faced me. The area was neat and austere. There was a coffee machine in one corner and a row of chairs around a low table, like the reception room of a doctor’s office.
I stood for a moment and waited. There was no one behind the reception desk and the room was silent. I dialed Leticia’s cellphone number.
“I’m here,” I said when she answered. “I’m in the reception area.”
Leticia’s voice sounded bright. “I will come downstairs and get you.”
I drifted aimlessly around the room. There were magazines and recent editions of the newspaper on the table. Idly I picked up the most recent newspapers and scanned the headlines until Leticia appeared suddenly from a doorway that had gone unnoticed on the far side of the room.
She came to me smiling, taking quick excited steps, but then pulled up short, as if she suddenly realized where we were, and the protocol for her to act professionally. Her eyes were bright and glittering, and her face, free of cosmetics, glowed with the vibrance of her delight.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” she said. She reached out, as though needing to touch me, but then changed the gesture to press at the lapel of my jacket in one of those distinctly feminine signals of intimate propriety.
I shrugged. “I told you I would be here,” I said simply. “And I always do what I say.”
In my hand were two long-stemmed red roses. I offered them to Leticia. “One is for your office, and one is for your apartment,” I said, “So that every day and every night you will think of me.”
Leticia seemed suddenly overcome by a swell of emotion. She accepted the roses and held them to her face, inhaling the perfume. Her eyes were bright and shiny.