Pull You In (Rivers Brothers #3) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,2
was out of her element, because her unsatisfying man was in the next room.
It wasn't his place to judge.
It was his place to make sure he got her off.
Customer satisfaction and all that.
Not to mention what this job was doing for his ego. True, it didn't need much help to begin with, but it never hurt to get your ego stroked.
He certainly hadn't been getting anything else stroked lately.
What could he say?
The demand for his particular skill set took place at night. It put a crimp in his social life. But that was alright.
He was enjoying having a steady job in a consistent town.
"Are you thinking about my thick cock while you're fucking your pussy, baby?" he asked, shifting his legs off his desk, the friction the movement caused damn near enough to make him come too. "Turn your fingers around," he demanded. "Stroke over your top wall for me," he told her, hearing the catch in her breath when her fingertips grazed her G-spot. "Faster," he demanded as she got louder. "Come for me, baby. Come for me," he told her.
Just like that, she did, crying out, the sound like a stab of need in his cock.
He ended the call a moment later, standing up, raking a hand through his hair, hoping a little distance from the call might ease the need for release.
But when his cock stayed stubbornly upright, he put the away message on the phone for a couple minutes, making his way through the deserted office, closing himself in the bathroom.
He felt like some out of control, hormonal teenager as he reached into his pants, pulling out his cock.
But he was never going to be able to get through his shift with the sexual frustration like a live wire in his system.
Leaning back against the wall, he stroked himself with the sound of her in his ears, the idea of her in his mind, coming so hard that his vision blanked out for a long moment.
He cleaned up and went back to work, nervous about taking the next call.
But when it came, nothing happened.
Not on the next one, either.
Or the one after that.
In fact, it never happened.
Until it was her name on the call log again.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
ONE
Kate
You know what was pretty pathetic? The pile of self-help books on my nightstand.
Don't get me wrong; I was a firm believer in improving yourself, working through trauma, changing negative coping mechanisms, all that jazz.
What was embarrassing was the titles.
Things like—The Shy Girl's Guide to Social Confidence, and Small Talk for the Quiet Person. Worse yet were the few toward the top of the pile with titles like: Untangling Yourself After Divorce, Starting Over Again, and How To Have A Good First Date.
I don't know why I bothered buying those books. My issues with men started well before my eventual, idiotic, waste-of-time marriage that had been over for two solid years now. It wasn't like I was hung up on my ex or too wounded to move on.
I was just awkward.
Always had been.
Always, it seemed, would be.
No matter how many books I read on how to fix it. Or how many videos I watched. How many fake conversations I'd had in the mirror or the shower, coming up with sharp, witty, even funny responses to a multitude of things someone might say to me.
The problem was, when they actually did say something to me, I swear my tongue got fat and paralyzed in my mouth. The words refused to come out.
My childhood therapist called it a confidence issue. But even armed with that knowledge, I never seemed capable of shaking the problem. Not through school, my various attempts at college courses, only to realize not long after that I would never be able to do the career I was going to school for if I couldn't get a hold of the issue.
Not even working at "For A Good Time, Call..." where actual grandmothers would take phone calls and talk all sorts of nasty things could help bolster up my stumbling self-confidence.
At first blush, my job seemed ill-fitting. Not just because of the nature of the work taking place in the building, but because, as the front desk person, I was the "Face" of the company. I was who people saw when they came in the doors.
That said, though, it wasn't like we were an office building, a doctor's office, somewhere I would be seeing dozens of new faces every single day.