Will
I could help with that.
Scorching heat sears my skin,an ache so deep and low in my stomach I can barely breathe. Is he…? Am I…? Areweabout to…?
“Fuck it,” I whisper, telling myself I’ll blame it on the alcohol in the morning. I knock back the rest of my wine and place the glass on my nightstand.
Bridget
Oh, yeah? How would you help when we’re in completely different places?
But I’m obviously notan idiot and just playing coy.
Will
I’d can start by telling you I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.
That I haven’t stopped imagining what you look like naked. How you’d taste on my tongue.
Would that help?
I struggleto pull oxygen in my lungs, half-gasping with each breath. Unable to take the heat, I throw the covers off onto the floor and scoot farther down the bed. I let the fingers of my left hand travel with a delicate touch up and down my chest while I hold my phone and type with the right.
Will
Would it help to say that I’ve come to the thought of your pretty lips around my cock every morning this week? It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up.
Bridget
You’ve never even seen me in real life. How do you know what my lips look like?
Will
Because I just do. And it’s all I fucking want. To feel the inside of your mouth with my cock.
Now
Bridget
How is you admitting all this supposed to help ME?
Of courseI know what he’s doing, but I want him to know that I need the direction, that I want him to tell me what to do.
Will
Take two fingers and put them in your mouth. I want you to pretend they’re my cock.
“Oh my god.”
But still, I moan, bringing my fingers to my mouth as I wait for his next message to arrive. Something in the back of my mind screams, warns me I’m being crazy, but my brain is covered in a fog of lust and want and need and can’t listen to reason. I need release.
Will
You there?
Bridget
Yes. Fingers. Mouth.
