He cannot see me like this.
I jump up and quickly flick off the bedside lamp, leaving only the distant glow of the kitchen light filtering into my room. Settling back onto my pillow, I blow out a steadying breath and switch to video.
“There you are.” There’s a soft huskiness to his tone.
It’s quickly becoming my favorite sound.
“Here I am,” I say, my voice a little too breathless and shaky. “When you said to answer your call, this is not what I expected.”
Cushions puff around Olly’s head. His eyes are hooded but his smile is turned up. “Since you are too busy to go out for sex, I decided to bring it to you.”
And ruin all my plans.
“Did you touch yourself?”
His question is unexpected and so blunt that it’s both arousing and terrifying. My traitorous heart flutters. “You wish.” I lie.
His smile spreads slowly, turning seductive as he watches me.
Can he tell that my cheeks are flushed and my breathing is too fast?
“Did I inspire your next story at least?”
I lick my lips, wishing moisture would come back so I didn’t sound so croaky. “I have a few new ideas.”
“Good. No more talk of switching genres.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute him, then regret it when my hand trembles.
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll be ready for round two.” He bites his bottom lip playfully.
I gulp. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Sweet dreams.”
I hang up as new, dirtier scenes roll through my mind, one after the other, but instead of imagined characters that a professional would use, Olly and I star.
My dreams will not be sweet tonight.
I grab the pillow again and scream into it until my lungs ache.
So much for keeping it professional.
I toss the pillow across the room in frustration. Obviously, I can’t say no to Olly, and if I want to keep making money to pay my way through school, I can’t ignore the scenes playing out in my head, waiting to be written.
How am I supposed to watch my friend screw around and not beg for a try?
I can’t cross that line with Olly, no matter how much my body wants it.
Because even though one night with Olly would be worth one thousand nights with someone else, we want different things, and I love him too much to risk losing him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe writing about sex isn’t enough anymore. Perhaps this crush—or obsession—is because the onlysexual experiences I’ve had since meeting Olly have been via Olly.
The thought solidifies into a decision.
It’s time to find a messy fuck that makes my toes curl and my pussy weep.
CHAPTER THREE
