Tempted (25 page)

10:43
am

Claire Nichole Eden

M
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

the things you say

10:44
am

Alexander Armstrong

And that goes just as well for you! Even just: mmmmm...

10:45
am

Claire Nichole Eden

O
h i only rate 5 M's huh

10:45
am

Alexander Armstrong

I would have typed more mmmms but I was eager to hear your words and didn't want to delay your reply with extra strokes of my keys.

Perhaps we should.....

10:47
am

Claire Nichole Eden

Y
es, let’s

And with that, he calls me on the phone.

“How fickle is woman?”
~Rhett Butler

In my tween and t
een years
,
I lived for talking on the phone.
 
But over time
,
my love affair with the telephone grew strained and I began flirting with other telecommunication devices.
 
I’ve dallied with email, instant messaging, texting, and of course, social networking.
 
But now, just like a girl in a 1950’s movie, wearing orange juice cans in her hair as curlers, and sitting glued to the family’s rotary telephone on a Saturday night, I keep my phone in view and
within reach
at all times.

Since the night I received word about Danielle, I notice I’ve been getting calls from anonymous numbers that don’t leave messages.
 
I’m not sure if this is a new thing, anothe
r of Murphy’s laws and jokes, or
has my number somehow been added to a telemarketing list?
 
Perhaps my recent phone obsession is making me more aware.
 
Regardless, it’s always a letdown when a call comes in that’s not from Alex.

I have not yet come to grips with what I think of this man.
 
I became instantly Alex-centric following our first personal messages.
 
And yet, I am not all butterflies and knots in my stomach as I am used to being when it comes to men I find attractive.
 
And based on the level of my attraction to Alex, I should be tied up in knots so tight no sailor could untangle them.
 
Ack, the idea of being tied up instantly flashes through my mind and once again I am aroused, or rather more aroused.
 
I’ve been in heat for days now.

Alex is unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered
–
to me he is literally perfect.
 
I don’t mean perfect as in without quirks, but perfect as far as what I enjoy.
 
And I enjoy quirks plenty.
 
I still have a hard time believing he’s real, that he actually does exist.
 
But if he does, clearly he was created just for me.
 
Never has one man possessed the unique combination of seemingly disparate qualities I love and crave.
 
He is sexy to me in so many ways.
 
To be sure, Alex has a brilliant mind.
 
He also has a wicked sense of humor and a
joie de vivre
I’ve only come across a couple of times in life.
 
He has the rock star look that I lust after
–
my very own Chris Cornell of sorts. He is kind, compassionate, deep, poetic, passionate, honest.
 
At least I think he’s honest.
 
I thought the same of David and Bret.
 

 
Well, then, how am I supposed to really know?
 

What if he turns out to be an 88 year-old married man or, worse yet, an un
derage
kid?
Come to think of it, I’ve only seen the one photo of him and people create fake profiles all the time.
 
Then again, he hasn’t seen me at all and still wants me
–
yet another way he’s extraordinary, whoever he is.
 
Ugh, this is too much for my pea brain to handle.
 
I can’t go around doubting everyone for no reason.
 
What to do?

I fear the only way to know for certain
would be to video
chat.
 
And that is light
years beyond my comfort zone.
 
I consult the menagerie and it’s agreed that I will give him the benefit of the doubt and trust what Shakespeare says, “truth will out.”
 
With both David and Bret
,
the truth definitely did all come out.
 
 

Desp
ite my inordinate fear of video
chatting, oddly, I relish the feeling that he is watching over me.
 
I increasingly feel it, that presence, especially when I awake in the middle of the night.
 
Normally
,
I would
find
that kind of thing frightening
–
creepy, at least.
 
Instead, it feels comforting and erotic and I often find myself moaning my enjoyment as my hands explore my body.
 
I always fall back to sleep with thoughts of Alex, and a smile.

I’ve been so consumed with Alex that I haven’t even taken the time to tell April what’s going on.
 
And really,
what am I supposed to say?
 
I’
m having raunchy cyber sex with a guy I just started talking to who lives across the country?
 
She’d think I’d gone nuts.
 
How very strange to have a new lifestyle overnight, with new people in it of whom your own best friend knows nothing.
 

I’m barely able to keep it together conducti
ng the business of the day.
 
I’m still distracted
, doing things like putting bug repellent on
my face instead of moisturizer and
looking fo
r my reading glasses when they’
re already on my head.
 
This is not at all good since I now need them constantly in order to read and reread Alex’s written naughtiness.
 
That’s the best part of our typed communication
–
the luxury of reading
his messages
over and over again
...
and orgasming over and over again.

My ditziness has gone beyond the level of being cute.
 
I absent-mindedly scoop up Jasper along with the dirty laundry
,
and toss him into the washing machine.
 
I douse him with detergent and am just about to close the lid when he makes his presence known.
 
My challenges with laundry are becoming annoying.
 
More than once
,
I have managed to misplace a favored thong or pair of culottes
,
and I am convinced they have run off with the legendary socks turned dryer-escapees.

* * *

While I am cursing my rampant preoccupation, the phone rings and I grab for it as if it were a lifeline.
 
“Number Unavailable.”
 
I frown, convinced it is a sales call or a computer-generated ‘don’t hang up till you hear this great offer’ message.
 
My disinterest in talking to a telemarketer is topped only by my curiosity and desire to put an end to the hang
-
ups.
 
I answer curtly.

“Yes?”

“Interesting way to answer the phone.
 
A
nd I believe you meant to say ‘Yes, S
ir.’
 
Now, please turn off your computer, lock yourself in your bedroom and do exactly as I say.
 
Do you understand?”

“Yes
...
S
ir
.
”

“Good.”

While I make my way to the bedroom, Alex continues, “I may have told you this before, but what makes you so irresistibly sexy is that you’re a real woman.
 
Or better, you’re Womanhood itself.
 
You’re brilliant, independent, free-s
pirited, tough, creative, sweet
and adventurous.
I told you the first time we spoke privately that I knew you were formidable.
 
And that, Love, is fucking hot.
 
Now:
 
take off your blouse.”

I tremble as
excitement shoots through me, m
y fingers doing their best to accomplish Alex’s bidding.
 
“I’m sorry this is taking so long.
My hands won’t stop shaking.”

“Not to worry, Love.
 
Take your time.
 
I’m a patient man, patient with just about everything and everyone.
 
I can wait a while, till the time is right, to meet you in the pure immediacy of flesh.
 
But what I have no patience for
,
is tolerating even one more moment to pass without me lavishing you with pleasure.
 
Take off your bra.”

I gurgle involuntarily as I remove my straps and undo the clasp.
 
Alex chuckles at my sound effects.

“Now, I want you to feel my hands on you, not the silky caress of a woman
,
but the strong, ravaging grip of a man.
 
Take your breast in hand without apology, with lusty conviction.
 
Feel the animal greed of me wanting nothing less than to devour every honey morsel of you.
 
Fear the wanton abandon of my l
ust, my reckless desire to pleas
ure you beyond reason and sense.
 
Trace circles around your nipple with the featheriest touch, so that you can feel the tightening of your skin beneath your fingertips, and the slight rise of goosebumps.
 
Now roll your nipple between your thumb and forefinger and pinch and tug until I can hear you gasp.”

“Mmmmm.
 
I love hearing you moan.
 
It makes me wild.
 
Put your phone on speaker.
 
You’re going to need both hands.”

“Oh my god!”

He chuckles again, in a darker more deliberate way.

“Don’t take off your panties just yet.
 
Grab the inside of your thigh, above the knee, and squeeze.
 
Allow your hand to part your legs.
 
Slide your palm up to the heated triangle of your lace thong and press.
 
Fondle yourself as a man would, as I would.
 
Press your finger against your clitoris through the fabric, tease and circle and feel yourself grow dewy under my touch.
 
Know that I feel you, and that feeling you aroused inflames me, that I’m rock hard, that I shall have all of you.
 
Slide the little patch of cloth aside and cradle yourself.
 
Press your fingertips against the entrance to your desire, and probe, just a little, enough to suggest, to taunt, to whet your appetite for what’s to come.”

I gasp.
 
I moan.
 
I tremble all over again.

“Let your wet fingers find their way to your tongue.
 
Imagine it is my tongue savoring your nectar, sucking, sampling, licking and tasting.
 
Now, take off the rest of your clothes.
 
Lay on your back.
 
Put your hands on the mattress at your sides.”

I do so. “Okay,” I whimper.

“And come
.”

Before he has finished saying the word, like a bolt of lightning through my being, one of the full-body orgasms I covet has ravaged my body.
 
And he can hear it.