Read Online Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle by Mimi Strong - Free Book Online
Authors: Mimi Strong
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listening for the man's voice. He wasn't behind door number two, but he wasn't far away, behind door number three. On the other side of the wall.
I put my ear to the door and breathed deeply as he hummed the wordless melody of a familiar song.
One of my hands moved down to the hem of my skirt and stroked the inside of my thigh. I shivered. That touch felt good, the cool hand on my thigh. Not as good as a man's hand, but nice.
He kept singing, louder now, with that deep voice. Was it opera? There were words, but they sounded Italian, not English.
Both hands darted between my legs, rubbing and pinching the sensitive skin. I closed my eyes and tried to picture him. If he was the man all these suits belonged to, that meant he was tall, with broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. Maybe a swimmer's physique, I thought as one hand slipped inside my red panties.
He stopped singing, and for a moment, I felt self-conscious, like someone could see me. There were three doors, but they were all closed, and Grace had locked them all, hadn't she?
I yanked my hand out from my panties and carefully checked the lock on the nearest door, and then the other two. All the doors were locked, which meant I could do whatever I wanted, which was definitely not organizing the socks. Not yet. The socks could wait.
My need had started up the night before, dancing at the club between two attractive men, roommates or friends or something. I had to choose which one to go home with, and I'd chosen poorly. He'd been fast asleep before I'd even gotten warmed up.
The morning after, mildly dehydrated and extremely frustrated, I was suffering, but not for long.
I pulled off my gray jacket and hung it on a wooden hanger, then slipped out of my skirt.
There was a wood chair in the middle of the room, and I soundlessly brought it over to the door where I'd heard Mr. Thorne's voice, and I took a seat, my legs parted wide. The singing began again. I leaned my head against the door and ran my hands over my breasts, still in the red bra, and then up and down my legs. The desire blossomed out from my belly once more, with a ferocity.
I slipped a hand into my panties and began to rub at the engorged folds, fattening by the second, my slick finger moving easily back and forth, up and down, round and round.
“Hello?” he said from the other side of the door.
I clapped my free hand over my mouth. Now I'd done it. I'd moaned out loud, hadn't I? Lexie, you filthy slut, you were hired to organize this closet, not give it a one-woman sound show!
“Huh,” he said to himself, then he went back to singing.
Oh, that voice!
The laundry bin wasn't far from where I sat, so I took a short break from my ministrations—it's always better if you let the fire build up a little—and pulled out a rumpled shirt. It was pale blue. I wondered if it went with his eyes. Was he putting on the lightweight green sweater I'd picked out for him?
I took off my red bra, let it drop to the floor, and pulled on his shirt. The stiff cotton grazed my hard nipples, and I bit into my knuckles to stifle a moan of pleasure.
The singing stopped again. He knows I'm in here , I thought. He's like a wolf, and he can smell me through the door.
I sat down on the chair again and let the cuffs of the too-large shirt fall down over my wrists. I twisted and squirmed to pull off my panties, then I propped one foot up on the edge of the chair and really let myself have it with both hands, dragging the cuffs of the shirt over my moist folds. I didn't care that I was leaving my sweet juices all over the garment—it would be off to the laundry, and nobody would be the wiser.
The smell on the collar was manly, musky. I drank it in as I rubbed myself, back and forth, up and down.
He was there, so close, on the other side of the door. I imagined it so clearly, that I swear I could hear him breathing. I moaned quietly, the sound of myself sending a shiver up and down my core. There was no return sound from
I put my ear to the door and breathed deeply as he hummed the wordless melody of a familiar song.
One of my hands moved down to the hem of my skirt and stroked the inside of my thigh. I shivered. That touch felt good, the cool hand on my thigh. Not as good as a man's hand, but nice.
He kept singing, louder now, with that deep voice. Was it opera? There were words, but they sounded Italian, not English.
Both hands darted between my legs, rubbing and pinching the sensitive skin. I closed my eyes and tried to picture him. If he was the man all these suits belonged to, that meant he was tall, with broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. Maybe a swimmer's physique, I thought as one hand slipped inside my red panties.
He stopped singing, and for a moment, I felt self-conscious, like someone could see me. There were three doors, but they were all closed, and Grace had locked them all, hadn't she?
I yanked my hand out from my panties and carefully checked the lock on the nearest door, and then the other two. All the doors were locked, which meant I could do whatever I wanted, which was definitely not organizing the socks. Not yet. The socks could wait.
My need had started up the night before, dancing at the club between two attractive men, roommates or friends or something. I had to choose which one to go home with, and I'd chosen poorly. He'd been fast asleep before I'd even gotten warmed up.
The morning after, mildly dehydrated and extremely frustrated, I was suffering, but not for long.
I pulled off my gray jacket and hung it on a wooden hanger, then slipped out of my skirt.
There was a wood chair in the middle of the room, and I soundlessly brought it over to the door where I'd heard Mr. Thorne's voice, and I took a seat, my legs parted wide. The singing began again. I leaned my head against the door and ran my hands over my breasts, still in the red bra, and then up and down my legs. The desire blossomed out from my belly once more, with a ferocity.
I slipped a hand into my panties and began to rub at the engorged folds, fattening by the second, my slick finger moving easily back and forth, up and down, round and round.
“Hello?” he said from the other side of the door.
I clapped my free hand over my mouth. Now I'd done it. I'd moaned out loud, hadn't I? Lexie, you filthy slut, you were hired to organize this closet, not give it a one-woman sound show!
“Huh,” he said to himself, then he went back to singing.
Oh, that voice!
The laundry bin wasn't far from where I sat, so I took a short break from my ministrations—it's always better if you let the fire build up a little—and pulled out a rumpled shirt. It was pale blue. I wondered if it went with his eyes. Was he putting on the lightweight green sweater I'd picked out for him?
I took off my red bra, let it drop to the floor, and pulled on his shirt. The stiff cotton grazed my hard nipples, and I bit into my knuckles to stifle a moan of pleasure.
The singing stopped again. He knows I'm in here , I thought. He's like a wolf, and he can smell me through the door.
I sat down on the chair again and let the cuffs of the too-large shirt fall down over my wrists. I twisted and squirmed to pull off my panties, then I propped one foot up on the edge of the chair and really let myself have it with both hands, dragging the cuffs of the shirt over my moist folds. I didn't care that I was leaving my sweet juices all over the garment—it would be off to the laundry, and nobody would be the wiser.
The smell on the collar was manly, musky. I drank it in as I rubbed myself, back and forth, up and down.
He was there, so close, on the other side of the door. I imagined it so clearly, that I swear I could hear him breathing. I moaned quietly, the sound of myself sending a shiver up and down my core. There was no return sound from
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