Return to Mr. Thorne(5)

They both glistened in the soft, romantic light of the room. Outside, the sun had gone down, and the city glittered.

He stroked her face. Her hair had changed. She was no longer a redhead, not even that petite. He looked at her, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

She said to him, “I love you.”

He kissed her hungrily, lovingly, then pulled back and said, “I love you too, Lexie Ross.”



Meanwhile, at the cafe, the waiter arrived with two drinks, which he said were compliments of a gentleman at the bar.

I was in a daze from the scenario I'd been imagining.

What the hell?

Suzanne had given phone sex talk to Mr. Luthor Thorne, and now I didn't know what way was up or down, and my loins were aching, painfully frustrated.

“Thanks,” I said to the waiter. He scurried off quickly, before he could be embarrassed by us again.

Suzanne handed me back my phone, saying, “That was … different.”

I took the phone and said, “Why did you say you loved him?”

Suzanne threw her head back and laughed. “Good grief, Lexie, you must have potatoes growing in your ears. I certainly did not tell him I loved him. I told him he had a fantastic body, a gorgeous voice, and that it had been my pleasure giving him pleasure.”

“Oh.”

I stared down at the silly-looking drinks in front of us. They had actual umbrellas in them.

Suzanne turned back and tried to get a peek at the gentleman at the bar who'd sent them over, but whoever he was, he'd disappeared.

I sipped my drink, which was an ice-blended concoction that tasted of strawberry.

The strawberry taste was so vibrant, so good. I felt like I'd never truly tasted strawberry, never understood it, until just then.

Suzanne took her pink yoga jacket off and draped it across the back of her chair. In a silly pseudo-British voice, she said, “If I do say so, I did rather a good job on that fellow of yours. Was it Jacob? It didn't sound like Jacob.”

“Someone else.”

She frowned. “You're not telling me, which makes me suspect he might be married. Listen, Lexie, you do not mess with another woman's husband.”

“He's not married,” I said.

She relaxed visibly and sucked on her drink. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had a pretty good idea about how hot and bothered she'd gotten. Her husband was really going to get it tonight.

I asked her, “Why were you so nervous? In the phone sex fantasy?”

She gazed up at me, her blue eyes looking puzzled. “I wasn't nervous.”

“But you kept saying you were trembling, or your legs were shaking.”

“Hah!” she said. “You must have been hearing things. I said no such thing.”

“Weird.” I slurped the strawberry drink again, feeling incredibly surreal. Each taste of strawberry made the vision I'd had even more real, only it was me behind held up and fucked against the wallpapered wall, and me getting pistoned. On Mr. Thorne. Held up in his strong arms.

Pistoned.

Yeah, that was the word for it. And it had felt so good, in my mind. So fucking hot.

My crotch started to ache as I replayed the scenario, this time with a slightly taller, darker-haired girl. Me. Standing with my back to the wall, my legs trembling with excitement. Parting my legs and awaiting Mr. Thorne's inspection, and his strong tongue burrowing into my folds.

Suzanne was still talking, saying how if the professional organizing business didn't pick up soon, she might look into the phone sex business, since she was a natural entrepreneur.

“Good idea,” I mumbled.

As I looked at my pretty friend, all pink and flushed with sexual energy, I felt irritated and angry. How dare Mr. Luthor Thorne talk to Suzanne? He should have refused.

If I ever saw him again, in person, I was going to make him pay for fucking her against the wall in the nice hotel room, even if it had just been my imagination.

He'd said dirty things to her over the phone, and that part had been real.

He'd be sorry.





2: Perfect Timing


On Tuesday, Mr. Luthor called again for phone sex.

He grunted, “Candy.”

“Not available. Do you want Mitzi?”

“Sure.”

I nearly threw the phone across the room. I was knee-deep in clutter, helping a rich old lady rearrange her boxes of collectible porcelain figurines.

The old lady tsk-tsked me and shook her head. “You young people and your telephones. You can't not answer it, can you?”

I ended the call and turned the phone off. “Sorry, Mrs. Chong.”

She clapped her hands together and surveyed the mess. Tissue paper and boxes were everywhere, because we couldn't just inventory and stack her collectibles, but she had to take each one out of the box and actually show it to me!

Mrs. Chong said, “How about I have Chef whip us up some lunch so we can take a much-needed break?”