But thinking about the incident still made her smile. Maybe Lillian Bangs wasn’t a household name, but the fact that her coworkers were reading her books made it feel like she was at least halfway up the ladder of success.
Her teakettle began to whistle, so she stuffed the last bite of Oreo in her mouth and shut off the burner.
With a fresh cup of tea, she returned to her desk and got back to Delano and Josephine.
An hour later, Jenna was breathing hard as Delano’s thick cock plunged into Josephine’s tightness as he took her from behind in front of an audience at his sex club.
In Jenna’s mind, she was Josephine. After all, these were her sexual fantasies. Fantasies she had never been brave enough to explore in the real world beyond pretending her vibrator was her current book hero’s throbbing cock. Delano was only the most recent in a long line of imaginary lovers who had fulfilled Jenna’s every wish and desire, playing the part of the perfect man, if only in her mind. Dark, demanding, dominating, uncompromising. Physically potent, hot as hell, with an unrivaled command over the female anatomy.
And wealthy.
Hey, it was a fantasy, so why not make the man of her dreams a multimillionaire?
Pressing her legs together as Delano shoved Josephine’s legs farther apart, Jenna was on the verge of giving in and retrieving the Pocket Rocket from the trove of sex toys in her nightstand for a quickie when the cell phone she used for work rang.
She jumped and checked the time. Almost ten thirty. Sometimes her boss called her after work regarding a case, but this late? And on a Friday? That was unusual. Besides, she didn’t recognize the number.
Still, she couldn’t let it go to voicemail. Maybe her boss had lost her phone again and was calling from a restaurant or from someone else’s phone.
She answered, leaving the call on speaker. “Hello?”
An imposing, darkly sensual voice that clearly was not her boss or anyone else she knew said with a subtle air of irritation, “Are you coming?”
With Delano and Josephine’s sex scene still at the front of her mind, and mildly irritated at being interrupted by what was apparently a wrong number, Jenna replied without missing a beat. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
No lie, because, seriously, when she finished this scene, she was getting naked with her vibrator for at least an hour.
Stunned silence followed, as if her unknown caller was rapidly backtracking to determine how this call had turned so sexual so fast.
A moment later, he said, “I, uh . . . I think I might have dialed the wrong number?” His voice lilted inquisitively, like he was asking a question instead of making a statement, and he sounded more than a little intrigued. “Is this . . .” He rattled off a phone number that was one digit off from hers.
“Sorry, no.”
He paused as if checking his phone. “Ah, okay. I hit seven instead of one.”
“Yes, you did.” Being interrupted while she was writing normally would have pissed her off, but she just couldn’t find it in her to be upset with this man with the bourbon-smoked voice.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” She could hear his mischievous smile. “Sounds like I caught you at a bad time.”
“Not really.” Leaning back in her chair, she released the clip holding up her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders.
She could take a break from Delano and Josephine for this guy. Just listening to his voice was like having her inner thigh caressed while being kissed right below her ear. Absolutely exhilarating.
He chuckled. “So, you’re not working on coming?”
Ah, he was referring to that?
“What if I am? Wouldn’t that mean it’s a good time to catch me, not a bad one?”
“Okay, sure, if you want to look at it that way.” He paused, and she could almost feel his amusement coming through the connection. “Is that why you sounded so breathless when you answered? Because you were working on making yourself come?” He said the word purposefully, with a sense of provocation, heavily accenting the hard K sound of the C.
“Actually, I’m working.” She glanced at her computer screen.
“Working.” From the dubious way he said it, Jenna got the impression that he didn’t quite believe her. “At ten thirty on a Friday night?”
She knew how that sounded, but she was in no rush to correct where his thoughts had obviously taken him. She didn’t know this guy, and he didn’t know her, so what was the harm in engaging in a little flirtatious fun?
“Exactly what line of work are you in?” he asked, his tone level and nonjudgmental.
“What line of work do you think I’m in?”
Most wrong numbers weren’t nearly this fun, ending in seconds with an abrupt click. Fortunately, Mr. Bourbon had stayed on the line.
“Phone sex operator?” he suggested. “Webcam girl?”
She laughed.
“No?” he asked, humored.
“I’m a writer,” she said.
“I see.”
Did he?
“What do you write?” he asked. “Have I heard of you?”
“Only if you read erotic romance.”
“Aahh, so that’s what you meant.” He laughed quietly. “Let me guess, you’re writing a hot sex scene.”
Her gaze scanned the lines of sexually charged text on her monitor. “Maybe.”
“That would be a yes.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“And now you’re turned on.”
She loved how he asked a question without really asking it. As if he were reading her mind and plucking the answers from her thoughts, then confirming out loud what he already knew. Either that or he was subtly insinuating his own thoughts into her head to make her think they were her own.
It was such a Delano type of move. That was the kind of thing he did to Josephine, cleverly suggesting how she should respond to him. Except Delano used shrewder tactics to help Josephine discover her true self. That was the whole basis of the story, to tear down Josephine’s walls and rebuild her so she could learn who she was at her core.
But Delano and Josephine were
