Two Worlds Crossed

Chapter 47

EZRA

While waiting for Rachel's response, I can see her struggling to get undressed through the phone.

"You there? And are you done to your bra and panties?" I ask as slightly bringing my hand lower in my boxers, "Yes, and I am, but why I am just in my panties?" she sounds so innocently that sometimes her innocent kills me.

"Wait?" my eyes shock, "You are not wearing a bra?" I question.

"No, my dress didn't inquire about wearing one, so I'm just wearing my black and lacey," she seductively says in a smokey tone, as I almost reach myself, "Now you need to do everything. I tell you, got it?" I beg and hope she doesn't say anything.

Okay, baby.

Thank the Lord.

"Slowly drag your hand down your panties until your fingers reach your clit," I directly told her, imagining her getting her off with lips of her particularly open, and eyes close shut tightly, "What's next?" she breathless but eagerly.

I chuckle a little, "Rub it with your thumb and pointer finger gently on it, then quicken up the pace." As hearing her moans, I rub my shaft up and down at the same pace as her; hearing her sounds is like music to my ear that I wanna listen to all day, "Okay, the lesson is over well until next time," I tell her as getting up, grab a new pair of boxers and putting them on.

...

When driving to work, I try to force on the road, but all I can think about is last night's phone call with Rachel; I'm not too fond of morning traffic with comes to construction. I turn on the radio to clear my head, and turning the dial, a song comes on, and I smile. It's the song that Rachel was singing well screaming on the library floor, but it was the first moment I smiled, I mean smiled.

The next day at work comes by so fast, I continue writing a manuscript, but all I can think about Rachel's and my phone call from the other night; I shake all my thoughts away, with my tiredness since the call didn't end until two in the morning so I  continue typing on my computer.

*knock knock*

"Come in," I look up at the door, then back down my computer; the door flies open, "Hello, Mr. Miller?" someone says.

What!

I glare up and jump out of my seat of a scare, "Who the fuck are you?" I yell out, standing up and going behind the man who's wearing too much cologne.

"Sorry, sir, I'm Tyler Smith. Your mother hired me to run the company for the weekend when she's gone," he applies, moves his glasses up, and sets a file of my last manuscript with red markings, "How old are you? And is there anything else you need?" I ask in a harsh tone.

"I'm twenty, graduate high school at fifth teen and graduate college at eighteen," he says. Fucking great my mother hired some child prodigy who looks like he's going to host a spelling bee.

"Great for you," I shrug my shoulders, "now tell me why are you here?" I ask as cracking my knuckles, and he almost chokes up from being afraid, " I-I'm here to drop these off," he hands me them with his handshaking. I grab the file and throw it on the stack of unfinished scripts.

I sign, see Tyler looking at me, "Anything reel you need or do you need me to say 'Good job buddy'" I mock what a father would say a good little boy like he is; he nods no and leaves. Seconds later, I left my office, walked to the conference room. I learned that they have good coffee because the coffee in the break room tastes like old coffee beans; I grab a cup, pour coffee, and two packs of sugar to keep the tiredness away.