Dirty Talk Page 5

  “I’m glad,” I reply honestly. “You think you’ll make All-Pro again?”

  “Pretty sure,” Jacob says with a smile. “You coming to the game tomorrow? Season kick-off.”

  I nod, grinning. “It’s a hell of a drive, but no way I’m missing it. Already pre-recorded my show for tomorrow. It’ll be an all-write-in show so that I can watch my boy get his ass whooped.”

  Jacob laughs. “Fuck you, man. You know I’m going to be having a party in the backfield.”

  “I hope you party all fucking night long. I’ll be partying right with you if you do.”

  One of the benefits of being a radio celebrity is that my face isn’t as well-known as my name. So as I sit in prime seats, fifty yard line, two rows up, right behind the players, I’m pretty anonymous. If I yelled, Jacob could probably hear me, but I won’t distract him like that because he’s at work.

  The game is close coming out of halftime, and the tension strums through the stadium. I can see Jacob stretching his shoulder subtly as he leans low to keep his hamstrings warm and loose. He’ll be going out with the defense to start the second half and there’s a bounce in his step that reminds me how much I loved playing ball.

  It started when I was only four years old, throwing a miniball around with my dad, watching games, or at least highlights, since what four year old can sit through a three-hour football game when there were cartoons around, but I loved pretending I was one of the guys on the big TV in our living room.

  When I was six, Dad started me with peewee flag ball, the ball damn-near the size of my head. In some ways, I was lucky. Spending four years playing flag allowed me to learn and understand the movements of the game without taking hits. Not that it started that way. For my first year, it seemed every snap the play turned into everyone being directionless ants, running around the field and sometimes generally toward someone who had the ball.

  Once I got into sixth grade, he let me play a year of Pop Warner ball before junior high started, and the games got more serious. I learned to appreciate the smell of sweaty plastic and to listen for the sound of my parents in the stands, cheering for me. They never, ever missed a game.

  It was during the last game of my junior year that I jacked up my knee. I was playing fullback and linebacker for my team—we were that sort of small school. A chop block on my blind side, two pops, and I was down on the grass with a lot of my dreams strained but not yet shattered.

  The surgery wasn’t much, a quick repair to my meniscus,

  some therapy, and I would’ve been good to go for my senior year. But while it healed, I reported on the playoffs for the little in-school TV program, and I was gone, hook, line, and sinker.

  Sure, I played my senior year. I’d put too much into the team and too much time with my boys to just let it go like that. But I didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe football like I did before. Dad was disappointed at first, but I’d shown him how serious I was, even interning the summer after I graduated with our local news station as a gopher guy, running for coffees and making copies just so I could be in the excitement of the whole process.

  Sitting in my seat, enjoying the late summer breeze and sunshine, watching Jacob and his team fight for victory, pushing their bodies to the limits . . . there’s a part of me that wants to be out there. But knowing that they’ll be traveling in a few days just to do it all again doesn’t make me miss playing.

  Maybe I miss reporting sports, but not the actual playing. It was fun to be able to get to know and to watch the athletes, and hell, it was a lot of fun to be paid to watch. Then again, I had a lot of late nights trying to cram a story in to meet a deadline. The job I’ve got now is a pretty sweet gig, and I can always watch the game without playing or reporting on them. I can be casual and have fun with it now.

  The second half kickoff soars through the air, and I sit forward, cheering as Jacob snugs his chinstrap tight. He jogs out onto the field, ready to defend his house.

  In this instance, better him than me.

  Chapter 6

  Kat

  I pick up my phone for what feels like the hundredth time, my thumb hovering over Derrick’s name in my contacts. Since last night’s show, all I can do is think about how much I want all the things he described, want to experience them with his silky voice making me putty in his arms.

  But even as I’m about to call, I know deep down that although it felt like he was speaking directly to me, that’s just his shtick. It’s his job to answer the relationship and sex questions, use his sexy voice to get all the female listeners hot and bothered, and maybe add a little shock factor to keep folks tuning in day after day, week after week.

  I was able to hold out for hours simply because of the announcement at the top of his show that he wasn’t taking calls. It’s a recorded show, so he may not even be around.

  But as the evening’s worn on, I can’t help but think that maybe he’d want to take a call from me. Even as I admit it’s a stupid move, sure to end in disappointment, I just have to find out. I’m curious if he used our conversation as inspiration for his show, if he was talking to me, maybe even just a little bit subconsciously.

  It rings a few times and I’m on the edge of losing my nerve and hanging up when he picks up the line, his smooth voice instantly putting me at ease. “Kitty Kat. I was hoping I’d hear from you again.”

  I notice that he knew who I was before I even said anything. That must mean he programmed my number into his phone, right?

  I take a second to calm myself so I can sound casual and cool, even as my brain keeps jumping to conclusions that he must have really wanted to hear from me. I clear my throat before answering. “Hey, Derrick. I wanted to apologize for freaking out on you the other night. I wasn’t expecting that and I handled it like a jumpy virgin instead of the smooth, mature seductress I am.”

  I hope he hears the sarcasm in my voice because I’m so far from smooth and mature, it’s actually laughable. Despite having a sex drive that I think is pretty respectable, I’m no queen of the bedroom either, even if I have desires to the contrary. Hell, the last time I gave Kevin a blowjob was months ago, and he nearly put my eye out when I jumped back because he came without warning me first.

  I’m good with swallowing, but it’s considered polite to give a girl a little head tap as a warning so she can catch a breath first. Instead, I ended up sputtering, my left eye burning from a blast right in the eyeball and a rug burn on my ass that stuck around for a week. So yeah, I’m totally smooth and mature. Not. I mentally sigh at my lack of game.

  Derrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly, and it makes me feel like not only does he see through my sarcasm, but he’s ready to have fun with it. “I feel like you’re making fun of yourself here, but I’d be willing to bet that’s more true than you realize. You just need a partner you feel safe with to explore how smooth . . . or rough . . . you’d like to be.”

  Two sentences. Just two sentences, and hearing the implied challenge, my body’s instant response is a resounding ‘yes, yes, yes.’ I decide to be coy, adding a flirty tone to my voice. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I do just need the right guy. Do you happen to know anyone?”

  There’s flirty and then there’s jumping in the deep end, and I’m definitely jackknifing about two inches above the surface as I wait with bated breath to see if this really is as deep as he’s letting on or if I’m going to crack my head open and have to back out in total shame.

  I hear him swallow, the gulp audible through the line in the prolonged moment before he growls in my ear, turning my knees to jelly and my nipples to diamonds. “Where are you right now, Kitty Kat?”

  I stammer, shocked that I’m brave enough, horny enough, or stupid enough to be doing this. But fuck, I need him like I need air right now, even if all I really know is his voice. “At home. I–I worked from home today.”

  I have a flash of a thought that maybe he’s going to demand to come over, and that seems a little too real even as my pussy flutters in exci
tement at the idea. Still, my nerves are screaming, waiting for his response. “Good, good,” he says, making me lick my lips. “I just got home too. Go to your bedroom for me.”

  With a tinge of regret mixed with excitement, I realize that I’ve never told him my address. He can’t come over unless I tell him. This is something different, something I’ve never done before, but as much as I want him and need him, I’m completely on board even if I am feeling in over my head a bit already.

  I try to reassure myself. I’m a grown ass woman and this isn’t all that unusual, if Elise can be believed. I can do this. Worst-case scenario, I make a fool of myself, hang up, and never talk to him again. Best-case, this could be just what I need. There’s no worries about a relationship here. Intimate, but totally secure because it’s casual. There’s no concerns of whether he’s going to cheat on me because there’s no commitment to be more than just this. Faceless, no strings, just his velvet voice softening all the anger and disappointment from the last few weeks, getting me off and making my pussy throb in the best of ways. Resolving myself to go through with this, I feel a thrill of excitement rush through me.

  Walking quickly down the hall to my room, I sink into the fluffiness of my soft white comforter, perching on the edge of the bed. “I’m here. What about you? Where are you?”

  There’s a sound in the background of someone walking, then a settling sound before Derrick replies. “I’m in my bedroom. I’m lying back on my bed, propped up on the pillows. What are you wearing?”

  I look down at my dowdy work-from-home outfit of a tank top and Winnie the Pooh pajama pants that’s decidedly unsexy, and I decide to lie. I don’t want to kill the mood. “I’m wearing a sexy pajama set with little boy shorts and a crop top. The boy shorts keep riding up, showing more and more of my ass.”

  Derrick laughs a bit, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Kitty Kat, I don’t want you to create some fake story about what you think is sexy. Right here in this moment, all I’m thinking about is you and what’s real. What do you really have on?”

  I smirk, knowing I’m busted but somehow, the fact that he wants the truth puts me at ease and sends another little flutter through my belly. “Loose pajama pants and a black tank top. But . . .” I bite my lip, letting the tease build for a split second before continuing, “I don’t have a bra on. The girls are free, perky under my favorite black tank.”

  “Mmm, that’s more like it. A natural woman is always better than some fantasy,” Derrick says, making my breath catch. Does he understand that he’s a fantasy himself right now? If he does, he’s not letting on. “How big are your tits? Small little handfuls, medium ripe melons, or large mouthfuls I can bury my face in and feast upon until my lips ache? Be real.”

  I look down, knowing that I’m curvy in all the right places, but I want to do this right, whatever the hell that means. “They’re definitely more than a handful. I wouldn’t say they’re huge, but I’d love for you take in a mouthful and suck and lick them.”

  I can hear the tension in Derrick’s voice at my little secret, and he hums for a moment. I can imagine him adjusting himself, picturing me in his head. “Take your shirt off and tease your nipples so they’re stiff and achy for me.”

  As I do what he asks, a small sigh escapes my mouth, and I know he heard it. “That’s it, Kitty Kat. Imagine your hands are mine, running through your cleavage and pinching those needy nipples.” I whimper, rolling my left nipple between my fingers and watching the dark pink nub turn almost red. “Soothe the shock of pain away. You’re not gonna hurt yourself. Just enough to let the sensations mix.”

  I keep rubbing, arching my back into my own hands as I flip it on him. I love feeling the warm touch of fingers on my skin, but I want more. “Your turn. Take your shirt off.”

  He chuckles, adjusting himself by the sound of it. “Already done, Kitty Kat. I took my shirt off when I told you to.”

  Feeling bold, I follow up, my knees parting on their own as I undo the bow tie at the waistband of my pants. “All right, move your hands down your chest and belly to your waist. What kind of pants do you have on?”

  There’s the sound of a belt buckle being released, and in my mind’s eye, I can see it, black leather and shiny as it dangles from the belt loops. “Black denim Levi’s.”

  Black denim? Holy shit, he knows just what to say. “Slip them down and off.”

  There’s a rustle on his end of the line, then his voice comes back strong. “Kat, I’d ask if I should take my underwear off too, but it seems that the same way you were letting your tits free, I’m commando over here too.”

  The thought of him lying naked in his bed is doing crazy things to my head and especially to my body. I smile to myself, knowing I want to push him the way he pushed me with his questions about my breasts. My pussy flutters in my panties as I mewl like a kitten, hungry for him.

  “Is your cock just enough to fill me up, maybe more than I can handle, or a monster I’m gonna choke on?”

  I know I hit my mark when he groans, and I can almost imagine him reaching down, holding himself and trying not to stroke. “I bet you could handle me. I’d stuff you so full of cock you’d feel places touched that you never even knew existed . . . but something tells me you could handle everything I could dish out. Am I right?”

  “I’m no extra-small, teeny tiny thing,” I admit. “Is that a problem?”

  Derrick purrs, and when he speaks up, his voice is raspy, thick with desire. “No, I like a woman with some curves, hips I can dig in and hold on to. I’m stroking it for you now, up and down my shaft, spreading out my precum and thinking about your pink pussy, imagining how wet you are right now. Slide those pajama pants off for me, Kat.”

  I do as he says, settling back against the pillows as he tells me to spread my legs wide and trace my fingers across my heated pussy.

  “God, Derrick, I’m already so wet. My panties are . . . fuck, you’ve got me soaked. Your words, your voice . . .” I trail off as the pleasure gets too intense for my brain to multitask, my focus gathering on the slide of my fingers across the drenched cotton.

  “Slide your panties to the side. Let me help you make that beautiful pussy feel good. That’s the way your whole body should feel, Kitty Kat. So good and ready . . . ready for more. Rub from top to bottom. Let your fingers spread your honey all over your lips and up to your clit. Tell me how that feels, Kat.”

  When my fingers find the bundle of nerves, I can’t hold back the moan, which rises until I can barely breathe. “Mmm, right there. Derrick, what are you doing to me? How does it feel so good with your voice washing over me, telling me what to do? Are you touching yourself still? I want you to feel this with me. Stroke your cock slow and tight.”

  Derrick’s moan is deep, rumbling and making my fingers speed up a little. “Fuck, yes, I’m touching myself. Your breathy sighs and moans are so damn sexy. I’m imagining it’s your hand stroking me. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out when I know your needy pussy wants me to fill it up. Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up?”

  Incoherent, I moan, but he hears my meaning loud and clear, and I can hear his breath quicken. “Slip your fingers inside for me. Imagine it’s my cock thrusting into you, every thick inch stretching you and taking you right to the edge.”

  I do as instructed, my palm grinding on my clit with every press of my fingers inside. “Fuck, Derrick . . . yes, fuck me just like that.”

  My hips are bucking, helping my hand, and I ride so close to the edge. I know the sounds I’m making are guttural, but they’re out of my control and Derrick is echoing them back in my ear, taking his pleasure as I find mine.

  “Faster, Derrick. Fuck your hand like you’d fuck my pussy, pounding into me hard, bottoming out deep inside me.” I pant, barely holding on. “I’m about to come, and I want you to come with me.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice and the tension in his breathing. “Kitty Kat, I’ve been holding back as much as I can, letti
ng you get there. As soon as I hear the sounds of you coming, I’m a fuckin’ goner. I’m gonna nut all over my hand an instant after you come on yours. Together.”

  In my mind, I picture him pumping his hard cock, his eyes squeezed tight and tension through every muscle as he holds onto the edge for me. I can see him shiny with precum dripping down his shaft and wanting me, and his stomach muscles are tensed, ridged under his skin with the repressed power inside him.

  I hear him growl at me. “Kat . . .” And it feels like a warning that he’s reached his threshold. When I imagine his come coating his hand as it rushes out of his cock, it’s all I can take. The orgasm crashes over me in waves, the cries loud even to my own ears.

  Faintly in the background of my climax, I hear Derrick’s grunts and know he’s coming with me. I tease it out as long as I can, eventually forced into taking a big breath to settle my body from the intense release.

  “Wow,” I half whisper in total wonder. That was the most intense orgasm of my life, to the point I can almost feel a cramp developing somewhere in my hips because I was bucking so hard and squeezing so tightly. “That was . . . you’re fucking amazing.”

  Derrick laughs, and I’d feel bad except . . . he’s out of breath just like me, and I know he’s just as shaken as I am. “Mmm, yes it was. You sound surprised. Have you ever had phone sex before?”

  I shake my head before remembering that he can’t see me, and I giggle lightly. “No. Never. But definitely checking that off my bucket list now.”

  “How about you don’t mark it off, and maybe we can do that again?” Derrick asks.

  “I might take you up on that,” I reply, biting my lip. Late-night sessions with the Love Whisperer? Lucky me.

  There’s a moment of comfortable silence before my brain kicks in and I remember why I called in the first place. Well, I remember the excuse I used to justify calling. “Hey, can I ask you something?”