Megan Hart: An Erotic Collection Volume 1 Read online

  Two minutes passed with agonizing slowness while she waited for the answer.

  Because you said so.

  She had to smile at that and admit it was true, at least as far as her word choice was concerned.

  So who are you? She waited, tension coiled tight in her belly and had almost given up when the new comment appeared, the answer that would keep her up, tossing and turning, for most of the rest of the night.

  I’m what you want.

  * * *

  “Thanks for the coffee.” There was no way for her not to say it, not with Lane holding the elevator door open for her yet again. “It was good.”

  The door closed with a slow, dull thud, but the cranky elevator didn’t move. Lane punched the button for the fourth floor. The elevator shuddered slightly as a grinding noise came from above them and then lurched into its ascent.

  “Was it what you wanted?” The question, asked so casually, wasn’t what made the breath catch in Eve’s throat.

  No, that was from the look in Lane’s eyes.

  “It was good,” she repeated, her voice gone whisper soft. Hoarse.

  Lane smiled. “Good.”

  If this was a story, she’d have pushed him back against the hazy mirrored wall and had her way with him...but this wasn’t one of her stories. Nothing ever was, that was the problem. Men—real men—inevitably disappointed, and dating someone she worked with?

  Not a fantasy she’d ever had, not even in her blog.

  She cut her gaze from his though she sensed his eyes on her until the elevator jerked to a reluctant stop and the doors creaked open. He reached to hold the door, which had a penchant for trying to trap people, and Eve stepped through with a murmured “Thank you.”

  “Any time,” Lane said.

  For one instant an image of Lane bending her over a smooth, polished desk filled Eve’s mind. Blood lifted to the surface of her skin, bringing heat. Her fingers would be spread. His hands would lift her skirt...

  “Hey, Lane, I was looking for you!” Debbie Chambers, Eve’s pod neighbor, pounced. “I’ve got a problem with my computer. Can you come help me?”

  Eve didn’t wait to see if Lane gave Debbie the same slow smile he’d given her. She walked off with a small wave, not looking back.

  There was one major problem with that little scenario anyway, she thought as she slid into her chair and logged in. They worked at Digiquest, home to the typical office cubicle jungle. Nary a polished wooden desk to be found, even if it was what she wanted.

  Was it what she wanted?

  I am what you want.

  For an instant, she heard the words from last night’s newfound admirer spoken in Lane’s voice. She knew how he’d sound, how his voice would dip low and gravelly, even though she’d never heard it that way. Her belly tightened and her fingers hovered over the keyboard, itching to open her blog. To see if Tell_me had commented again.

  Surfing the Internet for personal use was officially forbidden, even though she knew many of her colleagues spent as much time online shopping, paying bills or chatting with their friends as they did on their queues. She’d never heard of anyone getting in trouble as long as they met their quotas and didn’t do something stupid, like download porn. She didn’t consider the stories she wrote as Eris Apparent porn, but they were certainly skirting the issue of what was or wasn’t work-safe.

  The long, dull hours of fairly mindless work had always provided the perfect time for her to think of what she wanted to blog about. She often spent entire days locked deep in her fantasies, perfecting and honing the words she’d later use to describe her imaginary sensual exploits. Her blog was a beautiful addiction, the rush she got from writing and commenting as compelling as the ecstasy brought on by drugs or booze. The interlude this morning and the conversation with Lane in the elevator had merely amplified her desire, but with the problems her computer was having, she didn’t dare do anything about it.

  It was a very, very long day.

  By the time she got home, her body ached from tension caused by the hours of sexual fantasy. She had her entire entry plotted out, with no more than the most minor of changes needed to create the perfection she owed her readers. Hell...owed herself.

  The computer screen flickered to life when she tapped the keyboard, waking from its sleep like a lover lifting his head from the pillow to greet her as she came home. The comparison gave her a moment’s pause, but only a moment’s. Her computer was more of a lover to her than any man had been in months. It certainly gave her more of what she needed in a partner. Always ready, always available, always faithful. She opened her browser, then her e-mail program, and smiled as the ping, ping, ping alerted her to a full inbox.

  Twelve new comments and a few extra e-mails, too.

  She savored the anticipation. Had he commented? Though the anonymity of the Internet meant it could have been a woman, she knew it was a he, a man. It had to be.

  She deleted several messages offering to enlarge her penis and skimmed the comment notifications, none of them from him. But the second to last e-mail was from a username she recognized.

  She let out a breath she’d been unaware of holding.

  “Well, hello,” she murmured as her fingers on the keys stroked open the message.

  Two words only, but they hit her like a tsunami.

  I’m waiting.

  * * *

  I should be angry by the time you come through the door, because you’re late. Instead, the waiting has only made me hungrier for you. I wait until you set down your briefcase, close the door, shrug out of the charcoal gray jacket of your expensive suit. I wait as you hang it carefully, so it doesn’t rumple. When you reach to loosen the knot of the tie at your throat, I can’t wait any longer.

  It makes a nice leash by which to lead you. A handle I can use to open you for me. I pull it, hard, silk fisted in my fingers, and your mouth comes down to meet mine.

  You smell of cologne and newsprint, of expensive lunches and hostile takeovers. Your clothes cost more than some people’s car payments, and your body beneath them is sculpted from hours in the gym.

  Do I care who you are behind your wide, smooth mahogany desk? Behind your contracts and your Montblanc pen? Do I care who you are in the office? No. Because you’re here now, and you’re mine, and that’s what matters to me.

  “Take off your shirt, but leave the tie.”

  Your look, quizzical, doesn’t stop you from obeying. You tug the knot harder, widen the loop and ease it from the prison of your collar. You strip yourself of pink linen and toss the shirt to the floor, careless with it in a way you were not with your jacket.

  “And the pants.”

  Oh, you enjoy this, and the pants are down around your ankles and kicked to the side in minutes. Socks come next, but I don’t tell you to take off your briefs. Not yet. I like to watch the shape of your cock beneath the soft, heather-gray cotton. I like to watch you get hard for me.

  This is what I want, to be on my knees in front of you. I want to run my hand over your prick and watch your hips bump forward against my caress. I want to nuzzle the crisp, curling hairs of your thighs and inhale your scent. I want to close my eyes and bump at the front of your boxer briefs with my face, the way a cat will bump at its owner’s hand to encourage petting.

  I wet the front of your briefs with my mouth, my breath hot and seeping through the fabric to cover you. I want to feel the outline of your erection with my lips and teeth and tongue blunted by the material. I want you to thread your fingers in my hair and tug to tip my head so I look up at your face.

  I want to hear you say, “Please,” as if my mouth on your cock is a gift you’re not certain you deserve.

  I want to give it to you.

  Down go the briefs, over your thighs, knees, calves, ankles. Now there is nothing between my mouth and your cock but desire, and soon enough not even that, because I engulf you.

  That sound you make, that low, startled moan, never ceases to amaze and arouse m