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  before looking back at me. "I'm glad you liked it."

  "It's a classic. What's not to like?"

  Eric shrugged and leaned back against the couch, one arm

  stretched out along the back. His fingers could have

  touched my shoulder if he'd stretched half an inch more.

  Neither of us moved.

  "Some of the women I've known…most of them, actualy,

  don't get Monty Python. Don't like it." He shook his head.

  "So when you said you loved it, I wasn't sure you meant

  it."

  I studied him. Many things had brought us to this point.

  Too many to discount as coincidence or chance. There

  was a reason I was here, I believed it in my gut.

  "You thought maybe I was lying?" I didn't ease myself

  closer to him, but I turned my body in his direction. "Why

  would I do that?"

  He laughed, self-conscious, and scrubbed the back of his

  head with a hand. "I'm not saying you're lying, no. Just that

  maybe you were—"

  "Lying." I laughed. "To impress you, maybe?"

  Eric ducked his head but shot me a glance. "Something

  like that. I don't know."

  Today you will know you are strong and beautiful.

  Advice meant for him, but I'd taken it, too. The difference

  was, I knew something of what he'd been doing and living

  the past few weeks, and he had no clue about me.

  There was such power in that.

  "You have an awfuly high opinion of yourself, Eric." My

  "You have an awfuly high opinion of yourself, Eric." My

  voice came out different. Lower and sultry. It was the

  voice of a woman who had never believed she was

  anything but strong and beautiful, and I saw how he heard

  it.

  He sat up straighter. It was subtle, but I noticed. "You're

  right. I shouldn't have assumed."

  I wasn't sure what I saw in Eric's eyes, only that I wasn't

  ready for it. I made it different with a laugh and a pat to his

  arm. "It's okay. I'm just teasing you."

  "Right." He laughed, too, but I glimpsed something like

  disappointment on his face, so brief I couldn't be sure it

  had been there.

  I made a show of looking at the clock and getting up. "This

  was great, but it realy is getting late."

  He was up, too, seconds after me. "Right. Yes."

  He walked me to the door, al prim-and-proper-like, and

  there I stopped and turned to face him. "Thanks for inviting

  me."

  Now would have been a good time to kiss me, but he

  Now would have been a good time to kiss me, but he

  didn't do it. I didn't lean to kiss him, either, though I could

  have. I wanted to. I didn't believe for one second he'd turn

  me down. And I didn't choke, either, dithering at the last

  second about what he might think of me or whether he'd

  cal me the next day if I gave it up to him tonight.

  I didn't kiss him because I had the power to decide which

  way this went. Hours before I'd lain on my bed and

  touched myself, thinking it might be his hands. I thought of

  doing that now, when I went upstairs. How I'd undress

  myself and make myself come pretending it was his fingers

  and mouth on my tits and clit, my cunt and ass. Or maybe

  I'd think of Austin.

  Hel, maybe I'd think of Brad Pitt.

  I didn't kiss Eric because he was waiting for me to do it. I

  saw it in his eyes and the part of his lips, the cock of his

  hip as he leaned against the doorway with one hand up

  high and the other hooked in his belt loop. He wanted me

  to kiss him, but I knew about him what he didn't know

  about me.

  I knew he wanted to be told what to do.

  "Good night, Eric," I said.

  And I didn't give him what he wanted.

  Chapter 19

  There was an actual voice-mail message waiting for me on

  my cel when I got home.

  "Paige. It's me. I'm bored. Why don't you come over? Cal

  me."

  The cal had come in only ten minutes ago, and I wasn't

  sure if I wanted to laugh or curse at Austin. It was after

  10:00 p.m. on a work night.

  "Your booty-cal skils need improving," I said before he

  could do more than say helo.

  "I knew you'd cal."

  "You know shit, Austin."

  "What were you doing?" He sounded sleepy, and I hoped

  I'd woken him.

  "I was on a date." It was only half a lie. It hadn't been an official date, but it had been with another man. It would

  infuriate him to hear it. He didn't have to know we hadn't

  even kissed.

  even kissed.

  "Couldn't have been a very good date if you're home

  already."

  He had a point. "How do you know I'm home? Maybe I'm

  just only now answering my phone."

  "Couldn't be a very good date if you're talking to me."

  He had another point, but I wasn't going to concede it.

  "Why do you want me to come over? It's late."

  "Is it?" He yawned. "I hadn't noticed. Anyway, you're stil awake. And I'm up. Come over."

  "I'm not coming over."

  "You're not hanging up, either."

  I gave him enough silence to make him think otherwise, but

  damn him, Austin knew me too wel. He'd discovered

  patience, it seemed, whereas I'd lost mine. "If you were

  realy that interested, you should've caled me before now."

  "I was giving you your space."

  Phone clamped to my ear, I was halfway to my bedroom

  when his words brought me up short. He sounded sincere,

  and it kiled me that without being able to read his face, I

  couldn't tel if he was putting me on. "How very Lifetime

  Channel of you."

  "What are you wearing?"

  "How very Playboy Channel," I said, and my breath

  hitched.

  By the time I reached my bed I was already unbuttoning

  my jeans. When I lay back I cradled the phone against my

  shoulder to slide the denim over my hips. My panties came

  down, too, and I kicked them off. The comforter was

  chily under my skin at first, but warmed quickly. I roled,

  reaching for my nightstand drawer, and stopped with my

  hand on the knob.

  "Are you naked? Tel me you're naked."

  I found the smal bottle of lube and my bulet vibrator, not

  the one that could land aircraft. I sat on the edge of the

  bed to pul them from the drawer, and I stared down at the

  evidence of what I meant to do in my palm before I

  evidence of what I meant to do in my palm before I

  answered. "I'm not naked."

  "Liar." Austin's low laugh perked my nipples and parted

  my legs.

  "I have a shirt on."

  "I'm hard, Paige. And I'm naked."

  I closed my eyes to see him better. "What makes you think

  I care?"

  This stumped him for a second. In the past I'd been al

  about the phone sex. Sometimes we'd fucked more often

  on the phone than with our bodies. Before he could

  answer, I said, "Are you jerking your cock, Austin?"

  "Y-yeah."

  "Wel. I want you to stop."

  "Aw, Paige—"

  "You can't just cal me up and expect me to run right over

&nbs
p; and screw you, Austin. And you can't expect me to fuck

  you over the phone, either," I said, though I was thinking

  about doing just that. "We're not together anymore.

  Remember?"

  "That never mattered before." He sounded sulen, and I

  pictured his frown.

  I loved it.

  "It matters now." He had to hear my voice dip low and

  breathy, and he knew me wel enough to know what that

  meant. I just had to wait and see if he'd figure it out.

  "Fine. I'm sitting here with my dick ready to go and I'm not

  touching it. Is that what you want to hear?"

  I lay back again and twisted the end of the vibe to get it

  buzzing. Then I brought it to the phone and let him hear it.

  I took it away after a second.

  "Shit. Is that your vibrator?"

  "It is."

  "Let me come over, baby. I can make you feel better than

  a vibrator."

  "I'm hanging up on you now. And then I'm going to use this

  "I'm hanging up on you now. And then I'm going to use this

  vibrator until I come. But you're not."

  "Wel…fuck," he said miserably.

  "No." I laughed.

  "What the hel am I supposed to do?"

  I let the vibe tickle-tickle between my legs, then puled it

  away to stroke with a finger, which I preferred over the

  mechanical. "You're going to take a cold shower and go to

  bed."

  "What if I don't? What if just finish myself off right now?"

  A low, slow groan seeped from my lips. "You'l do what I

  just told you to do, and maybe, just maybe, the next time

  you cal me I'l let you come over and eat my pussy until I

  scream."

  Dead silence greeted this. My eyes, which had been

  languorously closed, flew open. Too far?

  "Uh…" Austin coughed. "Fucking hel, Paige!"

  Apparently not.

  Apparently not.

  "Good night, Austin," I said sweetly. "I'm going to get back to getting myself off now. Have a nice shower."

  "Paige, don't hang up!"

  But I did, because I could. Because there was power in

  that, too. And then I lay back and looked at the ceiling, my

  vibe stil abuzz in my fingers, and thought of Austin. And

  Eric. And then some nameless, faceless stranger who

  would do everything I wanted him to do without talking it

  to death first or ruining it after with words.

  My hands became his hands, running over my shirt and

  under to cup my breasts through the bra. Then under that

  to stroke and tweak my nipples. The vibe buzzed lower as

  I adjusted the setting and slid it between my legs, where I

  kept it clamped close to me by closing my thighs. I only

  wanted a tickle there, not a ful-on buzz.

  I'd used this vibe at the command of a note. I'd set it at the

  low speed and rubbed it on my clit and down over my lips.

  I'd rubbed it on my nipples, too. I'd brought myself close

  and eased off, then close again, but obeying the note, I

  hadn't made myself come.

  hadn't made myself come.

  What had Eric done?

  Had he spread his legs in the shower, leaning forward with

  a hand against the wal while the other pumped his prick

  slowly? Did he bend his head beneath the spray, eyes

  closed, picturing some nameless, faceless woman on her

  knees sucking his cock? Or maybe she had a name. Had a

  face. Maybe he had someone who made him crazy the

  way Austin made me.

  Or maybe he'd lain back on his bed the way I was, his

  hips thrusting upward into the cunt made of his curled fist.

  Maybe he'd spit into his palm to ease the way, or squirted

  a handful of lube. Maybe he stroked his bals at the same

  time as he stroked, twisting a little at the head and groaning

  at the pleasure.

  I groaned, thinking of it, imagining how thick his prick must

  be. How his pubic hair would be dark like the hair on his

  head. In my head inches didn't matter. Length and girth

  were a matter of sensation, of how his cock would fil my

  hands and mouth and pussy.

  I wanted something to fil me now but had only the bulet

  vibe and my fingers. My hips lifted, pressing my cunt into

  my hand. I didn't even need the lube, I was so wet. I

  sought my G-spot with one hand and stroked it, shivering

  as always from the gut-deep tingles that stimulation always

  gave me.

  Austin had always loved to watch me make myself come.

  Sometimes we'd pretend I didn't know he was there as I

  sat at my desk or lounged in our apartment's old claw-foot

  tub. I could come sometimes more from the way he

  watched me than by what my hand was doing. Now I

  could only imagine his eyes on me.

  I have a very good imagination.

  Two men filed my head. One was jerking his cock but not

  alowing himself to spil over into sweating, moaning

  climax. The other watched me from a shadowy doorway

  as I licked my fingertips and swirled them over my hard,

  tight clitoris. One was dark, the other golden, and both

  wanted me.

  I wanted both of them, too, and the realization washed

  over me as suddenly as my orgasm. Sweat tasted bitter on

  my upper lip when I licked it. My cunt bore down on my

  fingers and I came, hard. I opened my eyes as pleasure

  fingers and I came, hard. I opened my eyes as pleasure

  swarmed over me and swept me away. I shuddered with

  it, that pleasure, so familiar and yet so different, every time.

  It was al about control, in the end, and I had it.

  I didn't see Eric the next morning at the crush for the mail,

  but since I'd seen him every other place but the mailboxes

  I wasn't surprised. I held back for a lul, though, glad I did

  when I saw the familiar shape of a white note card waiting

  for me. I held my breath when I puled it out, more aware

  than ever of how wrong it was for me to read it.

  It didn't stop me. I shoved the other mail into my bag and

  slid the card from its envelope, my heart already pounding

  in anticipation of what I'd find today and how different it

  would seem now that I knew for whom the words were

  truly meant.

  "No." My mouth fel slack with the sound of disbelief and I stared harder at the card.

  I folded it shut as though it might change what I'd read, but

  as though they'd been written in flames, the words burned

  my fingers through the paper.

  No. No, no, no.

  This is your last list.

  It couldn't be. It shouldn't be. It was not alowed to be!

  You've done wel, though I think you understand you need

  more work on discipline. Should you desire further

  instruction and encouragement, I might consider continuing

  your service to me. But only if I see a ful commitment

  from you. You know how to get in touch with me.

  Don't feel yourself worthy of more of my time. Only I can

  decide that.

  Wow, and oh, no. I tucked the card back into the

  envelope and pressed it to my chest as I stepped aside to

  let the snotty woman who'd dismissed me several times

  before get to her mailbox. She gave me a
curious glance,

  but something in my face must have looked formidable

  enough that she glanced quickly away.

  I turned my back to the row of mailboxes with the note stil

  clutched to me. I wanted to cry. Or puke. I wanted to put

  the note back and pretend I hadn't read it.

  But instead, I did what I hadn't ever done before on

  purpose. I shoved it in my bag.

  I was keeping it.

  Paul wasn't in his office when I got to work, but that was

  fine. I didn't have time to worry about him this morning, or

  his lists that could never take the place of the one in my

  bag. I hadn't taken it out to look at it again, though I could

  remember each swirl and whirl of every letter and line.

  I made the coffee and set his cup by the pot with the sugar

  and powered creamer already in it. In his office I lit the

  desk lamp instead of the overheads that gave him a

  headache, and I puled up al the files he'd need to work

  on. I even set his radio, though not to the station he usualy

  chose but one with alternative pop instead of the soft-rock

  channel he usualy played.

  I did al of this without a list and not because I feared what

  would happen if he came in and found none of it done. I

  did it, simply, because Paul needed these things in order to

  be productive. If my boss was being productive, he would

  have less time to hover over me, and simply put, today I

  would not have been able to stand hovering.

  would not have been able to stand hovering.

  I fielded a few phone cals and settled some business by

  the time he breezed in with a frown.

  "Paige, I need coffee, please."

  I pointed to the counter. "It's al ready, Paul."

  "Thanks." He said it offhandedly, then looked at the mug

  and back at me. "Thank you, Paige."

  I nodded but didn't glance up from my files. I had a lot of

  work to do today and not enough attention to give him

  more than that. Most of my mind was stil caught up in

  what I was going to do without the lists. Paul disappeared

  into his office and shut the door, and I let out the sigh I'd

  been holding.

  Anger shook my fingers as I typed. What a fool Eric had

  been! He'd asked for discipline and from the start he'd

  made a mess of it! Turning in his essay late, not folowing

  the lists. Why had he bothered? Why had he wasted his

  mistress's time? Because there was no doubt in my mind

  any longer the sender of the notes had been a woman al

  along.

  Men weren't so eloquent. Men weren't so perfectly cold in