“Honestly, if corpses looked like you, necrophilia would be a much bigger kink.”
This time, I let out a conflicted laugh. “What a weird and twisted compliment.”
“I excel at those.”
It’s so good to hear his voice that I can already sense my anxiety dissipating. But it’s also weird to be here and talk to him. The most that ever happened in this bed were a few self-inflicted orgasms with tentative fingers in the middle of the night, and on the other side of this phone is a man who’s made me come harder than I ever thought I could, who’s licked every part of my body, and who can set me on fire with a mere gaze.
It’s like two worlds are colliding together.
Now, I kind of understand why that was on the list—raunchy sex in a childhood bed. It feels taboo, forbidden.
“Did you know,” I ask, “that among the things I removed from the list, there was one about having sex in my childhood bed?”
“Really?”
“Yep. ‘Have you ever had the nastiest, naughtiest sex in your childhood bed as an adult?’” I quote from the quiz word for word.
“And why did you remove it from the list?”
“Because it’s a hundred miles away, and you can’t meet my parents.”
“Fair.”
We say nothing for a moment, and an idea grows and grows in my mind. We could do two birds with one stone since we haven’t checked phone sex off the list yet.
Hesitantly, I say, “Do you think we should—”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Let me lock the door of my office.” His eagerness makes me giggle, but then I let out a curse, so he asks, “What?”
“My door doesn’t have a lock.”
“Really?”
“My parents argued we shouldn’t have anything to hide from them, so it was unnecessary.”
“That sounds healthy. So, what do we do?”
I think about it for a moment, glaring at the door. I really could use some serotonin right now. And it’s my birthday, after all. “We do fast,” I decide.
I distinctly hear a lock being secured on his side of the line. A thrilling shiver runs through me, my heart racing under my ribs. My free hand tremblingly flies to my waist, where I undo the button of my jeans. This is insane. The man has the ability to make me do the most unhinged things. But as I tug at the waistband to lower it, even if I know my mother could come in at any point and not even knock, like always, I can’t stop myself from wanting to do this.
He must hear me struggle to push my jeans down because he commands, “Put the phone on speaker and set it next to you.”
Smart. I do just that and then shove my pants and underwear all the way to my knees. “Is your pussy bare?” he asks.
“Yes. Is your dick out?”
I can hear his smile when he answers, “Yes.”
“How—how do we proceed?”
“Well, normally, we take it slow and get ourselves in the mood, but time is pressing. So, I will tell you what to do, and you will obey. Alright?”
Just the thought of it makes something throb inside me. “Yes.”
“Good. Since I can’t see you, don’t hold anything back, red. I want to hear every moan, every whimper, every breath… You give them all to me. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
