Vanilla On Top by C.J. Ellisson Page B

up to coat the rigid pearl of my desire, twirling in a tight circular motion when I find it. Slowly I rub, building the pace as my senses soar closer to a peak. I picture Tony on his knees, tickling me with the tip of his tongue and explode with my release. It hits me fast and hard, wringing the breath from my lungs. The frantic excitement from the dream leaves me and finally I drift off to sleep, still thinking of Tony and his sweet, sweet eyes.
    The next morning I check my texts, and sure enough, I see I missed one from Tony. Looks like it arrived after I climbed into bed. Part of me, the part that dreamed of him last night, wishes he’d called instead. Well, at least he didn ’ t read my offer to come over while the boots were on and purposely ignore me. I text back, Okay, so he’ll know I received it.
    The pretty red shoes with the shiny metallic heel call to me from their box. I choose my outfit carefully, a floral print skirt with a red top. I’m no stranger to wearing heels this high at the office, but have worn nothing this blatantly sexy before. Are they appropriate for the CFO ’ s assistant? I snort, for once not caring, and slip the red leather onto my feet.
    If I want to be the part then I guess I should start living it a little more. I take extra time with my hair, styling it the way I did on Sunday that turned so many heads. This time, using the rollers only results in burning my index finger once. A good sign in my book.
    My phone beeps with an incoming text as I leave for the elevator. It’s from Tony. Care to have a late dinner with me tonight?
    My heart beats faster as the doors whoosh shut and the elevator descends. What do I type back? Should I call him? Crap, I really need a guide on how to text like a sexy diva. Will agreeing to his request make me seem too eager? How late is he talking about anyway? That might be the best thing to find out first.
    What time?
    His response bings as I step onto the sidewalk. Is he in the office already or texting me from home? The thought of him sipping coffee in a terry-cloth robe brings a surge of salvia to my mouth. Yum.
    9:00?
    I wrinkle my nose. Who the hell eats that late on a work night? Maybe not agreeing will put me back in the driver’s seat. Geez, I really wish I knew what the eff I was doing. I hustle the rest of the way to work, conscious of the looks I’m getting along the way.
    Damn, these shoes really do look hot. I catch sight of my reflection in a passing shop window and smile.
    The more I think about it, the more I think accepting a dinner that late makes me look too available and willing, both of which I desperately am. I arrive at my building and ride the elevator to Parkerson’s floor, hoping a plausible reason for declining will come to me.
    The office is barely inhabited when I step through the doors at quarter to eight. Only the higher-ups and ambitious ones like me report this early. And I’ve found my mother’s advice regarding clothes applies to most things in life: if you want to get ahead you need to act like it.
    I settle at my desk and check my phone again. A small, secret smile graces my face as I open up the message. Is that too late?
    My grin broadens when I think of the doubt whirling around in his mind. Good, it means he wants me.
    My elbow jostles my mouse, causing my calendar to open. A reminder for tomorrow pops up. I’ve got to attend a meeting with my boss, Harvey, with Apollo Enterprises a few floors up. That one will take some prep work, I bet. Perfect excuse!
    I text Tony back, Work obligations on Tuesday. Don’t want to be out too late.
    I refrain from staring at my phone, willing it to beep with a text back from him. If I keep this up I’ll never get anything done, and then Harvey would be in a major bind. He’s got a lunch meeting later with Paul and some bigwigs from Apollo. I cringe inside, knowing this will probably be a liquid lunch for Harvey and he’ll be in no shape to talk business when he