“What do you mean I can do better than that?” She smirked, forcing herself back into the scene. “It’s a fair question. How can I picture?—”
A feigned interruption. She pretended to check her text messages. She didnotimagine what Vivian looked like in some massive Montana king-sized bed or whatever the hell was the biggest commercially available mattress.
“God, I miss you,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful.” A breath. “Of course I mean it. You’re stunning, and I can’t wait to be in that bed right next to you.”
Eyes closed, Bryn visualized the space. Imagined the weight of a body next to hers. Inhaled the scent of perfume and tried to keep her stomach from tightening when it was Vivian’s.
“What’s that sound?” Bryn asked playfully. “Uh huh. I hear that buzzing. Turn it off,” she said with a hint of authority. “Because it’s too fast. I want it to build slowly. And I want you to imagine those are my hands sliding into your little shorts.” She grinned. “Plus, isn’t everything always better when you work for it?”
A pause.
“Whining won’t work, baby. Turn off your vibrator.” Bryn’s laugh was a warm rumble in her throat. “Come on. If you’re good, I’ll let you be a brat when I get home.”
Bryn took a deep breath and settled against the pillow again.
“Don’t worry. I promise I’m better than battery-operated.” She feigned arrogance. “Yes. Even from a thousand miles away. Close your eyes.”
Exaggerating her movements so they’d get picked up by her inadequate headphone mic, Bryn shook the sheets. “Don’t worry about what I’m doing,” she teased. “Close your eyes.” She chuckled softly, but her voice was low, signaling to her listeners that the warm-up was over and it was time for business. “Because I know they’re open. I know the woman I married, and she’s stubborn. Close them.”
She lost herself to the scenario she’d created.
“Stay over your underwear. You know I like to tease you.” She grinned. “You only pretend to hate it. Now it’s your turn to listen. To do everything I tell you to do.”
Her listeners loved the escape of being told what to do. Of taking something just for themselves under the guise of obedience.
“Just like that.” Her cadence was slow, comforting. “I want you to feel that heat start low in your belly. Not a fire yet. Just a slow, liquid warmth…” She exhaled. “Like honey starting to melt but it’s not dripping. Not yet.”
Brow furrowed, Bryn tried to shove away the image of elegant hands. Of manicured nails dragging over fine fabric. She shifted as if that might suffocate the spark before it caught.
“You were already turned on, huh?” She moistened her lips, but this time she didn’t have to pretend to take a steadying breath.
A flash of blonde hair, loose and brushing over a bare shoulder.
“I am too, but this is about you.” She bit her lip. “Stop… You know I can’t resist when you beg like that.” She cursed under her breath. “Okay, okay. You can slip under your?—”
She couldn’t stop her brain from conjuring the sound of Vivian’s gasp. From imagining Vivian’s full lips parting. Her stoic expression easing into delighted surprise at her own arousal.
“You feel so good,” Bryn whispered. “Don’t stop.”
She broke free from her wayward thoughts and focused on what her listeners loved: praise. This wasn’t about Bryn’s fantasy. It was work. She had to make herself remember that.
“That’s it, baby,” she breathed into the phone, her voice huskier now, less performative despite her best efforts. “You’re incredible. I love how well you listen.”
She counted in her mind, giving her listeners time. Giving herself time to collect herself. To slow her own pounding pulse.
“I love that little sound you just made,” she continued, throat dry and breath uneven. “That little hitch—yeah. That’s it. Do it again for me.”
Eyes closed so tight a million silvery points appeared in the darkness, Bryn couldn’t stop seeing Vivian. Skin flushed and body writhing with unguarded need. The image was so sharp, so dangerously specific, it was a vice around Bryn’s lungs. A hand at her throat squeezing in the best way.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. You’re perfect.”
She couldn’t catch her breath.
“Are you arching your back? I bet you are. You’re doing so well, baby. You’re such a good listener.” Bryn’s own hips pressed into the mattress, a desperate, involuntary movement. She imagined a hand—not hers,hers—slipping under the sheets. Elegant fingers relieving the throbbing ache between her tense thighs.
“Tell me it’s just for me,” she demanded in a low, desperate plea. “Yeah… just like that. That little whimper. You do that so well. You’re unbelievable. Keep telling me you’re mine. While you—yeah… just like that.”
It wasn’t a whimper Bryn imagined, but a sharp, controlled moan. The kind of sound a woman who was always in control would make when she finally, unexpectedly, lost it. The thought was too electric to touch, even just to shove it away. It took over Bryn’s field of vision and turned into the heat flooding her skin.
