Authors: Ginny Glass,Inez Kelley
Talk Dirty To Me (2 page)
She started sorting the bundles of lab coats into open washers. Why had she taken this job, again? Oh, yeah, because it was the only school that had an opening in her field that actually paid something. Unfortunately it was also the school where she’d earned her undergrad degree, in the town where she’d grown up. No one took her seriously here. She was still Bobby MacGregor’s kid sister, Tom’s daughter and the girl voted most likely to succeed. Other students had sown wild, drunken, sexual oats, stretched fledgling wings in a first taste of freedom during college. She made straight A’s and watched those years pass her by. Even her coworkers, those professors looking down their tenured noses, treated her like just an undergrad. Her degree was worthless here.
Suffocating
wasn’t the right word to describe the job, but the feeling—oh, yeah,
suffocating
was just right. Today had been exhausting—her vehicle break-in combined with no sleep compounded by the Sigma Delta fraternity’s attempt to create an alcohol still using stolen lab equipment. The stupid RA had called Security. They’d called the science lab to come dismantle the still and, as low woman on the totem pole, Nora had to brave the sweat-sock-and porn-magazine-infested dorm.
wasn’t the right word to describe the job, but the feeling—oh, yeah,
suffocating
was just right. Today had been exhausting—her vehicle break-in combined with no sleep compounded by the Sigma Delta fraternity’s attempt to create an alcohol still using stolen lab equipment. The stupid RA had called Security. They’d called the science lab to come dismantle the still and, as low woman on the totem pole, Nora had to brave the sweat-sock-and porn-magazine-infested dorm.
She needed a shower. She needed to calm down. She needed to interact with other people outside the droning monotony of the classroom and the lab. It was all grunt work—boring, asinine, and fruitless. Kind of like her life right now. She needed a night out to de-stress, to cut loose and just live.
Like the guy you just pulled your pepper spray on…He looks like he’d be fun to interact with.
Hello! Slow down. Back up.
She wasn’t that desperate. Was she?
She wasn’t that desperate. Was she?
She had noticed the shocking green of his eyes as she’d turned. It would have been a shame to splatter those pretty irises with capsaicin.
Nora measured detergent into the open maws of the waiting machines and wondered if he was a student. No, not young enough. Not old, just mature looking in that annoyingly handsome way men get around forty.
There had been a dusting of gray glinting in the waning light, tracing highlights through his deep brown hair. Sharp jaw, slight splay of laugh lines at the corners of the eyes. Sensual tilt to firm lips. Tiny half-moon scar under his left eye, barely visible but calling for her to glide her fingertip over it. A glimmer of something in those eyes intrigued her. He hadn’t looked serious enough to be a professor, but Nora wasn’t familiar with all of the new staff for this year, either.
Slamming down the lids to the washers, she ignored the faint stir of warmth low in her stomach when she conjured the stranger’s face. Endorphins, chemical reactions, hormones. Her body often tried to usurp the cool practicality of her mind.
He was a
stranger,
not someone she’d be comfortable fantasizing about. Okay, she could fantasize but she’d never act on those fantasies. She liked her partners to be chosen and approached with certain requirements in mind. If she was busy a semester, she’d forego dating or date a man with an equally busy schedule so no more than coffee and the occasional dinner date had the chance to happen. It was safer that way, left her open for little complication or distraction from her work.
stranger,
not someone she’d be comfortable fantasizing about. Okay, she could fantasize but she’d never act on those fantasies. She liked her partners to be chosen and approached with certain requirements in mind. If she was busy a semester, she’d forego dating or date a man with an equally busy schedule so no more than coffee and the occasional dinner date had the chance to happen. It was safer that way, left her open for little complication or distraction from her work.
Still, he was certainly easy on the eyes.
Excuse me, I know I just threatened you with possible long-term eyesight damage, but how do you feel about hot, sweaty one-night stands?
Excuse me, I know I just threatened you with possible long-term eyesight damage, but how do you feel about hot, sweaty one-night stands?
The niggling voice made Nora frown. Where had that come from? Sex was overrated. Sure it felt good. Good, not mind-blowing, not all skyrockets and fireworks. It was okay. Her experiences had been none too awe-inspiring, so Nora had come to the conclusion early in her adulthood that love was a messy undertaking—both physically and potentially personally. Not that she was frigid…
“The Vagina Myth—The Modern Educated Woman and Sex: A Biological Study of Female Sexuality.”
Her dissertation title had been the easy part. She knew tying biochemical reactions to the stages of courtship and sex might be considered an odd subject for a woman. Especially when women were still considered the more romantic gender, but Nora knew it could be brilliant. It was certainly different. Now if only she could write the damned thing.
Hopping onto the table beside her empty laundry basket, Nora dragged her backpack toward her and rummaged for her book. The fantasies inside were honest, vivid and real and often they weren’t attached to people the fantasizer loved. When they were, they not only made Nora’s body stir but, alarmingly, they made her chest ache with some foreign want.
It was the honesty that intrigued her. Romantic hearts and roses, her foot. Women had as many quirks as any man, as many dark, dirty thoughts. They were as much a chemical chain reaction as any man and she’d show exactly how to trip that biologic trigger.
Her hand encountered too much empty space inside the canvas sack. She wrenched the bag open and upturned it on the table. Notebooks and journals plopped out. She shook the bag. Coins, lip balm, receipts, pens, her wallet…no book. Wait, the tape! She shook the pack again but nothing fell out except for a cough drop wrapper and lint.
Shit.
Her mind raced. Where could they be? All her notes, ideas, the interviews…thoughts on the fantasies.
Shit.
Her mind raced. Where could they be? All her notes, ideas, the interviews…thoughts on the fantasies.
Frantically she flipped through the steno pad and felt for the thumb drive in the corner zipper. Those were still there. A small measure of calm settled over her. Okay, if she had to recreate those notes, she would have a solid start. It wasn’t the end of the world. Where could she have left that book? She’d check the library. She’d spent her morning there, it was the most likely place. Was her name in the book? She couldn’t remember.
The tape was another story. She couldn’t replace that. Even if she had time to find those same women again, their stories would be different. The rawness, the realism of the interviews, would be lost. She could never recapture that.
Nora groaned and buried her face in her hands. Her deadline breathed down her neck as hotly as a dragon on an all-garlic diet. How could she have misplaced two vital components of her research? Why hadn’t she transcribed the tape as soon as she made it? Her notes were worthless without the transcript, just idle bits of thoughts jotted in response to nothing.
The timers sounded on the washers across from her, each buzzer blasting nasally into her annoyance, and she jumped. She really had to get a grip. The low sound of footsteps in the hall raised her head. Tension crept back into her spine and each muscle tightened.
The door knob rattled and she held her breath. The painted green door opened an inch…two…A paper slid in held in a masculine hand. A crude flag had been drawn in ink.
“Requesting permission to enter without risk of bodily harm.”
The deep voice raised the corner of her lip in a reluctant smile. Okay, that was cute. There was no question who it was outside the door. She was way too paranoid since the car break in.
“Permission granted.” She straightened and tugged her lab coat across her pounding heart, crossing her arms and fixing a stern look on her face.
Quad guy stepped in with his hands deep in his pockets. He lingered on the threshold. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That spill looked nasty.”
“Thank you, I’m fine.” The strain relaxed from her shoulders. “Sorry about the pepper spray. I’m a little jumpy.”
“No problem.” Light from the harsh overhead bulbs glimmered in his eyes. They were really pale for his coloring, almost sea foam. “I’m Jarod Reed. I’m filling Doc Santori’s spot.”
He held out a hand and she shook it, smiling slightly at the formality. He was cute. “Oh yeah? How is Doc?”
“Don’t know him personally.” Jarod shrugged his lean shoulders. The corduroy of his coat wrinkled. She had the sudden urge to bury her face in the fabric, wondered if he smelled like dried leaves.
“He was one of my professors.”
“You’re a student?”
“Was. I’m credit-crawling toward my doctorate. I work in the biology department right now, so I’m kind of a mutant.”
He smiled and it did something flip-floppy to her stomach.
Chemicals and neurons and he has really nice teeth…
His nostrils flared as he slowly blew out a deep breath. “I’m going to take a risk and just go for it, okay? Would you like to get some coffee or something some time?”
Nora froze. You’d think a guy had never asked her out. An impolite length of time ticked by, the rolling hum of washing laundry loud in the dead space.
Jarod raised his brows and nodded. He took a step backward. “Okay, it was just a thought.”
“Sure,” she blurted. “I mean, I’m busy, I have a paper due and classes and—coffee, yeah, I could do that.”
Hello, my name is Nora and I am a social idiot.
Jarod smiled again, a gentle widening of his mouth that deepened the lines around his eyes. Her mind went blank. “Great, how about tomorrow? There’s a little shop down on Fullerton that has decent cappuccino.”
Nora felt a sudden spike of worry. She had to take control of this situation. She didn’t know this guy from Adam. He could be the car stereo creep. “How about the library café?”
“Works for me.”
She pushed more, lying through her teeth. “Wednesdays are full for me, so it would have to be a quick one. Say around one?”
He dipped his head, but she caught a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Library café, in full view of the public, unarmed. One o’clock.” He turned to go. “See you there, Nora.”
“Wait!” She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t tell you my name.”
When he turned back, the lines had deepened and a flicker of laughter burst into his eyes, making them dance. “No, but I can read.” He pointed to her name tag, and a hot blush worked up from her neck. “See you tomorrow, fraidy cat.”
He left. The doorway seemed to shrink without his large, lean frame filling it. Nora sagged on the washer and hung her head. Could she have acted any more suspicious? Still, he had asked her out. And she’d accepted. It was a start.
“Describe an orgasm for me in your own words. What is going on in your body?”
“There’s a slow buildup. Anticipation…tension…Everything inside me gets tighter, tighter, tighter…”
Jarod let the feminine voices wash over him, closing his eyes. His body tensed, the urge welling from deep inside him. It built. The need grew stronger and stronger. Every muscle poised, waiting. Almost there…
He sneezed. Blinking, he rubbed his watery eyes and clicked off the recorder, silencing the interview before reaching for a tissue. Damn, neighbor’s cat had his allergies working overtime. That thing must have a bed next to the air ducts or something. He was fine during the day but had resorted to OTC medication to breathe while home, and he was waiting for the damned stuff to kick in. He would be happy if he could breathe within the next twenty minutes.
Settling deeper into couch, he turned back to Nora’s book. The volume was a study on sex—women’s fantasies, their reasons for certain kinks, and the psychology behind sexual proclivities. Nora had made notes in the margins.
A good hour slipped by as he read her notes, the printed fantasies, her thoughts on those women’s dreams. His cock hardened, and he idly shifted it a few times, trying to get comfortable. Damn, Nora had some interesting theories on sexual responses. Not all of it he agreed with, but the glimpse into her mind was like an erotic trip through the nightlife in downtown Wet Dreamland.
Her sultry voice had carried over the cheap quality of the cassette. Although her interview questions were professional, nearly clinical in wording, the timbre of her words slipped over his skin like a slow tongue. The women she spoke with had accents from all over the country, from Boston nasal to Texan twang, but Nora—Nora’s soft smoky voice piped heat directly into his blood. By the second interrogation Jarod could easily make out the subtle inflections, could tell when she was amused or bored.
After a quick glance at the clock and a rub at his still-stuffy chest, Jarod set the book aside and decided to call it a night. The medication was obviously not up to the task of battling Furball McDander’s massive case of the sheds and he was tired. Besides, he’d had a nice bedtime story to ease him into sleep.
Passing through the kitchen to turn off the light, Jarod paused and snagged a scrap of paper lying on the counter.
Nora MacGregor—603-555-5782
He felt like a creep for copying her number out of the staff directory, but not enough of a creep to stop him from wondering what she was doing right now. It wasn’t so terribly late. If he just called her for a quick chat…Nora, with her fierce flashing eyes and pepper spray, her timid, terrified stance in the laundry room, her flubbed and fumbled acceptance of a coffee date.
He’d wanted to ask her to dinner but pulled back at the last second. She seemed the cautious type. A short public meeting was better at first. So he’d start with coffee. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think about more…like her riding him cowgirl style, full breasts swollen and capped with tight nipples wet from his mouth.
Her notes in the book’s margins were mostly detached commentary on the fantasies. She was brilliant, often seeming more excited by biological theory than by the explicit descriptions of the various kinks in the text. He couldn’t wait to have coffee with her, to eventually see if some of her chillier ideas about men and sex could be put to the test.
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