“No, no, that’s okay. I’m surprised she gave it to you, but I’m really glad she did.” I smiled into the phone.
“And I’m glad to hear you’re glad.”
I covered my mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, but it was no use and the sound bubbled out of me. “Oh jeez,” I groaned, mortified.
“That,” the Professor purred into the phone, “was adorable. Do it again.”
I did, right on cue. I couldn’t help myself. Pavlov would’ve been proud.
“You sound as though you are in a very good mood. Do my flowers have anything to do with that?”
“They did, I mean they do, yes—I love them. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
I laughed again, a nervous, reedy sound this time.
“Jane, is everything alright?”
“Yes, I love the flowers. Really.”
“But?”
“It’s just, I was on the phone with my sister when they came. When your…” I stalled for a moment, wondering if it was right to bring this up. Oh, what the hell. No barriers, no uncertainty, right? “Well, my sister was a bit put off by you sending me your medical records.”
“Ah, I can imagine that would’ve seemed strange.”
“Yeah. She claimed that was a creeper move, and that you’re probably a killer and I’m going to get myself murdered.”
“Nonsense. If I wanted to murder you I’d be certain not to leave any DNA behind.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Mmmm, great minds….” He laughed. “In all seriousness, I debated sending it. It was an unconventional move to be sure, but our entire acquaintance has been unconventional. And it’s clear that we are both resolved, and dare I say anxious, to move things to the next level.”
“I’ll say,” I said, and he laughed that low velvety sound I was already addicted to.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said, then paused for a moment, sighing heavily into the phone. “I generally know a woman better before I have sex with her, Jane. We are racing past the traditional stages of courtship at incredible speed and I admit I find it a little unsettling. I sent my records because I don’t want practicalities, and issues of safety and respect to be overlooked in the midst of…enthusiasm.”
“Enthusiasm?” I laughed. “Is that all you felt last night? Enthusiastic? Boy, I must be slipping.”
“That word was poorly chosen. I should choose another.” I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t help but broaden my own in response. “Passion. Perhaps that’s better?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of mind-numbing, vision-blurring, seizure-inducing lust,” I teased. “But, hey, you’re the one with the English degree and the silver tongue.”
“Mmmm,” he growled. “Silver indeed. Once I have my way with you, you’ll upgrade that assessment to platinum.”
I gulped. “Oh yeah?” I asked, rolling my eyes at myself. What a lame response.
“Yes,” he said, musing. “Torture—that’s the word.”
“What?”
“That’s what last night was. Torture. That’s what it was to watch you strip for me, to be so close to those lush curves and not be able to touch them. To watch your greedy cunt suck on that bottle as I fucked you. To watch your eyes spiral into bliss as you came for me.”
My mouth went dry while my thighs went wet, and I struggled to speak. “You, well, the bottle…you, uh…,” I mumbled.
“It was fucking torture. This, is fucking torture.”
I nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see me. I was sweating buckets now, his words heating me, stoking fires along my spine. I held the phone tightly to my ear and walked back towards the bathroom.
“When we are finally together…that, I promise, will be rapture.”
“Rapture?” I whispered.
“Exultation,” he replied
“Those are good words,” I said quietly, the evidence of my arousal still trickling down my thighs.
“Yes, those are bloody excellent words.”
I nodded again and dropped my towel to the floor. I was going to need another shower.
* * *
We talked for twenty minutes, a ridiculous conversation full of flirting and obscene innuendo that left my cheeks hurting from smile strain by the time we hung up. I could’ve talked for hours, but I really did need to pack and then swing by Clouds for my paycheck before I drove down to my mom’s house the following morning.
“What’s up, cupid?” I said to Sasha as I walked in to her office.
“My frustration,” she quipped, setting a stack of papers down and sliding a pair of readers off her face. “I’m sick to death of paperwork.” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Sit and help me procrastinate for a moment. Why am I cupid?”
“Because you gave the Professor my number.” I sat down opposite her and leaned my elbows on her desk. “I thought you had a rule against giving the customers our contact info?”
“Oh, let’s not be coy—he’s not a customer. He’s your lover.”
I grinned at her, bouncing in my seat a little “Yeah, he is!”
“That’s my girl. So last night was…?”