A ragged inhale on his end. “You touching yourself?”
“Yes.” My voice is barely more than a breath. “Were you?”
“I was trying not to. Then I thought about your mouth. About the way you looked at me tonight. I couldn’t stop.”
My fingers move again. Slow, aching, and so much more intense with his voice in my ear.
“I can see you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “And if I were there, I’d be on my knees for you.”
“Will—”
“I wouldn’t stop with my fingers, Phern. I’d taste you. Drag my tongue over every inch of you until you were begging me not to stop.”
My hips lift into my hand, chasing the rhythm, chasing him. “Tell me more.”
“I’d make you sit right here,” he growls, “on my face. Let you ride it until you screamed. Until you soaked me.”
A moan slips from my lips, helpless.
“You close?”
“So close.”
“Good. Don’t stop. I want you to come for me. With me.”
And when I do—when it crashes over me like a violent, beautiful wave—I don’t hold back. I let him hear it. Every whimper. Every breath. On the other end of the line, I hear his release too. A guttural sound that makes my whole body clench all over again.
The silence that follows is electric.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
“Phern?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to see you. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.”
I don’t even think about it.
I toss on a hoodie, don’t bother with a bra, and slip my bare feet into my boots. The night air bites at my skin as I cross the street, heart hammering, skin still flushed from the sound of his voice wrecking me in my own living room.
The bar is dark but I know the code. I punch it in with shaking fingers and slip inside.
The moment I shut the door behind me, I feel him.
Will steps out from behind the bar, still shirtless, jeans barely hanging on his hips. The air between us hums like it’s charged, like the walls themselves know what’s about to happen.
Neither of us says a word. I walk toward him, slow, deliberate. He meets me halfway. And then I’m in his arms, my mouth on his, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue from nothing but memory and need.
He lifts me with a growl, setting me on the edge of the bar, hands dragging the hoodie off like heneedsto see skin. I tug at his jeans, pulling him closer.
“You didn’t even knock,” he breathes against my neck.
“You didn’t even ask.”
“Hold on sugar.”
