Holden patted the piano bench. “Sit. Tell me everything.”
Sophie sat on the bench and recounted the details. Not all of them. Not the particularly naughty ones. But the tidbits about how they met, and how he showed up at the gala, and how she barely knew anything about him.
“Which I like,” she added. Perhaps she liked it so much because it was the opposite of her experience. She’d known everything about Holden, she’d gone in with her eyes wide open, and they hadn’t worked out.
She knew virtually nothing of Ryan. Maybe the change was what she needed. To go into this thing blindfolded.
Wait. Add that to the list of things she wanted to try. Blindfold.
“Be careful,” Holden said in warning. “He could be anyone.”
“That’s why it’s fun.”
“That’s also why it’s dangerous.”
She nodded. “I know. I like danger.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said, patting her knee.
“It’s only fun and games. I’m not interested in anything more. In fact, I hope I never learn his last name,” she said as she crossed her legs and kicked a foot back and forth, demonstrating how completely content she’d be in that scenario.
Even though, truth be told, she was terribly curious about the man behind the orgasm.
Chapter Seven
So many sartorial choices.
On the one hand, this sun-yellow dress hugged her hips quite nicely.
On the other hand, the red one with the tiny white polka dots did offer a nice little cleavage peek-a-boo.
As Sophie tapped her finger against her lips, weighing the options for tonight in her perfectly organized, neatly arranged, color-coordinated closet, her phone buzzed from the back pocket of her capris. She was at home, so jeans were acceptable.
She grabbed it and spotted an envelope icon popping up at the top of the screen. Probably nothing that needed her attention now, midday Sunday, especially, since she had a whole sea of clothes to consider in the middle of her walk-in closet, which was something of a sanctuary in her home.
Because…walk-in closet.
Complete with carpeting and ample shelves for shoes.
Enough said.
Absently, she ran her thumb across the screen, noticing the time as she scrolled. Seven more hours until her date. Four hundred and twenty minutes. Twenty-five thousand and two hundred seconds.
Whoa.
Was that her date’s name in her email?
Perhaps this email warranted her undivided attention after all. As she opened it, her belly flipped, her body lighting up simply from the intoxicating memory of his backstage skills.
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 11:58 AM
subject: Question
Are you afraid of heights?
A grin spread quickly across her face. She hadn’t expected to hear from him until she saw him this evening. He must have found her email address on her Facebook profile. She liked that he’d been hunting for her. She liked it a lot.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:01 PM
subject: Lovely to hear from you too…
No. Should I be? Are you, say, taking me to the moon?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:08 PM
subject: I couldn’t wait ’til tonight…
I will indeed be taking you on that kind of a trip.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:10 PM
subject: Glad to hear you’re counting down the hours…
How can you be so confident?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:14 PM
subject: Six hours, forty-six minutes
Because I’ve already taken you there.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:19 PM
subject: Wait. I know what you have in mind.
Admit it. We’re going for a hot air balloon ride over the Strip, right?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:21 PM
subject: Nice guess, but…
Or maybe I plan to take you on the rollercoaster at New York, New York.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:25 PM
subject: Flaw in that plan
Then why are we meeting at Caesar’s?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:31 PM
subject: The plan for tonight is perfect.
To throw you off the scent of my plan. Because I suspect you like surprises. And rollercoasters, too.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:32 PM
subject: I like the best laid plans…pun intended
So now we’re going for a rollercoaster ride. Excellent. I’m clapping with glee.
Incidentally, I’m quite loud on rollercoasters.
* * *
Good thing he was alone in his office.
The subject line made him groan.
The prospect of hearing her orgasmic cries of pleasure at full volume had his dick knocking against his fly. Closing his eyes briefly, he imagined the sounds she might make, the cries and moans and gasps he’d elicit from her. She’d be sweet music to his ears.
Now, he was hard as steel. Fucking great.
He was tempted to take matters into his own hand. But he was a thirty-two-year-old man, not a teenage boy ready to jack off to the slightest provocation from his computer screen. Ryan was patient and controlled, and as much as he wanted to experience those best laid plans he didn’t intend for that to happen tonight. Not for lack of desire. But because anticipation was the most powerful kind of foreplay. Waiting, teasing, and wanting made the doing better.
It made the fucking practically divine.
He’d only intended to send one note to make sure she could handle heights. But that one note had turned into a volley that made him even more eager to see her. Each appearance of her name in his email inbox turned him on. As he finished up some work, they continued to ping-pong over cyberspace.
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:35 PM
subject: If your intention was hardness, well done.
I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing the highs you can hit vocally. You came quietly the other night.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:38 PM
subject: That’s how I like it.
And is that something you wish to know? My vocal range? Rather than my silent cries of pleasure?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:41 PM
subject: High C, I’m betting
It’s not just something I wish to know. It’s something I intend to discover tonight.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:44 PM
subject: Bet on several full octaves
I suppose it is in your hands then to find out how high I go.
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:49 AM
subject: My ears are eager now
Hands, maybe. Could be other parts of the anatomy.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 14, 12:51 PM