"Between my legs."
"I think about that all the time." His voice is strained now. "The way you grabbed my hair and pulled. The way you moaned my name when you came on my tongue." A whimper escapes me. "That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear you."
"Emmett ..." My hips lift off the bed.
"Are you close?"
"Yes."
"Slow down."
"You can't tell me what to ..."
"Slow down," he repeats, his voice is a command. "I want to enjoy this."
I force myself to ease up. Fingers slowing. The ache building unbearably.
"Good girl."
I moan at that. I can't help it.
"You like that?" He sounds pleased. "You like being my good girl?"
"Shut up."
"Make me." He chuckles.
"I would if you were here."
"What would you do if I was there?" His voice is low and gravelly.
I let myself imagine it. Him in my bed. Over me. Inside me. "I'd wrap my hand around your cock," I whisper.
His breath hitches. "Yeah?"
"I'd stroke you slow. Make you beg."
"Fuck, Joelle."
"Then I'd put my mouth on you."
He groans. Low and desperate. "You're killing me."
"Good."
"Faster now," he says. "Touch yourself faster."
I obey, my fingers moving in quick circles. The pressure builds. Coiling tight.
"I can hear how close you are," he breathes. "Your breathing's changed. You're about to come, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I want to hear it. Don't hold back."
"Collette might ..."
"I don't care. I want to hear you fall apart."
