At midday...the heat from the noisy radiator permeates the room, and he shoves a finger between his throat and the collar of his button-up shirt. He has already loosened his tie, the playful one she had given him for Christmas, with the Pink Panther lounging by the beach clutching a margarita. He loosens the top button on his shirt, and glances at the clock.
Noon. He had said that he would call...
The phone rings before he can pick it up. When he answers it, the voice on the other end is not hers. He tunes the man on the other end out, and only vaguely hears,
"Hello? Jeff?"
"Sorry," he apologizes, injecting a remorse he does not feel into his voice. "What was that?"
His caller repeats himself, and he decides whatever he wants, it can wait. He says so, and hangs up. His shift does not end for another three hours, and he has skipped lunch so he can call her on her lunch break. He walks over and closes his office door...the office assistant will know that means he doesn't wish to be disturbed.
He thinks of her, and feels his heart rate quicken. Almost of their own volition, his hands do the work and make the call.
"Angela Blair. How may I help you?" Her voice, sultry, low, impossibly sexy, shivers through him like ice chips on a hot summer afternoon.
"Can you cool my fever?" he asks her, his voice already husky with his need. "It's been raging all morning, and nothing I've done has worked."
He hears her sharp intake of breath, the slow release of it, the shaky little laugh, and then she says,
"Babe, I forgot you said you'd call!"
"I'll forgive you for forgetting me, if you'll make me an offer I can't refuse," he says, deliberately lowering his voice. "Make it a wet one, and I'll probably forget my name!"
Her hears her chuckle, and knows her face is coloring with the shyness he finds so utterly captivating.
"A wet offer?" she says. "You want a snowball fight?" The teasing note in her voice licks at the flames of his desire.
"Only if you dry me off when we're done," he says, the picture in his mind of her hands on him hardening the evidence of his lust, evidence she cannot see. "And warm me up. Can you do that?"
He doesn't think her voice can get any more sensual than it already is. It does.
"What shall I use?" she wonders, "hmmm?" He hears her take a breath, and suddenly, his lust gets the better of him.
"Your breath," he says, and breathes deeply in her ear. "Like this," he adds, and breathes again.
He hopes she is as wound up as he is. He looks at the photograph of her that he has on his desk. Short, curly hair, a round face, big, expressive brown eyes, heart-shaped lips...
"Baby," he says suddenly, "I wanna kiss you so badly right now..." he inhales, and then goes on, "On those lips, the tip of that pert little nose, the pulse that's beating there, right there in the hollow of your throat. Touch it for me, babe!"
"Jeff!" she whispered, and his groin aches all over again. His cock twitches at the way she sighs his name.
"So...make me an offer!"
"Kisses good enough to satisfy you, big guy?" she asks.
"Tea and kisses," he says. "Will I get some tongue?"
"As long as we share and share alike," she says, and he can hear the struggle she has to speak the words. Oh yeah...she is ready.
He speaks his own words without thinking them through, fueled now entirely by an all-consuming lust:
"Yeah, I'll have some tongue with my tea, please! And some good, hard, wet lovemaking for dessert. You game?"
When she doesn't answer, he grins, suddenly lighthearted.
"I can't see you nod, babe! Say yes!"
