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“If you’re interested in me, get to know me. Otherwise this… is closed for business.”
Laurel tries to formulate a witty comeback to that; she really does – but as soon as she spins around and opens her mouth, she’s met with the door slamming in her face.
For a moment she just stands there, dazed and so turned on she could cry. She’s never had that happen before. She’s never had a guy press her up against a wall, describe to her in ridiculously vivid detail every dirty thing he’d do to her, then proceed to do exactly none of those things and kick her out of his apartment.
This night isn’t going how she’d planned at all.
She considers knocking again, storming back in and making it abundantly clear to Frank that he’s not God’s gift to women, and she doesn’t, in fact, need him. But she’s not sure she could pull that off, because she’s not a very good liar, and so she just stares dumbly at his door, struggling to collect the remains of her pride.
“You’re disappointed, I know. But think about how disappointing it is to be treated like a gigolo.”
That’s pretty rich coming from him, Laurel thinks as she makes her way back out to her car. He’s practically the definition of gigolo, and he’s never done anything to dissuade her from thinking of him that way before. But he’d turned it around tonight, made her seem like the shallow one only there for a good fuck.
Is that what he wants from her, now? A real relationship – more than a booty call? Is that what she wants?
Her head is spinning, heart thudding like a drum. It’s only after she’s taken a seat in her car that she presses her thighs together, and realizes how completely and utterly wet he’d gotten her with just his voice, without even kissing her. Normally she would ignore it, wait until she’s cooled down – but Laurel has the sense that she won’t be cooling down tonight.
Not after that.
“I can just read your body. Those goosebumps on your neck. How fast your heart’s pounding.”
His voice had been hypnotic; a low, deep purr, every word spoken in just the right way to make her writhe. Laurel goes even redder, jams her foot on the gas harder.
If he isn’t going to do anything to her tonight, then… Well, she’ll just have to take care of herself.
His voice is playing almost on repeat in her head as she drives, echoing inside her skull, driving her crazy. It’s like he’s right behind her now, repeating the words over and over.
“And now, you want me to kiss you. Slow. Deep. My tongue moving down your neck. Chest. Stomach. All the way ‘til I’m under that skirt. My fingers sliding inside your panties…”
Laurel’s skin prickles. Her nipples harden, pining for attention underneath her tank top. She’s sweating, and thinking of those words… everything he’d said… It just turns her on more. She has to resist the urge to slide her hand between her legs and touch herself right here in her car just at the thought of it.
It should seriously be illegal for someone to be that good at dirty talk.
By the time she gets back to her apartment, she all but throws her jacket and shoes off. She doesn’t do this often. Touch herself. Masturbate. Most of the time, she can wait.
Tonight, she can’t.
“My tongue moving down your neck. Chest. Stomach. All the way ‘til I’m under that skirt. My fingers sliding inside your panties…”
It’s not like she’s ever been able to forget how good Frank is at going down on her. He knows how to use his tongue and fingers in tandem to bring her off in a matter of minutes, and she almost whimpers aloud at the memory of that, how he always looks right after he eats her out, his face smug and soaked by her. How his beard feels between her legs, scratching the insides of her thighs; his tongue, talented and nimble on her clit…
Like a heat-seeking missile, Laurel goes straight for her bedroom – and she’s just about to pull off her shirt when she hears her phone vibrating in her purse. She frowns, walks over, grabs it, and finds none other than Frank’s shirtless contact photo grinning back at her.
Of course. Leave it to him to get her going and then interrupt her now.
“What?” she brings it up to her ear, sinking down onto her bed.
“I know what you’re gonna do,” his voice comes over the other end, silky-smooth.
Immediately, Laurel freezes. How could he…? How…?
“What do you mean?” she asks, playing dumb.
“You’re gonna touch yourself. Don’t.”
Don’t? Just don’t? He has the audacity to leave her all hot and bothered and then tell her don’t?
“I was not going to do that,” Laurel throws back at him. “And… even if I was, how is that any of your business?”
“It is my business. And I’m telling you… you’re not allowed.”
There he goes again, in that low, throaty purr that could probably get her to do just about anything. She’s caught between being irritated, and lying back and slipping her fingers inside herself right now while listening to him talk. That would be enough to get her off – just the sound of his voice.
Somehow, Laurel manages to control herself, and bites out, “Since when do I take orders from you?”
Frank chuckles. “First thing you’re gonna get to know about me? I like being in charge.”
“So what? You want me to be some submissive, pathetic girl you can just boss around all the time?”
“No,” Frank says, softening his voice. “I want you the way you are now.”
“Then why would you…” she drifts off, her voice catching in her throat, almost like she’s about to cry. “Why would you-”
“Leave you hanging like that? I meant what I said. Get to know me, then I’ll get you off. Happily.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but he keeps going, “Don’t touch yourself. If you do, I’ll know when I see you Monday.”
“H-how?”
“Just trust me. I will,” is all he says. “Now go to bed, Laurel. And keep both your hands above the blanket.”
Frank hangs up before she has the chance to reply. Laurel tosses the phone down onto the bed next to her, covers her face with a pillow, and groans.