“That’s beauty.” He chuckles.
“Huh?”
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.”
“Oh,” I say. “Beauty, hotness. It’s all the same thing.”
“I suppose.” His voice drops an octave, the sound vibrating down my spine through the phone. “So did you go on to write the great American novel?”
I frown, my bottom lip stuck between my teeth. “I’m published.”
“Oh really?”
“Yep.”
“What do you write?”
“Umm…”
“Come on,” I hear the grin again. “Maybe I’ve read one of your books.”
“I doubt it.” My nose wrinkles, and my lips purse. I’m silent for a few minutes, pacing around and around in circles in my kitchen debating on what I should say. It’s not as if I’m embarrassed by my work. I go to conferences. My picture is on the inside back cover of all of my books. So what’s the big deal? The big deal is that he’ll probably think I’m some kinda slut. All men seem to think that just because I write erotic romances, I’m a slut. Easy. Put out on the first date. Yada, yada, yada, and all that jazz.
“Ah, come on,” he draws out. “I’m not a total Neanderthal. I do know how to read.”
“Fine.” I hear the annoyance in my voice. “I write erotic romances.”
“Come again?”
“Erotic romances.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to whisper. My brow furrows and I hold myself still waiting for the usual response.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice turned husky.
And there it is.
“Sorry. Not very professional.”
“I’m used to it.” I feel forced to add, “Happens all the time.”
“I think that’s pretty cool.” It’s almost as if he shrugged, even though I can’t see his shoulders move. “Writing is difficult in any form. Kudos.”
I snicker. “Did you just say kudos?” My shoulders relax a bit. “Just something I remember your dad saying when we were in high school.”
“His favorite saying.”
“So which Stephenson are you?”
“Tobias.” The gravelly, raspy, deliciously deep texture of his voice is naturally sensual. “ Ohmygosh,” I exclaim, my fingers curl around the edge of my kitchen counter. “Tobias! Oh, wow. Tobias.” I wet my lips, my breathing fast.
“The one and only, Meg gie.” “I take it by that reaction that you haven’t forgotten me.”
“No.” Good one, Meg. I raise my chin, my senses whirling. “That would be a little difficult. Considering that I gave you something kinda important.” My eyes narrow.
“Don’t worry, Meggie.” I feel the sensual heat radiating from his words. “I remember exactly what you gave me.”
“So what have you been up to?” I work desperately at changing the subject.
“College.” I can hear the pride in his voice. “Took over the family business about four years ago.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“I think so.”
His voice has a commanding presence over the phone, his confidence ratchets up my arousal. “Is there anyone available to see what’s up with my air conditioner?”
“Oh, that’s right, you did call for a reason, didn’t you, Meggie.”
“That I did.” My laugh sounds nervous to my own ears. Keep it cool, Meg.
“I’m not busy right now.”
My heart stops beating for a minute. My hand flies to my chest and l lay my palm flat to make sure it’s still working. Suddenly I’m a ball of nerves.
“Okay.”
“What’s your address?”
I give it to him.
“I can be there in about twenty to thirty minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
“See ya in a few.”
Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!
I race up the stairs, strip out of my clothes and jump in the shower to rinse off the ten layers of sweat that accumulated this morning.
Standing under the water does nothing to cool the hot blood racing through my veins. My nipples are still hard peaks, my labia feels puffy, swollen and needy. I reach between my legs to feel my clit poking out of its hood, engorged and begging for relief.
I close my eyes and my vision swims remembering the boy he was. Tall, lanky, not yet filled out completely, but definite potential.
My fingers slide through my slick slit, grazing every few swipes over my clit and sending powerful shoots of electricity to my toes.
I allow my fingers to circle the sensitive opening to my body. I thrust in two fingers, imagining his thick cock impaling me. Reaching for the spot. The one that makes me feel so good.
Knowing my time is limited; I slide my fingers free and rub my clit in quick circles. Round and round feeling the distended flesh growing harder and harder with each pass. My body writhes against the movements, responding to my touch. Begging for more. Seeking release, swift and hard.
My moans are low and throaty as I urgently reach for the orgasm that’s building fast. Nothing else matters in the next few minutes, but my orgasm.
My hand cups my right breast, squeezing, kneading the firm globe. My forefinger and thumb pinch and pull, tweaking my rigid nipple as my fingers circle faster and faster over my engorged clit.
Come on. Come on. Come on. That’s it. I feel it at the base of my spine and in my curled toes as I press my hips into my hand. My nipples bunch even tighter with each bite of pain making my hips thrust forward. Rub, rub, rub. Flick, flick, flick and I cry out on a groan, my stomach clenching as waves of pleasure wash over me along with the water from my shower.
Slumping against the cool tiles of the shower stall, I catch my breath before standing back under the hard spray and rinse once more.
“Better than I remembered.” He steps through the door, his large body almost blocking out the sun.
“Well, hello to you, too.” I step back so he can enter trying with great difficulty to still the muscles in my belly that jumped the minute my eyes locked with his. This is going to be the longest day of my life.
I give myself permission to stare. To take in everything about him. He looks basically the same as I remember, only bigger. Same deep, dark brown eyes, almost black at times. Same cocky grin. Maybe a few inches taller. Definitely well-over six foot. But the things that have changed about him are magnificent.
Delicious.
Yummy.
Mouth-watering.
I swallow and rub my damp hands on my shorts. Deep in my belly, excitement flickers to life.
His shoulders are wide. As spectacular as any football player I’ve ever seen. His pecs are lip-smacking bunches of muscles that are only emphasized by his standard grey cotton buttoned-down work shirt. His biceps are massive, stretching the material at his sleeves and accentuating their thickness. Narrow waist, flat stomach, lean hips, and an ass to die for.
I feel light-headed. It’s either from the lack of cool air or the immense heat he brought into my condo with his
