And he took my three-dollar Wal-Mart panties with them. The emoji ones. What in the hell did I just get myself into?
My day wraps up and I’m so ready to leave. As five o’clock rolls around, I turn off my computer and put everything away. I gather my purse when my office phone rings.
Savior is calling me.
I hesitate answering the phone because I’m not sure if I want to talk to him. I’m not upset or angry; I just already know the affect he has on me. Our relationship is purely sexual and that’s it. I refuse to get caught up with someone who will use me as a fuck toy and vice-versa.
What Savior Ellison doesn’t know that he’s messing with Prince Jones’s baby girl, an independent woman who will get in formation with her six-inch heels. (Okay, so I need to stop listening to so much Beyoncé.)
Savior Ellison is gon’ learn today that I’m not the motherfucking one, two, or three. And with that, I answered the phone. “Keisha Jones speaking.”
“You have the perfect voice for a phone sex operator.” Savior purrs. “Your voice…throaty, breathless, wispy…I think I can come on your voice alone.”
Fuck. There goes my black fist in the air along with my Wonder Woman uniform. It dissipated at the same time my thighs magically opened. Weird. “How can I help you, Savior?”
“I thought about you all day. I’m glad I had to work at my desk for most of it because I don’t think I would be able to explain an erection.” His voice is breathy.
“You should probably get that checked out,” I tease him. “It stays too hard you won’t be able to use it.”
“Do you want to check it out?” It feels like his deep voice is looking into the windows of my soul. “I promise I’ll be a good patient.”
I’m sure Savior would be a great patient. I’m sure my mouth and pussy would be the best doctors for him. I shake the nasty thoughts out of my head. “How can I help you, Savior?”
“I forgot to tell you to clear your schedule out later next weekend. There’s a Christmas gala I want to take you to. We’ll go shopping for your gown and accessories next week.”
A gala is one of those high-society, high-flaunting type of things that guarantees I’ll be on the society pages. I’m not sure how I’m feeling about this. I was strongly under the impression Savior wanted to keep me as his ghetto secret and I was about to go along with said idea. Now he wants to broadcast me to a global audience? “Okay.”
“You’ll be my date and I’ll pick you up around six.” He notes. “As for our arrangement, we’re still on. I’ll be at your house around ten at night.”
Booty call hours. I say that’s pretty convenient for our arrangement. “Okay.”
“You seem unsure.” His deep voice has an obvious question mark. “What’s up?”
“I’m just wondering what the deal is with you,” I answer, “that’s all.”
“I’m smart, rich, attractive, and I give great cunnilingus.” He casually replies as if we were talking about the Lakers game. “I think those are four qualities every woman wants regardless of the partner’s skin color.”
I briefly put the phone on my neck and I hope I’m not blushing too hard. I also hope to hell no one is near me to hear this conversation. Savior is right on all of those points, especially the last one. Lord, I’m still screaming from the memory.
“Have a great rest of the day. See you later, gorgeous.” He hangs up.
I slowly return the phone to the retriever. Savior is a calculating executive and he didn’t just get to where he is because he’s the boss’s kid. He knows how to play the game and what to say to ensure victory.
As I walk down to the garage and get inside the BMW, I think about what’d just transpired. I know our arrangement is purely sexual but I couldn’t help but to blush at the compliment Savior gave me.
No man has ever called me gorgeous before.
