A Sip of You(79)

“Now who’s being naughty,” I said, though I felt my cheeks heating. I might be embarrassed about this in the morning, but I couldn’t refuse him. I moved my tablet so it was pointing more toward my lower half. “But then you’re always naughty.”

“Open your legs a little,” he said, and it was like he was in the room with me.

“Why?” I asked, wanting him to say it.

“You know why,” he growled. “Tell me, Catherine.”

“You want to see my—you want to see me?” I was so turned on now and my heart was racing as I parted my legs.

He grinned at me, eyes so large and dark I could hardly make out their color. “I want to see what’s mine. More.”

I opened my legs wider and ran my fingers along my clit. “Is this good?”

“That’s perfect. Now show me what just thinking about me does to you.”

I was panting now, hardly able to hold the orgasm back. Still, I knew I wouldn’t let myself come without his permission.

I closed my eyes again and I reached down and rubbed, sliding one finger inside. “I’m so wet for you. I want you inside me.”

“Use two fingers.” I let his voice caress and command me.

I dragged two fingers down, slid them inside. “Like this?”

“Just like that. Don’t stop.”

My hips were writhing, and I could hardly remember to speak. I slid my fingers in and out, in and out. I could imagine him stretching me, filling me, pounding me. I let out a low moan. “I’m so close, I want to come for you,” I said between gulps for air.

“Not yet. Keep touching yourself for me. Tease me. Make it last, Catherine.”

My hips pivoted, my body moving in the rhythm he and I knew so well. Finally, he said, in a strangled voice. “Come for me. Now.”

My hips bucked, and I pressed my hand hard against my sex as my muscles shuddered around my fingers again and again. “That’s right,” he said in approval. “Come for me, beautiful girl.”

A few minutes later, I opened my eyes. I must have dozed off for a sec. I looked at my tablet screen and he was still there, watching me and looking just as satisfied as I felt. I smiled at him. “I’ll have to call you again at the real 11:42 a.m.”

He laughed. “I won’t get any work done, waiting for your call. And I’m definitely not going to get any more work done tonight.”

“You should go home and get some sleep,” I said as I yawned. I needed sleep too. I was totally exhausted and I could already feel the effects of my buzz wearing off.

“I will. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His warm, velvety voice wrapped around me. “Good night, girlfriend.”

I smiled lazily. “Good night, boyfriend.”

His face was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.





Sixteen




I heard a buzzing sound and pried my eyes open. Sunlight blazed into my bedroom, and I squinted and reached for my phone, the source of the sound that had woken me. I had a text from William.

Good morning, video vixen. You were incredible last night. Can’t wait to see you later and sample your cooking.

I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. I was never drinking again. Not only was I hung over, I was mortified. What had I been thinking? Drunk dialing William? Or had it been a drunk booty call? It wasn’t even a call. It was an e-booty call. The whole incident was sort of a blur, but some details were definitely very, very clear. I groaned into my pillow again.

I had never done anything like that before. Clearly the alcohol had relaxed—no, eliminated—my inhibitions. Had I really—?

I pulled the pillow tightly over my head and wished I could go back to my peaceful drunken slumber. The things I’d said! I couldn’t believe I’d been so…well, dirty. But I also couldn’t believe how hot it had made William. How hot it had made me. Maybe if I could summon the nerve, I’d try it sober.

I pushed the pillow off my face and texted William back.

Excited about tonight too. XO

And I was excited. Tonight was finally going to be the night I said I love you.

After a shower and a very large cup of coffee, I called Beckett. I hoped he was feeling better than I was. He’d promised to help me with dinner for William tonight. I hadn’t been drunk enough to think I could cook something edible without a little—or a lot—of help. Beckett answered right away, which I took as a good sign. “Hey, how are you feeling today?” I greeted him.

“Great! How about you?”

“Not as great. You will not believe what I did—”

“Hold on a second, Cat.”

I frowned. Usually Beckett was all about juicy tidbits from my life—or anyone else’s. He had a subscription to the National Enquirer. I heard what sounded like a timer going off and a clatter of dishes. Was Beckett cooking?