Chapter Twelve
I love my job.
I love my job.
I love my job.
I continue to repeat the words inside my head as I listen to Lauren reel off my schedule for the next month.
It’s not her fault; I ask her to do this since I’m shit at checking my calendar and retain information better when it’s said directly to me.
So we do this once a week, even though for the most part, I remember every meeting, every deadline, and all the important things, like the janitor’s cat’s birthday. Next Wednesday, he’ll be seven.
“And the charity gala is in three weeks.” Lauren’s nails tap on the screen. “Would you like me to continue?”
I nod, just as my phone buzzes on the counter and I see Sidney’s name light up the screen with a picture of her.
It’s a date. Then another. And another.
I’m suddenly no longer listening to Lauren and my schedule; I want to know what all these numbers mean.
Me: Are we talking in code now?
Sidney: Based on my fertility app,
these are the important dates of
my cycle. Did you know sperm can
live up to five days inside me?
I shift uncomfortably, flicking my eyes to Lauren, who appears oblivious to my distraction.
Me: Yes, I knew that.
Sidney: So we should schedule this
into your calendar.
*Fuck Sidney*.
How does that sound?
My knee jerks beneath the desk, slamming into it, and I groan, the pain enough to remove the image of bending Sidney over it. I need to get a fucking grip.
“Mr. Calahan?” Lauren steps forward.
“I’m okay,” I hiss out, rubbing at the tender spot.
Her iPad makes a dinging sound, and she returns her attention, her eyes widening when she sees the notification.
“Um,” she fidgets, “Sidney has requested to add something to your calendar.”
Oh no.
Despite my better judgement, I ask, “What is it?”
Part of me believes she won’t actually write that; it’ll probably be something along the lines of date with Sid, or movie night. She knows other people have access to that calendar just like she does.
Lauren clears her throat, “Bend Sidney over.”
“Close it!” I bark.
She drops the iPad on the desk like it’s a bomb about to detonate.
“Am I missing something here?” She asks nervously.
“No,” I grind out, “That’s it for today.”
She dips her chin and scurries out of the office, her cheeks pink.
My thumbs move furiously over my screen.
Me: Sidney, there are other people who have
access to my calendar.
Sidney: Oh shit. Who saw??
Me: Lauren.
Sidney: Haha. Oh well.
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers.
Me: And what if it was someone
else? An executive?
A shrugging emoji comes through, followed by another text.
Sidney: I guess they’ll all find out
their boss is GETTING IT.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You know, I’ve never really thought about dying, but I definitely didn’t think it would come at the hands of my best friend. She’s going to send me to an early grave.
Google… Can you die of blue balls?
What the fuck am I even chatting? I haven’t got blue balls. Wait, no, I do, but they’re considerably better than they were a week ago. Helps that I’ve finally satisfied a long-standing craving that I didn’t think would ever be sated.
Slumping in my chair, I stare at the messages between me and Sidney, unable to stop the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. We’ve always been good, better than good, but this level of intimacy has changed something. It’s free and I realize I can have just as much fun as she is.
Me: So who do I get to tell? Should I put up a billboard that
says I made Sidney Adams scream?
I scrub a hand over my mouth, grinning behind it as I watch three dots appear and then disappear. That happens a few times before her reply comes in.
Sidney: Noah Calahan… I didn’t scream.
Me: You sure about that?
Sounded a lot like screaming to
me. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking
loved it.
Sidney: Not screaming. That was
moaning. There’s a difference.
Me: Oh yeah? Either way, I want to hear
it again.
Sidney: You think you can do it twice?
I was just horny.
Me: I’ve already done it twice.
Sidney: Once. The second time
didn’t count.
My head snaps back as I stare at her message. What the fuck does she mean it doesn’t count!? I had her whimpering with my face between her legs. That fucking counts.
Me: Sorry, was tongue-fucking
you not enough? Please explain how
that doesn’t count.
Sidney: Easy. It is statistically easier to
make a woman come using your
fingers or tonguepurely based on
the amount of nerves we have on the
outside. Making a woman come from
penetration alone is not the easiest thing
to do. Hence you only did it once.
Me: Are those statistics even real?
Sidney: No idea. But probably.
I shake my head, sucking my tongue against my teeth as I attempt to stifle the grin on my mouth.
Me: Either way, I will have no problem
making you come, whether that’s on my cock
or with my fingers and tongue. I’ve also
got no problem testing out your theory,
Cricket. When I win, what do I get?
Sidney: You have to win first.
Me: Playing with fire there, Adams.
What are you going to do when
you can’t sit down for a week?
Sidney: That’s real big talk there, Calahan.
Gotta run, see you later?
Me: Yeah, you will. This
conversation isn’t finished.
Laying my phone down on the desk, I adjust my cock, shaking my head. I need to be studied.
My cell pings again, and her name crosses the screen, a message with a picture attachment waiting to be opened. Swiping it open, my head thumps against the back of my chair. Yeah. I definitely need to be studied. I should not be getting hard by looking at a desk.
It’s not the desk making my cock jerk though, it’s the memory of my face buried between her thighs. It’s the way she sounded as she came all over my tongue and the feel of her legs pressing together around my head.
And she knows it, too. She wouldn’t have sent me that picture otherwise.
It’s not unusual for Sidney to send me pictures of her projects, but there isn’t a single petal to be seen, just her hand holding a mug of coffee, resting on top of the desk.
In the very corner, I can see a pair of legs, and the hem of her short denim skirt.
Fucking tease.
I type my response quickly and then lock my phone, placing it screen down so I can get a grip on myself. She makes me damn crazy. She always has, and while I fucking love it, there is a time and a place. Getting a raging hard on at work is neither.