Page 30 of Bedroom Therapy

“No. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, then went a daring step further. “Very comfortable.”

“Well I am.”

The sound of his voice seemed to flow around her—warm and rich.

She liked it a lot. But she could still hang up, she told herself. She should hang up, because there was something distinctly indecent about this very intimate conversation conducted over the phone—with a man who was just down the hall. Any woman with high moral standards would gently click off and get back to real life.

She would have told one of her readers that this activity was only a fantasy. It was a substitute for reality, and it was no way to get into a relationship with a man she barely knew. Because it felt real, she didn’t take her own advice. Instead she gathered up her courage and said, “Are you hard?”

Amanda hardly breathed as she waited for Zachary’s answer. He had turned her on, and she needed to know that she was doing the same thing to him. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was sure he was aroused. But that wasn’t enough. She was sharing very intimate details with him, and she needed to hear him give her the same kind of trust. Otherwise, she’d know she was making a bad mistake.

“You know I’m hard,” he said, his voice thick.

She liked the way he said it, as though he were having trouble catching his breath.

“If you can ask me to touch my breasts, can I ask you to press your hand against . . . against your penis?”

“Oh yeah. You can do that.”

She knew from his indrawn breath that he’d followed her directions.

“Rock your hand back and forth,” she said. “The way I would if I were there,” she added, shocked that she’d gotten the sentence out. But what he’d told her had been correct. She could say things on the phone that she wouldn’t have been able to say in person.

As she closed her eyes, picturing him lying on the couch, his hand moving over the front of his jeans, she felt her own arousal leap higher.

“Did you like telling me what to do?” he asked, his voice silky but not quite steady.

“Yes.”

“Um. Good. Then it’s my turn. Take off your shirt and your bra,” he murmured. “Take them off for me.”

She closed her eyes, thinking that never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she could do any of this in a phone conversation.

There was still time to back out. She could stop this any time she wanted. He wasn’t forcing her into anything. Maybe that was why she put down the phone in order to pull her shirt over her head. Then she unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the spread beside her before picking up the instrument again.

“Did you do it?” he asked, his tone warm and sultry in her ear.

“Yes.”

“I know the shape of your breasts. I saw them last night.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I know. And I appreciated the view. Your breasts aren’t too large. But they’re very nicely rounded. Just right for my hands.”

“Ah . . .”

“What color are your nipples?” he suddenly asked.

“I . . . ”

He spoke low, urgent words in her ear. “Sweetheart, don’t keep anything back from me. I’m greedy. I want everything you’re willing to give me.”

“I . . .” she started again. “Peach? I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

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