Hotline Desires

Ten

Jade

I stepped out of the studio still buzzing, the silk robe tied loosely around me and my skin warm from the lights. The black lace underneath felt almost too sensitive now, every shift reminding me how exposed I’d just been. The photographer had been right — I did feel powerful by the end. But that didn’t stop the flush on my cheeks when I caught Victor leaning against the wall again, arms crossed, eyes tracking me like I was the only thing in the hallway.

“Jade,” he said, voice low. “My office in five.”

I gave him a tight smile and slipped back into the changing area to put my work clothes on. My pulse was still doing that annoying flutter. Great s*x was one thing. The way he looked at me afterward — like he wanted more than my body — was another.

Back at my desk, I tried to shake it off. The afternoon calls came in steady, and I fell into the familiar rhythm. One guy wanted the usual cheerleader fantasy. Another asked for something slower, more sensual. I delivered both with my usual confidence, but my mind kept drifting to the velvet chaise and the way Victor’s jaw had tightened when he saw me in that lingerie.

Maya rolled her chair over during a lull, grinning. “So? How was it? You look like you just got your soul photographed.”

“It wasn’t terrible,” I admitted, sipping my water. “Felt kind of… empowering, actually.”

“Uh-huh. And the way Victor was hovering? Girl, that man is one stiff breeze away from dragging you into the supply closet.”

I laughed it off, but the knot in my stomach tightened. “He’s just being thorough about the new profiles.”

Maya gave me a look that said she didn’t buy a word of it, but the phones started ringing again and saved me from further interrogation.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of voices and fantasies. By the time the office started emptying out, my throat was a little raw and my brain was tired of performing. I was finishing my last notes when the line lit up with a new call — late one. I glanced at the clock. Might as well take it before logging off.

I slipped my headset back on and answered with my signature purr. “Hello, lover. You sound like you need me already.”

There was a pause on the other end. Longer than usual. Then a deep, smooth male voice — guarded, a little rough around the edges. “I… wasn’t entirely sure I was going to go through with this.”

I smiled to myself. First-timer. They were always interesting. “That’s more common than you think,” I said easily, keeping my tone warm and unpressured. “No rush at all. We can go as slow or as quiet as you like. I’m here for whatever you need tonight.”

He exhaled, like he was deciding whether to stay or hang up. “I don’t really know what I need,” he admitted. Honest. That was rare. “This isn’t… my usual scene.”

“Mmm, I can tell,” I replied lightly, settling back in my chair. “You sound like the kind of man who’s more comfortable running a boardroom than making late-night calls. Am I close?”

A faint sound — almost a chuckle — came through the line. “Closer than I’d like to admit.”

I liked that. The slight thaw in his voice. “Then let’s keep it simple. No scripts, no expectations. Tell me about your day if you want. Or we can just sit on the line for a minute. Whatever feels right.”

He was quiet for a beat, then started talking. Long day. Meetings. Numbers. The kind of grind that never really stopped. His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the weight underneath it — the exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

“Sounds exhausting,” I murmured, genuinely meaning it. “The kind where your mind keeps running even after you leave the office. Do you ever do anything to shut it off? Or are you the type who just powers through?”

“Mostly the latter,” he said. “Though a good whiskey helps sometimes.” Another pause. “What about you? You must talk to a lot of people who don’t know what they want.”

I laughed softly. “You’re not wrong. But I like the honest ones. Makes things more interesting. No need to perform. Just two people talking in the dark.”

From there, the conversation flowed easier than I expected. He didn’t dive into fantasies or demands. He talked about responsibility, about how success could still leave you feeling isolated in a city full of millions. I listened, asked gentle questions, offered small pieces of myself in return without giving too much away. No names. No details. Just… connection.

His voice was magnetic — deep, precise, with this quiet intensity that made me lean closer to the mic even though I was alone at my desk. There was a loneliness there he wasn’t fully saying out loud, and something in me responded to it. Not pity. Just recognition.

For a late call, it felt surprisingly… nice. Not rushed. Not transactional. Just two strangers sharing space on the line.

I caught myself smiling as he spoke again, waiting for my response.

The call ended naturally after a while, neither of us pushing for more. His voice lingered in my ears even after I logged off — that deep, controlled timbre with just enough vulnerability underneath to make it interesting. Not the usual late-night caller. No demands, no rushed fantasies. Just… conversation. Strange how refreshing that felt.

I shut down my station, said quick goodbyes to the few girls still lingering, and headed home. The bus ride gave me too much time to think — about Victor’s stare, about the photoshoot, and now about the stranger on the phone whose loneliness had somehow echoed my own restless energy.

By the time I kicked off my heels in my apartment, my phone buzzed with a new email notification from the studio. Boudoir Selections Ready. I poured myself a glass of wine, flopped onto the couch in just my tank top and panties, and opened the gallery.

Holy s**t.

Even without my face, the photos were hot. The black lace set looked sinful under the soft lighting — curves accentuated, hips arched, breasts pushed up just right, the garters framing my thighs like an invitation. One shot had me draped over the chaise like I owned every inch of it. Another caught me mid-turn, robe slipping off one shoulder, the line of my back and ass on full display. A third was pure seduction: lips parted, eyes half-lidded (still no face), one hand trailing down my stomach.

I looked powerful. Sexy as hell. Like the kind of woman men would pay good money just to imagine.

I picked three for the profile — the most elegant but teasing ones — and approved them. The rest I saved straight to my hidden folder. For… later. A girl had to have options.

I finished my wine, feeling that familiar post-work hum under my skin. The photoshoot had left me aware of my body all day. The call with the mystery guy had stirred something quieter but just as insistent. And Victor? Yeah, thinking about him wasn’t helping.

Fuck it. I needed release.

I dimmed the lights, locked the door, and headed to my bedroom. From the nightstand drawer I pulled out my favorite toy — the thick, realistic silicone one with the perfect curve and ridges. I stripped completely, the cool air raising goosebumps across my skin, and stretched out on the bed, pillows propped behind me so I could watch.

My hand slid down my body slowly, teasing. I cupped my breasts, rolling my n*****s between my fingers until they tightened into hard peaks, sending little sparks straight between my legs. I was already wet. The photoshoot had done half the work. I let my fingers drift lower, parting my folds, circling my c**t with lazy pressure. A soft sigh escaped me.

“Mmm…” I closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

The stranger’s low voice from the call. The way he’d admitted he didn’t know what he wanted. Victor’s dark stare when he saw me in the lingerie. The rough grip of his hands the night before. All of it blended together as I dipped two fingers inside myself, thrusting slowly, getting myself slick and ready.

I reached for the toy, slicked it with my own wetness, and pressed the head against my entrance. Slowly, I worked it in — inch by inch — gasping at the stretch. It filled me perfectly, the ridges dragging against my inner walls in the best way. Once it was buried deep, I turned on the low vibration and started moving it.

“f**k…” I whispered, hips rocking up to meet each thrust.

I f****d myself with steady, deep strokes, one hand on the toy, the other rubbing tight circles over my swollen c**t. The vibrations buzzed through me, building that sweet, aching pressure low in my belly. My mind flashed to strong hands pinning me down, a deep voice growling in my ear, the way the mystery caller had sounded like he carried the weight of the world and still wanted to listen.

My breathing grew ragged. I pumped the toy faster, harder, curling it just right to hit that spot inside me that made my toes curl. My thighs trembled. Heat coiled tighter and tighter.

“Oh god—” I moaned, back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashed over me. My p***y clenched hard around the toy, waves of pleasure ripping through me, leaving me shaking and gasping. I rode it out, drawing every last pulse until I was limp and panting, the toy still buried deep.

After a minute, I eased it out slowly, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips. My body felt loose, sated, the restless energy finally quiet.

I cleaned up, slipped under the covers naked, and let sleep pull me under.

Tomorrow was another day. Another shift. Another chance for something — or someone — interesting to happen.