Page 55 of Sinclair Duet

“Not wrong. This isn’t about the campaign. This is about us. Send the damn picture.”

Us?

“Fine. I need to hang up.”

Disconnecting the call, I opened the camera on my phone and spun the lens toward me. As I pushed the button, I stuck out my tongue. No, it wasn’t a great picture. With a smile, I sent it to Damien.

Seconds later, my phone chimed. I hit the text message. “Oh my God.”

My skin warmed and core clenched as I looked at his picture. He also had his tongue sticking out. It wasn’t the picture that flooded my circulation with heat. It was the text message accompanying it:

“This iswhat I’ll be doing when you sit on my face, but my tongue will be covered with your sweet nectar and my ears will be filled with your screams of ecstasy. I’m hard thinking about it. Call and we can come together.”

Walking into my bedroom,I sat on my bed, his text message running on repeat in my mind. Lying back and against my better judgment, I hit the call button and brought the phone to my ear.

“I didn’t expect you to call,” he said with a chuckle to his deep tone.

“Are you saying those earlier demands are no longer in effect?”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I called to tell you that you’re inappropriate. I could take screenshots. HR would have a field day.”

“You don’t work for Sinclair,” he reminded me. “What I am is hard. My cock is out, and I’m fisting it right now.”

Warmth crawled up my neck to my cheeks. “Daamiien.” His name came out with extra syllables.

“Join me.”

“What? I can’t.” As I said the words, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the whirling ceiling fan. Instead, I was imagining what Damien was doing.

“I know for a fact you can.”

I had, just last night.

Chewing my lower lip, I waited as the heat within me built. It was a fire that moments ago didn’t exist and now, in mere minutes, was out of control.

“Talk to me, Ella. Tell me what you’re doing,” he demanded in a sultry tone.

“I’m going to bed. Just like I said.”

“Do you have panties on under those shorts?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Pull them down and finger yourself. Get your finger nice and wet.”

I considered what he was saying. “Are you really…?”

“Fuck,” he growled.

The images of last night became more vivid. I recalled the look on his face seconds before he came, seconds before his seed marked me. The primal beauty came back, the intensity of his gaze, and the way the tendons in his neck tightened. I pushed my shorts down and kicked them off.

“Talk to me, Ella.”

“My shorts are off.”

“Good girl. Is your finger dry?”

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