Read Online A Billion Little Clues by Samantha Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Samantha Westlake
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night, you two!"
As soon as I had gone around the corner, I heard the couch springs squeak, and Rachel let out another little groan of pleasure. Yes, I had definitely interrupted something very intimate. "Do you think she noticed?" the guy's voice rumbled quietly.
"Nah, I'm sure she didn't," Rachel replied, her voice short and breathless again. "Now, are you going to just lay there and make me do all the work, or are you going to push back?"
A second later, the squeaking of the couch springs doubled, and I began to hear little cries of feminine pleasure drifting around the corner. Feeling a little guilty at eavesdropping, I went into my room.
Unfortunately, even with my door shut, I couldn't totally drown out the sounds of the sex going on outside. They must have switched to a position that rocked the entire couch, as I could feel the floorboards beneath my bed vibrating a little. I lay back in my bed, pulled a pillow over my head, and tried to go to sleep.
The sounds of my roommate getting stuffed just outside my door made me think back to that kiss with Roman. There had just been a kiss, but there had been quite a lot of subtext involved in that kiss. And, now that I thought about it, quite a bit of related groping as well. I could still imagine the man's hands sliding over my curves, his rod growing from between his legs to push into the little fold of my dress between my own...
Oh goodness. I was never going to fall asleep at this rate.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
The next morning, when I got into the office, I was still feeling sleepy and blinking my eyes at the world around me. My sleep the night before had been restless, plagued with dreams of big, strong male hands running all over my body, lips sliding into places that had gone far too long without attention from anyone but myself. When I awoke, I found that I had worked all of the covers off of me, and had a pillow clenched between my thighs in a very compromising position. I was just glad that Rachel didn't come in to get me up.
And now, standing at my desk, I clutched my extra-large coffee cup. I really needed the help of caffeine right now. There was a sticky note pinned to my monitor.
Sticky notes were never good. Sticky notes were a sign that someone had come over to find me and, upon realizing that I wasn't there, had felt that whatever he or she had to say to me was so important that it couldn't wait for the next time we happened to connect. Sticky notes were the "urgent" of the pen and paper world, the sign that I had most definitely dropped the ball somewhere.
I was fairly used to seeing sticky notes from Keith. It was under Keith's sticky note policy that I had formulated my own ideas about the danger of sticky notes. But Keith used bright orange notes. I was pretty sure he chose that color on purpose to inflict as much pain on the eyes as possible.
This sticky note was green.
I slowly sank down into my chair, forcing myself to not read the note. I deliberately took my purse off of my shoulder, setting it in my empty outbox basket. I raised my coffee cup to my lips and took a long, slow sip. Only after the warm liquid had slid down my throat towards my stomach did I reach forward and peel the note off of my monitor.
"Melinda," I read off from the note. Well, that was a good start. Keith tended to start his notes with "Hey screw-up," as if this was my official job title. Slightly emboldened, I continued reading down the green sticky note.
"Melinda, effective immediately, you are being transferred to the Head Office. Please gather your things and move up to floor twenty-eight. The receptionist there will show you to your new desk. -R"
I flipped the note over, hoping for a bit more of an explanation, but there was nothing to be found. I sat back in my chair and took another sip of coffee. Who was R? Why was I being transferred? What in the world was on floor twenty-eight?
For a minute, I sat there, half lost in thought and half just enjoying my
As soon as I had gone around the corner, I heard the couch springs squeak, and Rachel let out another little groan of pleasure. Yes, I had definitely interrupted something very intimate. "Do you think she noticed?" the guy's voice rumbled quietly.
"Nah, I'm sure she didn't," Rachel replied, her voice short and breathless again. "Now, are you going to just lay there and make me do all the work, or are you going to push back?"
A second later, the squeaking of the couch springs doubled, and I began to hear little cries of feminine pleasure drifting around the corner. Feeling a little guilty at eavesdropping, I went into my room.
Unfortunately, even with my door shut, I couldn't totally drown out the sounds of the sex going on outside. They must have switched to a position that rocked the entire couch, as I could feel the floorboards beneath my bed vibrating a little. I lay back in my bed, pulled a pillow over my head, and tried to go to sleep.
The sounds of my roommate getting stuffed just outside my door made me think back to that kiss with Roman. There had just been a kiss, but there had been quite a lot of subtext involved in that kiss. And, now that I thought about it, quite a bit of related groping as well. I could still imagine the man's hands sliding over my curves, his rod growing from between his legs to push into the little fold of my dress between my own...
Oh goodness. I was never going to fall asleep at this rate.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
The next morning, when I got into the office, I was still feeling sleepy and blinking my eyes at the world around me. My sleep the night before had been restless, plagued with dreams of big, strong male hands running all over my body, lips sliding into places that had gone far too long without attention from anyone but myself. When I awoke, I found that I had worked all of the covers off of me, and had a pillow clenched between my thighs in a very compromising position. I was just glad that Rachel didn't come in to get me up.
And now, standing at my desk, I clutched my extra-large coffee cup. I really needed the help of caffeine right now. There was a sticky note pinned to my monitor.
Sticky notes were never good. Sticky notes were a sign that someone had come over to find me and, upon realizing that I wasn't there, had felt that whatever he or she had to say to me was so important that it couldn't wait for the next time we happened to connect. Sticky notes were the "urgent" of the pen and paper world, the sign that I had most definitely dropped the ball somewhere.
I was fairly used to seeing sticky notes from Keith. It was under Keith's sticky note policy that I had formulated my own ideas about the danger of sticky notes. But Keith used bright orange notes. I was pretty sure he chose that color on purpose to inflict as much pain on the eyes as possible.
This sticky note was green.
I slowly sank down into my chair, forcing myself to not read the note. I deliberately took my purse off of my shoulder, setting it in my empty outbox basket. I raised my coffee cup to my lips and took a long, slow sip. Only after the warm liquid had slid down my throat towards my stomach did I reach forward and peel the note off of my monitor.
"Melinda," I read off from the note. Well, that was a good start. Keith tended to start his notes with "Hey screw-up," as if this was my official job title. Slightly emboldened, I continued reading down the green sticky note.
"Melinda, effective immediately, you are being transferred to the Head Office. Please gather your things and move up to floor twenty-eight. The receptionist there will show you to your new desk. -R"
I flipped the note over, hoping for a bit more of an explanation, but there was nothing to be found. I sat back in my chair and took another sip of coffee. Who was R? Why was I being transferred? What in the world was on floor twenty-eight?
For a minute, I sat there, half lost in thought and half just enjoying my
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