Vanilla On Top by C.J. Ellisson Page A

buzzed and out of sorts. To get to the company apartment facing Central Park, I have to pass by Heather’s place. Thinking of her again has me digging in my pocket, searching for my phone. Maybe she returned my texts or called me.
    Three missed texts. Dammit! The first one came from Heather around five. It’s not you. I love the shoes. Thank you.
    The next text from seven o’clock causes my cock to stir. I have the boots on, want to come over?
    The third one came in twenty minutes ago and has me ready to chuck my phone across the street. It’s getting late. I’m going to bed.
    Fuck! I didn’t hear the text message signals in my pocket. I should have taken out the phone and left it on the damn bar. Fool. I storm the rest of the way back to my place after sending her a brief text: Sorry to miss your texts. Will call tomorrow.
    Even with her quirky behavior of walking out of the store—I want this woman. It’s time I try a little seduction and get her feeling the same way.

Chapter Seven
    Heather
    I get ready for bed, thinking back to my Irish exit at the shoe store earlier today. Who runs out when a man wants to spend over two thousand dollars on her? Wait, what does a man expect when he gives someone such an expensive gift?
    Would a man expect you to sleep with him or give him head over an extravagant gift? My skin heats at the thought of getting on my knees and sucking Tony to show him just how much I liked the shoes. I’d tease him ‘til he was ready to beg, and then maybe I’d let him come.
    I smile at the wicked thoughts, happy to dream about them.
    It is such a rush calling the shots. I like this new me, or at least, this pretend new me. What would a strong bitch who likes sex do? My mind races as I conjure suitable diva-like images in my head. I bet she ’ d have her own sex toys and never rely on a man to satisfy her.
    I grab my laptop, snuggle up in the cold king-size bed an old boyfriend insisted I buy, and start to shop. The dizzying choices of styles and colors of dildos leave me confused. Reviews might be a good place to start. I pick a slim black dildo and then select a cock ring with an extra loop to fit over the man’s balls. If half of the reviews are accurate, then it might be a fun choice for teasing Tony beyond normal control.
    I can be the racy woman who lights his soul on fire. I can be the sexy kitten who knows more than she lets on. I click on some Better Sex videos, hoping to gain a few tricks to really enthrall him.
    You ’ re doing it, again. You’re trying to snare a man by being what he wants.
    Shut up! I will not end up alone.
    I finish my purchase and close my computer. Am I really trying to do what he wants if I want it, too? I want to be more sexual. I want to learn more. I don’t think this is the same as my destructive behavior in the past, and as I slip under the covers, only Tony’s look of sheer sexual bliss fills my mind.
    I want him. And I want him bad.
    I toss and turn for an hour before falling into an uncomfortable dream state. My mind conjures Tony’s hot mouth, kissing me all over, exploring parts of my body with his tongue no one’s ever touched. His knowledgeable hands follow and soon I’m writhing on my sheets, an orgasm about to break on the horizon.
    I wake with a startled gasp, a fine sheen of sweat covering my body and a dull ache between my legs, begging for relief.
    My heart gives a painful squeeze when I realize I’m still alone—my big bed mocking me with all its extra space. Maybe I should get a dog. Then I’d have someone next to me at night.
    I snuggle back down, covering myself with only the sheet, still too keyed up and hot for the light blanket. Images of his smile and caramel colored eyes burn a path of want straight to my crotch. Frustrated and aroused, I reach between my thighs, testing my readiness with one slim finger.
    Slick wetness greets my exploring digit, clinging to my skin and allowing a gentle friction to begin. I drag the moisture