IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(42)

NotSam: He’s tall.





I waited for more.

Wells: That’s it?





He let out a frustrated breath. Then he hunched over his phone and started typing. And typing. To the point that I began getting nervous.

NotSam: Fine. His eyes are that crystalline blue that seems impossible and wildly unfair they’re so beautiful. I used to think they were cold but then the sun hits them and… I don’t know. It’s like standing on the edge of a boat in the middle of the ocean and staring down into the water and realizing that below you is a depth greater than you could ever comprehend and it’s full of so much beauty and life that no one’s ever seen before and if you just dove in… maybe… maybe you could catch a glimpse of it and you think maybe you should just jump but then you remember that the ocean is a dangerous place and more than likely it will kill you instead.





I stared at the words. Somehow, it had become difficult to breathe. It took everything I had not to look up, not to want to stare at him until his eyes met mine. And then what?

I didn’t know the answer to that question.

NotSam: Also I’m fairly certain he has a rockin’ bod if the way his suits fit is any indication.





And just like that, the tension of his previous text dissipated. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Wells: Would you fuck him if he asked?





Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Conor’s hands freeze. He glanced toward me and then away, his top teeth worrying his bottom lip. He typed out an answer and then stared at his phone for a long moment before deleting it. My heart pounded. Suddenly that answer meant everything to me.





15





Conor





I stared at my phone, the last text reverberating through my head. Would I fuck Wells Grange if he asked? My feelings about that were different after having spent the day with him. I snuck a glance at the man, the tips of my ears searing with embarrassment from even considering such a question. He sat on the other side of the table, his coat off and tie loose, shirt cuffs rolled up to reveal strong wrists and tanned forearms dusted with hair. He worked on a laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, his focus on the task at hand absolute, completely unaware that only a few feet away I was imagining what he would look like naked. What it would feel like to have his hands caress down the front of my shirt. Then lower. Sliding my belt free, flicking open the button, reaching inside…

I cleared my throat and shifted in my chair. His eyes flicked toward me, and I had a moment’s disorientation. I’d been telling the truth when I’d described his eyes like the ocean. They promised depth but also danger, and both were equally titillating and terrifying. And they were so, so easy to get lost in.

“Is something up?” he asked. I hadn’t noticed his hands pausing on his keyboard.

The same hands I’d been picturing around my cock seconds earlier. My cheeks flamed and I glanced away. Of course something was up, I wanted to shout at him. My fucking dick!

Instead I said, “Up? Me? No.” I forced a laugh that came out as a squeak. “I’m down, totally down. But in a good way, like the slang way. Not the sad or depressed way. Like, I’m cool. Normal. Totally fine.”

A small smile curled his lips and he dipped his head, returning to work.

Trace: You’re taking a long time to answer the question. It should be a yes or no—does the idea of his cock in your mouth appeal to you?





Conor: He’s a potential business partner. I shouldn’t be thinking about him in that way at all.





Trace: But you have, haven’t you?





I ground my teeth together. Yes, of course I’d thought of him that way. It was impossible not to, especially after this afternoon.

Conor: Why does it matter?





Trace: Because I want you to imagine he’s me.





No way I read that correctly.

Conor: What?





Trace: Imagine the man sitting across from you is me. And tell me, in detail, what you would do to me. What you would want me to do to you.





I swallowed a helpless squeak. I couldn’t help it—I glanced toward Wells. He was frowning at the computer screen, so rigidly focused I doubt he even realized I was still in the room. My heart began pounding harder as I thought about what it would be like if Wells Grange were my sexy stranger.

If all those sessions of him telling me what to do, all those photos of that gorgeous cock, belonged to him.

Of course it was a preposterous idea. My sexy stranger may be controlling when it came to sex, but he was also caring and interesting. It wasn’t always just about him the way it was with Wells.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t imagine Wells’s body—use him for my fantasy. Indulge in what it would be like to fuck him. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had such thoughts.

I let out a trembling breath and tried to keep my fingers from shaking as I struggled with what to write. Where to begin.

Conor: You would lean back in your chair, your hands clasped behind your head casually. And you would tell me to stand up. You would order me around the table until I was standing in front of you. You’d make me stand there a minute while your eyes traced over me. Then you’d tell me to drop to my knees.