Page 56 of The Puck Bunny

He chuckles. “Sara? I’m sorry. Forget—”

“No, no.” I’m not about to forget that sexy question or the low suggestive note in his voice. “I’m wearing a t-shirt. And panties.”

“Your bellagambas are bare,” he says like he’s stroking my legs with his words, his voice silky smooth and appreciative.

“You’ve picked up the Italian really fast,” I say, then squeeze my eyes shut because it’s a decidedly non-flirtatious piece of nonsense.

He laughs. “That’s what I like about you; I’m always surprised by what you say and can’t wait to hear it.”

I snort, then I clap a hand over my mouth, then squeeze and try to redeem my unsexy self. “I mean, you’d be a party of one in that club.”

He laughs again. “I don’t mind. Matter of face, I’m glad.”

Heat flames from between my legs all the way up my body like I’m a rope on fire and he lit the match. He’s showing signs of possession and I know that means interest. Real interest. Holy crap.

But it’s my turn to talk again and I don’t know where to go from here.

Of course, he bails me out. He’s a natural at bailing people out.

“Is that what you usually wear to bed, or did you leave your legs bare because you knew I’d be calling?”

“I confess. I dressed for you.”

He groans. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now, I’ll feel guilty. We’re just friends. “You know that, right?” He lets out a long breath and I’m turned on by the gritty need in his voice, the raspy texture.

“Yeah, I know.” I lower my hand to my panties and slip my fingers inside. My skin is hot and I hold my breath as I slide a finger through my folds to feel how wet I am. I knew I would be, but the sensation on my fingertips makes it officially hot—and I’m past the point of no return. I want to make myself explode with the sound of his voice in my ear.

I just need him to keep talking. “How about you? You sure we’re just friends.” My voice shakes and I move my finger up and down over my swollen pussy.

“I’m sure. You okay?” His voice is low.

I nod, breathing heavier, speeding my fingers up, circling my engorged clit. “I’m… great.” I bite my tongue. My voice is too breathy.

“Sara?”

His voice goes even lower and the vibration of it sends a wild thrill through me, making me arch into my hand and flick myself wildly. I bite down hard on my lip to prevent the moan that wants to let loose into the phone.

“Sara,” he says again, the question gone. “Are you… pleasuring yourself?”

His voice is hoarse now and a rush of heat swamps me, setting off the explosion in my pussy, making me spasm and the moan escapes in a strangled, “Yes… yes,” as I answer him. My hips pump and I ride the throbs of my orgasm, shaking and too caught up to know what he’s saying.

“Sweet Jesus. If it weren’t for my fucking conscience, I’d be right there with you, sweetheart. But…” He covers the phone and his words are garbled.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” It dawns on me what I’ve done and that he’s been trying to be a gentleman and I’ve ruined that for him.

“No you’re not,” he chuckles. “I bet sorry is the last thing you feel right now.”

“No, really. I mean, I feel… good—well, great—but I’m sorry that you—”

“Don’t go there, honey. I’m not joining in this game. It’s bad enough I opened the door by flirting; I should know better that there’s no such thing as harmless flirting with you.” He pauses, takes a shaky breath while I pull my hand from my soaked panties. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Don’t say that. Then I wouldn’t have had… my big O with you. It was my goal, after all.”

“Technically you still haven’t,” he says. “Forget I said that. I’m glad you had your big O.” He mumbles something that sounds like, “At least someone’s getting action.”

“Not that it was nearly as satisfying as it would be with you in person.”

“Not nearly. But that’s not happening. Sorry, sweetheart.”