Knowing I’m being dumb, I pull out my phone, opening the text chain with Clara. We have to be so careful with our communication. RJ made our phones all but untraceable, but that’s not the problem. Not really. It’s giving up too much of ourselves, accidentally letting slip any of our plans. And worst of all for me is not knowing whether she’s free to chat unless she messages first.
My fingers beat my logic, though.
Hey
I flop down on the island, Fluffington curling on my stomach and purring once he finishes his holiday bonus meal. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling, my phone buzzes.
Hey!
I grin, unable to keep my excitement from my face.
I just wanted to say that I miss you. And I love you. And I wish I could be tucked up right beside you.
Just beside me? :-P
Chuckling, I wince.
Actually, I do more than wince, not needing to hide how much it hurts from anybody right now. Fluffington does acircle on my torso, annoyed I disturbed his rest, before settling back right where he started.
I mean, I’d take inside you, if the offer’s available.
And if it were?
Then I’m yours. However, whenever.
Waiting for her reply is torture. But it’s the best kind. One where my fingers and toes tingle in anticipation. I can’t be with her, not in the way we both want. But this? Fuck if I care if somebody is reading our chats. Clara is what matters. And if she’s comfortable using her short leash like this, I’m happy to join her.
Finally, she replies. And it’s not what I expected.
It’s so much better.
She’s wearing a pale pink silk thing, her hair loose around her shoulders, the angle of the camera leaving me looking up at her. My breath is tight, just seeing her, knowing she’s with me in this moment, even though we’re separate.
Kneel.
I am so here for this game.
Plucking twenty pounds of cat from my stomach, I rush upstairs, Fluffington’s tail swishing in frustration in my arms. But when I set him in his favorite spot, looking out at the street, he lets me leave him there. Then I strip off my shirt, run my hand through my still unfamiliar short hair, before dropping to my knees next to my mattress.
I feel a tiny bit silly sending her a picture of myself, but honestly—if a picture of her has me rushing up here to followher command, I have to believe that a picture in return will do…something.
The text that comes next has my heart rate spiking.
Good boy.
I want to whimper, not knowing why two simple words make me feel like she’s given me the world. But it does feel like that. Exactly like that.
Like for once, I’m good enough. She sees it. She likes it. And all I want is to keep being good, just for her.
I lick my lips, knowing if she were here she’d be kissing me, or at least brushing her fingertips across my face, her touch so feather-light my nerves would shimmer. Phantom chills run down my spine, the games we’ve played bright in my memory.
The time she’d braided my hair, stroked every inch of my body, blew me so hard I saw white, and didn’t let me touch her until I was begging, tears making the whole world blurry.
The time she’d driven us out to the desert on the souped-up motorbike, laid down the ugly-ass blanket that came with the RV, and fucked me, not letting me come until she was boneless from more orgasms than either of us could count.
And now, waiting for her next text, I hold tight to those memories, to the sounds, the scents, the pure presence of her, hoping it’ll be enough.
At least for now.
