Vanilla On Top (7 page)

Even with her quirky behavior of walking out of the store—I want this woman. It’s time I try a little seduction and get her feeling the same way.

Chapter Seven

Heather

I get ready for bed, thinking back to my Irish exit at the shoe store earlier today. Who runs out when a man wants to spend over two thousand dollars on her? Wait, what
does
a man expect when he gives someone such an expensive gift?

Would a man expect you to sleep with him or give him head over an extravagant gift? My skin heats at the thought of getting on my knees and sucking Tony to
show
him just how much I liked the shoes. I’d tease him ‘til he was ready to beg, and then maybe I’d let him come.

I smile at the wicked thoughts, happy to dream about them.

It is such a rush calling the shots. I like this new me, or at least, this pretend new me. What would a strong bitch who likes sex do? My mind races as I conjure suitable diva-like images in my head. I bet she
’
d have her own sex toys and never rely on a man to satisfy her.

I grab my laptop, snuggle up in the cold king-size bed an old boyfriend insisted I buy, and start to shop. The dizzying choices of styles and colors of dildos leave me confused. Reviews might be a good place to start. I pick a slim black dildo and then select a cock ring with an extra loop to fit over the man’s balls. If half of the reviews are accurate, then it might be a fun choice for teasing Tony beyond normal control.

I can be the racy woman who lights his soul on fire. I can be the sexy kitten who knows more than she lets on. I click on some
Better Sex
videos, hoping to gain a few tricks to really enthrall him.

You
’
re doing it, again. You’re trying to snare a man by being what
he
wants.

Shut up! I will not end up alone.

I finish my purchase and close my computer. Am I really trying to do what he wants if I want it, too? I want to be more sexual. I want to learn more. I don’t think this is the same as my destructive behavior in the past, and as I slip under the covers, only Tony’s look of sheer sexual bliss fills my mind.

I want him. And I want him bad.

I toss and turn for an hour before falling into an uncomfortable dream state. My mind conjures Tony’s hot mouth, kissing me all over, exploring parts of my body with his tongue no one’s ever touched. His knowledgeable hands follow and soon I’m writhing on my sheets, an orgasm about to break on the horizon.

I wake with a startled gasp, a fine sheen of sweat covering my body and a dull ache between my legs, begging for relief.

My heart gives a painful squeeze when I realize I’m still alone—my big bed mocking me with all its extra space. Maybe I should get a dog. Then I’d have someone next to me at night.

I snuggle back down, covering myself with only the sheet, still too keyed up and hot for the light blanket. Images of his smile and caramel colored eyes burn a path of want straight to my crotch. Frustrated and aroused, I reach between my thighs, testing my readiness with one slim finger.

Slick wetness greets my exploring digit, clinging to my skin and allowing a gentle friction to begin. I drag the moisture up to coat the rigid pearl of my desire, twirling in a tight circular motion when I find it. Slowly I rub, building the pace as my senses soar closer to a peak. I picture Tony on his knees, tickling me with the tip of his tongue and explode with my release. It hits me fast and hard, wringing the breath from my lungs. The frantic excitement from the dream leaves me and finally I drift off to sleep, still thinking of Tony and his sweet, sweet eyes.

The next morning I check my texts, and sure enough, I see I missed one from Tony. Looks like it arrived after I climbed into bed. Part of me, the part that dreamed of him last night, wishes he’d called instead. Well, at least he didn
’
t read my offer to come over while the boots were on and purposely ignore me. I text back,
Okay,
so he’ll know I received it.

The pretty red shoes with the shiny metallic heel call to me from their box. I choose my outfit carefully, a floral print skirt with a red top. I’m no stranger to wearing heels this high at the office, but have worn nothing this blatantly sexy before. Are they appropriate for the CFO
’
s assistant? I snort, for once not caring, and slip the red leather onto my feet.

If I want to be the part then I guess I should start living it a little more. I take extra time with my hair, styling it the way I did on Sunday that turned so many heads. This time, using the rollers only results in burning my index finger once. A good sign in my book.

My phone beeps with an incoming text as I leave for the elevator. It’s from Tony.
Care to have a late dinner with me tonight?

My heart beats faster as the doors whoosh shut and the elevator descends. What do I type back? Should I call him? Crap, I really need a guide on how to text like a sexy diva. Will agreeing to his request make me seem too eager? How late is he talking about anyway? That might be the best thing to find out first.

What time?

His response bings as I step onto the sidewalk. Is he in the office already or texting me from home? The thought of him sipping coffee in a terry-cloth robe brings a surge of salvia to my mouth. Yum.

9:00?

I wrinkle my nose. Who the hell eats that late on a work night? Maybe not agreeing will put me back in the driver’s seat. Geez, I really wish I knew what the eff I was doing. I hustle the rest of the way to work, conscious of the looks I’m getting along the way.

Damn, these shoes really do look hot. I catch sight of my reflection in a passing shop window and smile.

The more I think about it, the more I think accepting a dinner that late makes me look too available and willing, both of which I desperately am. I arrive at my building and ride the elevator to Parkerson’s floor, hoping a plausible reason for declining will come to me.

The office is barely inhabited when I step through the doors at quarter to eight. Only the higher-ups and ambitious ones like me report this early. And I’ve found my mother’s advice regarding clothes applies to most things in life: if you want to get ahead you need to act like it.

I settle at my desk and check my phone again. A small, secret smile graces my face as I open up the message.
Is that too late?

My grin broadens when I think of the doubt whirling around in his mind. Good, it means he wants me.

My elbow jostles my mouse, causing my calendar to open. A reminder for tomorrow pops up. I’ve got to attend a meeting with my boss, Harvey, with Apollo Enterprises a few floors up. That one will take some prep work, I bet. Perfect excuse!

I text Tony back,
Work obligations on Tuesday. Don’t want to be out too late.

I refrain from staring at my phone, willing it to beep with a text back from him. If I keep this up I’ll never get anything done, and then Harvey would be in a major bind. He’s got a lunch meeting later with Paul and some bigwigs from Apollo. I cringe inside, knowing this will probably be a liquid lunch for Harvey and he’ll be in no shape to talk business when he returns—if he returns to the office at all.

I grab some files on my desk from last Friday and hurry down the hall to see if he’s in, snagging my phone impulsively before I leave. I’d like to get him briefed on what I’ve been doing so he’s able to speak coherently on the company’s financial position.

The older man hasn’t arrived yet and I debate whether to leave the materials for him or try again in thirty minutes. From experience, I know he doesn’t often read what I leave on his desk. He’s only six months from retirement. Truth be told, I’ve been running his job, and mine, for the past several years.

Harvey knows it and pays me well for my expertise, which effectively buys my silence and loyalty. The all-boys club at Parkerson wouldn’t welcome a female CFO, of that I have no doubt. But with any luck, Harvey’s recommendations when he leaves will be enough to overcome their reservations.

Antsy to get started on my day, I leave the files, deciding to call him and remind the forgetful man to read them before he goes to lunch. I sigh, hoping the knowledge will sink in and he won’t look like a fool to the Apollo people.

My phone beeps again, another text, and I hold back a girly squeal of delight. I feel like a teenager again, waiting to see what he says.

How about tomorrow after work?

A big grin stretches across my face, garnering attention from two salesmen as they walk by. “Looking good, Heather,” one says with a saucy wink. Bob, the winking salesman, is happily married with kids, so I don’t take his flirting too seriously. I wait to reply to the text ‘til after I return to my office, desiring some privacy.

Right after work or later?

One thing I am sure of, I don’t want a late night dinner to turn into a convenient booty call. It sets a bad precedence.

I work late every night.

So what the hell that does mean? I either agree to a nine o’clock dinner or too bad? I don’t think so.

I text back,
Sucks to be you. LOL
.

Seriously, is this guy nuts? Who works late every darn night? It’s not healthy.

My phone beeps
.
How about seven?

Yes! I resist doing a fist pump in the air, but just barely. It feels like a personal accomplishment to get a workaholic to agree to an earlier quitting time.

Okay
.
I stare at the cursor, wondering if my response will end our communication for the morning.

Are you wearing new shoes today? ;-)

Heat flames across my cheeks as I recall him slipping the high heels from my feet yesterday.
Yes. The red ones.

I bet you look hot.

I pause for a moment, weighing my response. Impulsively, I type,
I do.
There. That sounds like a confident, sassy woman, right?

I grit my teeth at the question in my mind. Of course, it sounds like a confident woman. What mousy
,
insecure chit is going to agree she looks hot?

My palms start to sweat as I debate typing something really sexy and outrageous to him. Oh God, I
’
ve got to get this man out of my head! I’ll never get any work done.

I slam the phone in a side drawer, determined to focus on the quarterly financial reports we’ll need for tomorrow’s possible investors. My resolve lasts for ten minutes, until I hear the telltale
bing
signaling a new text has come in.

Are you wearing anything else red?

Chapter Eight

Tony

I anxiously wait, staring at my phone. Did my last text go too far? Will she think I
’
m some weirdo pervert who wants to start sexting her? The growing erection in my pants feels like a scalding brand, confirming, yes, I am indeed such a pervert.

I tossed and turned for hours last night, unable to get Heather out of my mind. Spanking off while I washed away the bar fumes didn’t help much, either. Every stroke of my shaft had me picturing Saturday night again with crystal clarity. I want to feel myself sliding inside her more than I’ve wanted anything in ages. And I will have her.

The hot fist of her flesh will wrap around me, clasping the skin of my prick…

Bing!
The chirp from my cell draws my eyes back to the glowing screen.

My shirt is red… and…

Desire pulses through me. Damn, what do those extra dots mean?

Yes?
I send back, hoping to encourage her to elaborate. Ten minutes go by. Perhaps I should give up on waiting for a response.

Bing!

So are my bra and underwear.

A tingle washes across my skin as more blood surges to inflate my cock. Could her panties be a match to the lace ones she wore on Friday?

“Tony?” Deidra’s voice from the doorway startles me.

I place my phone on the desk, struggling to maintain some semblance of professional composure. “Yes?”

“Are you okay? I called your name three times.”

“Really?” I smile, forcing a touch of confusion onto my face. “Must have been too focused on my email.”

Her expression says she doesn’t believe me, but thankfully she lets it slide. “The COO and CFO at Parkerson agreed to a casual lunch meet and greet before tomorrow’s approach.” I nod, confident our suggestion of a buyout will be well received. “Also,” she continues, “reception called. Your nine thirty is here.”

I sigh, wishing I could text Heather and ask if her panties are lace. “Tell them to send him up.” Deidra leaves and I quickly text back that I’m going into a meeting and will write again, soon. I’d hate for her to think I was blowing her off.

The morning flies by and before I know it, the luncheon with the Parkerson group is upon me.

“And then he said, ‘We don’t fuck the camel, sir. We ride it into town where the whores are.’” Genuine laughter spills from Brian, as a red-faced Harvey laughs louder than the bad joke warrants.

“Good one, sir.” Brian pats the old drunk on his shoulder.

How Harvey, a raging alcoholic, positioned his firm to diversify and hold stock in three separate companies we’d like to buy is beyond me. I recognized the signs from the moment he sat down: ruddy complexion, lots of broken capillaries in his face, watery eyes, unfocused attention, shaking hands. The latter magically disappeared after his second martini.

Bile rose in my throat at the thought of this man being in charge of anyone’s finances. Just like my father, he’d lose it all and never wonder what happened, focused only on when he could get his next drink.

Before our meal arrived, Harvey had finished his fourth drink and showed no signs of stopping. His COO, Paul something, didn’t bat an eye, which told me his behavior of drinking in excess during working hours isn’t a surprise. Every question I directed Harvey’s way was answered halfway, as if he kind of knew what was going on, but I wouldn’t count on his accuracy for anything vital.

Tomorrow morning, when I see their financials, I’ll know more. Approaching a prospective buyout like we’re interested in investing money in the company usually works like a charm. They show us everything and then we make a bid. Of course, we do our due diligence ahead of time, researching everything we could possibly find publicly before even bothering to approach them.

The intel on the company’s holdings looks strong. I never would have expected this idiot to be the one who kept them financially sound. If their sales team hadn’t lost their top five biggest accounts in the last two months, they might not have come up on our radar. According to rumor, two salesmen recently resigned when sexual harassment suits were filed by some of the staff. Our recruiting group finalized hiring their remaining best sales members on Friday, effectively cutting off the company’s only chance to recoup what they lost.

I bet Harvey hasn’t even calculated the fallout from that debacle yet. They could have trouble making paychecks within six weeks if he can’t liquidate some of those shrewd investments quickly.

The meal wraps up and we part ways. I’m eager to get out the door and away from that travesty of a businessman as fast as I can. A sour taste bubbles up from my stomach, ensuring I won’t be able to go back to that establishment for a while without thinking of Harvey’s six-martini lunch and crude jokes. It will be a pleasure to buy their soon-to-be-crumbling company and kick out his loser ass.

On the street, I pass a woman with straight, black hair. It’s not as long as Heather’s but it still brings a vision of the vixen to my mind. Thoughts of Heather should help expunge the recent distasteful company from my mind. She’s infiltrated every part of my head, and I’m kind of freaked out over it. Normally, a piece of ass is a piece of ass. But this woman lingers in the back of my brain, almost coating my very essence with her scent. Maybe after I finally sleep with her, some of this obsession will fade.

Or it could get worse, you sorry sap.

I
’
m thinking about her every five minutes, how could it possibly be worse? I dig my phone out of my pocket, scanning for text messages and nothing else. Yes! I have one. With an attachment, too.

Should I open it here on the street? What if it
’
s naughty? Nah, she wouldn
’
t send me anything like that yet, right? I click on the link for it to download and then jog across the street toward the office. Once my foot hits the sidewalk the image opens on my screen. Smooth skin and a curve of muscle lead down to a tapered ankle. One delicate foot fits snugly into a sexy red shoe with a shiny silver heel. My hand grips the phone harder as I stare at the picture. Damn, that
’
s fucking hot.

Very sexy
,
I type back.
Makes me want to take them off you. Very slowly.

I hurry to my office, hoping to be alone when she writes back.

I glance down at the screen while I ride the elevator.

Bing!

And then what would you do?

My cock twitches to life, clearly eager with the turn of the conversation.

I’d trail kisses up your legs.
I hit send and have to force myself to breathe as I wait for her to reply.

Very nice.

That
’
s it? Nothing more comes through. I wait five minutes, wondering if I should continue. I set my phone down, resisting the overwhelming urge to call and beg to see her tonight. Maybe I can cut out of here early. I check my calendar to see what I have going on after five. Just internal meetings with Marcus and Brian. I can blow them off. We’d be rehashing our strategy for tomorrow’s meeting and I already know what we’re doing.

Bing!

And then?

A grin splits across my face as I hold back from typing my next response. First, I email Brian and Marcus to cancel our meeting, then I settle into my chair, eager to stir up Heather as much as possible. If I can get her hot and bothered, I may have a real chance of seducing her out of her panties and into an actual bed.

My raging boner pokes above the waistband of my underwear as I text back,
And then I’d slowly unzip your skirt…

Oooo…you’re a bad boy…

I fumble with the small phone, cursing at the tiny size of the buttons compared to my thumbs. Why have I never noticed how hard it is to type when aroused? Maybe it’s the blood loss in my brain…

Backspacing several times to correct fat finger slips, I respond,
You like it when I’m bad, don’t you?

That depends. Are we talking I’d need a paddle, or do you just mean sexy dirty fun?

A paddle! Has she spanked a lover before? The pressure in my cock and the spike in my heartbeat imply I might not be adverse to a paddle. Interesting…

Before I can form a coherent reply, she texts again.
Got to run. My boss is back.

Damn! Just when things were really heating up. I shuffle through the rest of the afternoon, functioning in a haze of desire. For hours, I itch to text her but don’t want to get her in trouble at the office. Then again, if things go as planned, we should own Parkerson by next quarter.

How would Heather feel about our company owning hers? I would technically be above her in the corporate scheme of things, but considering the size of Apollo, it’s not like we’d be working together in any sense. If she’s like most employees during a hostile takeover, her biggest concern will be keeping her job after the buyout is complete.

It’s a quarter after five. Should I risk texting her? Intrigued by the paddle idea, I send out a feeler in my next text.
So…about that paddle?

Fifteen of the longest minutes of my life go by before she responds,
You’re contemplating being spanked, aren’t you?

I can’t deny it. Once she mentioned it, the image of her wielding a long wooden paddle sprang to full life in my mind, complete with a black leather bikini and those high-heeled boots I bought yesterday.

Not willing to give in to this sexy, but dark, premise just yet, I text back,
Maybe.

Having her convince me to try such bedroom play sounds like a lot of fun. I could drag it out and deny her a bit. Might get her juices running. Hmmm…

Bing!

Are you as turned on right now as I am?

Hell, yes. My eyesight narrows to the screen, peripheral vision fading as blood pumps into my crotch.

Yes,
I text back quickly.
I need to see you.

Need to, huh? That sounds serious
.

Oh, it is. Please?

Okay. I’ll race you to my place. Are you game?

What? Race her? She must be leaving work right away. Before I have a chance to respond she texts back,
Bye!

Uncaring about the obvious boner in my pants, I fly out of the office, yelling over my shoulder to Deidra that I have an emergency and will see her tomorrow. I slam my thumb onto the down button and restlessly shift from foot to foot. I text back,
You’re on. I’m heading over.

The city streets swarm with yellow cabs, not one willing to stop at my hail. I resist the primal urge to sprint the entire way to her apartment. Instead, I jostle along with the hordes leaving work, walking fast when a brief opening appears among the bodies.

My erection fades a little during my mad dash, but I prefer this half-aroused state to the crazy stares I received in the elevator. I never knew women were so observant. One woman in her fifties licked her lips and blew me a kiss. I swear, if we’d been alone, she would have made a pass at me.

I nod to Heather’s doorman and walk past like I have every damn right to be strolling in like I own the place. The elevator doors whoosh shut, cocooning me in silence while I travel alone to her floor. The pressure in my pants builds again, and I shift myself to a more comfortable position. God, how I want her
…
I want to kiss her senseless and make her call my name when I do her.

After an achingly long ride, I reach her floor. I march to her door and knock hard, not bothering with the bell. She answers wearing only a red bra, red panties, and her sexy red shoes. The soft curls of her hair lie over one shoulder, the long strands tickling the tip of one satin-covered breast. Heat and lust colors her expression, proving she wants this as much as I do.

I step in, slamming the door with one hand. I pull her slender form against me, pressing my lips to hers. My tongue dives inside, teasing and battling with hers while her hands work the buttons on my shirt. The tension between us flares as she lifts one leg and grinds her crotch over my erection.

My hands slide down her smooth back, cupping her tight little bottom and hefting her off the floor to wrap her legs around my waist. I step forward, clutching her to me, a faint haze of desire coloring most rational thought. The heat between her legs sinks through my suit pants, inflaming my desires tenfold.

I break from our kiss, looking wildly about her apartment. Heather’s moist mouth latches onto the skin behind my ear. “Bed…?”

Her hands race through my hair, grasping tightly, tugging my mouth to hers. “Past the kitchen,” she mumbles. “Second door on the right.” She latches onto my lips, groaning when I open to receive her questing tongue once more.

I stagger down the hall, eager to toss her on the bed and strip out of my clothes. One of Heather’s hands dart inside my shirt, skating over my chest. We pass through the open doorway to her bedroom, a large bed waiting in the center of the space. I shift my hands, pushing her hips away to dislodge her monkey-like hold on my torso.

With reluctance, she allows me to place her on the bed. I stare into her dark eyes, turned on beyond anything I’ve felt in years. My hands reach to unfasten the rest of the buttons, only to fumble in my excitement. Frustrated, I grab the material and yank open the shirt, popping the three remaining bits of plastic across the room.

“Nice,” Heather says as her eyes roam over my exposed skin. “But I want more.” She reaches for my belt and helps divest me of the last barrier between us. With a firm tug, she pushes both my pants and briefs down in one fell swoop. My arousal springs free, bouncing back to slap against my stomach.

Heather licks her lips and wraps one hand around my length. “Much better.”

I reach out and place a hand over hers, stilling her advance. “I need…”

The sexy little vixen looks up at me, lust glazing her eyes as she slides her other hand into her underwear. “You need what, Tony?” She glances toward her questing hand, biting her lip. “Do you need what I’ve got down here…?”