“Hm?”
“You said you’re shopping for lingerie and thinking of me. Christ, I’m already hard just picturing that.” His voice lowers to that silken tone that always leaves me weak in the knees. “Indulge me before I have to head into another damn meeting. What sexy little things are you looking at? Better yet, try something on for me and let me see you in it. We can switch to video chat and see where things go.”
Now the heat that had flushed my face travels down my neck and straight to my core. “I can’t do that,” I whisper, squirming a bit on the velvet bench seat. “Someone might see.”
“The dressing rooms are completely private,” he says with more certainty than I care to acknowledge. “Get into one, Avery.”
“I already am.”
“Then we’re halfway there.” He chuckles, but there’s more heat than humor in his voice. “Are you already undressed too?”
“No. I brought in a bra and panties to try on, but I’ve changed my mind about them. I was going to put them back before you called.”
“Why?”
I shrug, and even though he can’t see me, he seems to home in on my discomfiture.
“Put them on for me. I’ll call you back on video in two minutes.”
He ends the call on that demand, and I exhale a sigh as I glance at the beautiful lingerie I have no business pretending I can afford. But I know Nick was serious that he expects me to show him what I selected, and there is a part of me that’s hungry for his reaction. Hungry to see his desire for me, especially when he’s busy with work, yet making time to play naughty games with me.
Stepping out of my sandals, I take off my silk tank top and linen skirt, then slip out of my pastel peach department store bra. The first wisp of expensive champagne lace and burgundy satin against my bare breasts feels like a caress. I fasten the front closure and adjust the delicate ribbon straps, then scoop my breasts so they’re sitting high and plump in the pretty balconette cups.
Because I won’t be buying the lingerie, I leave the three-hundred-dollar panties on the vanity table and walk over to the mirrors to see how I look before Nick calls. I thought my lace-edged peach thong had been cute enough when I left the penthouse, but seeing it next to the stunning bra makes it look as mundane as a pair of cotton briefs. On a frustrated huff, I reach down to take it off, just as my phone chimes with Nick’s incoming call.
As promised, he’s calling from a video app. His handsome face fills the screen, making my breath catch even though I’ve had the privilege of seeing those dark-lashed cerulean eyes and brutally sensual features practically every day and night for the past four months.
“That wasn’t two minutes.”
He smirks. “I didn’t have the patience to wait that long.”
He’s not at his desk, but seated on the pale gray leather sofa in the conversation area of his large office. Behind him, a broad wall of gleaming silver granite soars easily fifteen feet from the floor to the ceiling. The wall serves as a backdrop for a single work of art—a Jackson Pollock original painted in black enamel. The tangle of chaotic lines and bold splashes are a stark contrast to the steady, in-control titan of business seated in front of the masterwork.
Settled back against the clean lines of the sofa, Nick grips his phone in one hand as he loosens his tie with the other. His mouth quirks at one corner as he holds my gaze from inside his corporate headquarters across town. “Let me see you, baby.”
I slowly extend my arm, giving him a view of the gorgeous bra. His low exhalation and thickly uttered curse tells me he approves.
“More,” he commands over the lowered volume of the speaker. “Let me see all of you.”
“I’m not wearing the panties.”
“Show me.”
I shake my head. “I’d have to try them on over my own underwear unless I intend to buy them.”
Nick doesn’t seem to care about my explanation. His eyes are blazing hot on me. He leans forward as if he wants to crawl through the phone. “Let me see your pussy, baby.”
Pressing my lips together, I angle the camera so he can see all of me.
“Holy fuck.” There is a fevered edge to his voice, a raw current of need that ignites the same in me. “You’re so damn beautiful. You get me hot just thinking about you. I’m hard as fucking steel over here.”
My body responds to his carnal praise as if he’s here in the room with me, looking at me . . . caressing me. Wanting me.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you stroke that pretty little clit.”
“Nick,” I whisper, worried that we’ll get interrupted, yet astonished that it doesn’t stop me from obeying him.
With my free hand, I slide my fingers down over the trimmed patch of curls between my legs, then into the wet cleft of my body. I’m drenched already, my sex aching for him. I can’t hold back my moan.