Legacy: Book Two of the Chronicles of the Nubian Underworld Read Free

pay it much attention, though. All I worried about was finishing this call as soon as possible, so I could get some rest before my husband came home from work.
    “Hello, caller, may I have your name, please?” I asked.
    “No, Tina, you may not.” The silky-smooth, masculine voice was so sexy it always had me wondering if there was a body to match every time he called. His answer still perturbed me, nearly pissing me off because he wouldn’t participate in the burgeoning fantasy playing out in my mind. I wanted to give him his money’s worth, but he was fucking up a wet dream in the making.
    “So, what shall I call you, sir?” I asked again, sticking to the script when dealing with assholes that wanted to play a role. God, all he had to do was play along and we could both get off.
    “I think you have figured it out,” he answered. The enigmatic tone in his voice intrigued me and repulsed me at the same time.
    “You want me to call you ‘sir’?” I questioned. I tried to keep my wits about me, but this guy was turning me off by the second. I was going to have to pull an Academy Award-winning performance with this one.
    “That’s right, Tina, I want you to call me ‘sir.’ How old are you, Tina, and tell me the truth; I will know if you don’t.” He was insistent, almost controlling, as he inquired.
    In truth, I couldn’t call him a mystery, or even a stranger, for that matter. He had been calling for about the past month or so, and he always called me on the same days, but not often enough to where I could figure out when he was calling so that I could be prepared for his call. Sometimes the calls would be hot as hell, to the point to where I needed to masturbate again between calls. Other times, it would be a test of my patience before he finally got off. But it seemed as if he was doing enough to keep me interested and repulsed at the same time.
    But, whatever, it’s not like this dude had a polygraph over the phone or something. “I’m nine…”
    “The truth, Tina, you are never supposed to tell me anythingbut the truth,” he demanded. “I can hear the maturity in your voice; you’re older than nineteen.”
    “I’m twenty-three, sir.” I lied anyway, this time a little more demurely to keep up the façade of my “submission” to him. I didn’t care who the person was, the one thing I never do, and what the company that I work for requires, is to give my real name, age, or location.
    “And what is your real name, Tina?” he asked. I noticed more aggression in his voice this time. I swear this guy wouldn’t quit. I didn’t care how turned on I was with him in the past, I was two seconds shy of disconnecting the line, but not before I milked him for what he was worth.
    “I’m sorry, sir?”
    “Your real name, bitch… now!”
    “It’s Melissa, sir,” I snapped as the fake name rolled off my tongue like it was my real name. Yeah, I was really going to tell him my real name; who the hell was he kidding? He had me mixed up with another clueless bitch or something. He wouldn’t know if I was lying or telling the truth anyway; I was on a secured line. Daddy made sure of it before I started working.
    “Melissa, I understand, not exactly a sexy name. I’ll call you Calypso instead. Will you be my Calypso?” His voice deepened.
    At last, I was relieved, some type fantasy, someone I could “be” for this jackass. “Certainly, sir, I’ll be your Calypso.”
    “Do you live alone, Calypso? Remember, tell the truth.”
    “No sir, I don’t.” I blew out air in frustration, muting my headset to keep him from hearing it. This dude was getting too personal. I should have hung up the phone then, but this was more of a power play now, and he was not about to get the best of me.
    “Who do you live with, Calypso?”
    “I live with my boyfriend, sir.”
    “And is he good to you; does he take good care of you? Does he turn you on?”
    “Sir?” I asked. I didn’t want to engage in