be certain he wasn't imagining it.
"Just guessing," she said.
"I've got you sussed. You're the kind of man who has a phone by the bed."
"Well guessed," Tony said.
"OK. I'm going to put the phone down and I'll pick up in the bedroom." He replaced the receiver and hurried through to his study, where he switched the answering machine over to 'record' mode. Then he picked up the phone again.
"Hello? I'm back,"
he said.
"Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin." Again that low, sexy chuckle.
"We are going to have some real fun tonight. Wait till you hear what I've got lined up for you tonight. Oh, Anthony," she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.
"I've been dreaming about you. Imagining your hands on my body, running your fingers over my skin."
"What are you wearing?" Tony asked. It was, he knew, the standard question.
"What would you like me to be wearing? I have an extensive wardrobe."
Tony bit back the crazy urge to say,
"Fishermen's waders, a tutu and a rain mate He swallowed hard and said,
"Silk. You know how I like the feel of silk."
"That's why you love my skin. I take a lot of trouble to keep myself in perfect condition. But just for you, I've covered some of my skin with silk. I'm wearing a pair of black silk French knickers and a sheer black silk camisole. Oh, I love the feeling of silk against my body. Oh, Anthony," she groaned.
"The silk's rubbing against my nipples, gently, like your fingers would. Oh, my nipples are hard as rocks, sticking up, inflamed with you."
In spite of himself. Tony began to feel the stirrings of interest.
She was good, no two ways about it. Most of the women he'd heard on the chat lines had sounded stale and bored, their responses predictable and stereotypical. Nothing in their conversations had aroused anything other than scientific interest in him. But Angelica was different. For one thing, she sounded like she meant it.
She moaned softly.
"God, I'm wet," she breathed.
"But you can't touch me yet, you've got to wait. Just lie back, that's a good boy. Oh, I love to undress you. I've got my hands under your shirt, my fingers are running over your chest, stroking you, touching you, feeling your nipples under my fingers. God, you're wonderful," she sighed.
"That's nice," Tony said, enjoying the caress of her voice.
"That's just the beginning. Now I'm straddling you, unbuttoning your shirt. I'm leaning over you, my nipples inside the silk brushing against your chest. Oh, Anthony!" her voice exclaimed in pleasure.
"You really are pleased to see me, aren't you? You're hard as a rock underneath me. Oh, I can't wait to get you inside me."
Her words froze Tony. The erection he'd felt hardening inside his trousers died like a snowflake in a puddle. They were there again.
"I
think I'm going to disappoint you," he said, his voice cracking.
That sexy chuckle again.
"No way. You're already more than I dreamed. Oh, Anthony, touch me. Tell me what you want to do to me."
Tony could find no words.
"Don't be shy, Anthony. There are no secrets between us, nowhere we can't go. Close your eyes, let the feelings flow. Touch my breasts, go on, suck my nipples, eat me, let me feel your hot wet mouth all over me."
Tony groaned. This was almost more than he could bear, even in the interests of science.
Angelica's voice was more breathy now, as if her words were arousing her as much as they should have been arousing him.
"That's right, oh God, Anthony, that's wonderful. Oh-oh-oh," she said in a shuddering moan.
"See, I told you I was wet. That's right, plunge your fingers deep into my cunt. Oh God, you're the best ... Let me ... let me, oh God, let me get at you."
Tony heard the sound of a zipper down the phone line. "Angelica ..."
he started to say. It was falling apart again, just as it always did, spiralling out of control like a wounded bird.
"Oh, Anthony, you're beautiful. That's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. Oh, let me taste you ..." Her voice tailed off with the sound of sucking.
The blood rushed to Tony's face in a sudden wave of shame and anger.
He slammed the phone down and immediately took it off the hook again.
Jesus, what kind of a man couldn't even get it up over the phone? And what kind of scientist couldn't divorce his own pathetic failings from the exercise of objective data collection?
Chapter 8
The worst of it was, he recognized his own