“You like the thought of that, don’t you?” I say, reaching back to grab the headrest with one hand so I don’t touch myself. Not yet.
“I thinkyoulike the sound of that,” she says. “It’s like the start to an old-fashioned porno. Guy pulls off the road to jerk off while he’s having phone sex with some woman, and who should drive by but the very woman herself?”
“I wish,” I say, and then shut my mouth a moment too late. We’ve never really gone there, like that. It’s always been just a little more impersonal. “It’s—fuck, your voice. It feels like you’re here.”
“I wish I were too,” she says, her voice far away and soft and blurred by shitty reception. “Tell me you’re touching yourself.”
NowI am, slow, steady strokes through the track pants, the material soft and slick on the sensitive skin of my dick.
“Yeah.”
“Are you fucking up into your hand?”
“Yes.”
She makes a noise that’s half sigh and half moan, and I know she’s rubbing herself.
“Good,” she murmurs, hard to hear. “You know I like watching you do that.”
I squeeze my hand a little hard and screw my eyes shut, shuddering with pleasure.
“Tell me what you’d do if you were here,” I say, pushing it a little further. First voices, now theoretical situations. Maybe this is real. God.
A broken little gasp comes through the phone.
“I’d. Um.”
“Lola,” I say, my voice scraping the bottom of my range. “Tell me.”
“I’d get on my knees and swallow your cock until you were right on the brink,” she says, the words a little rushed, like she’s nervous. “And then I’d pull off and use just my tongue until you begged.”
The only answer I’ve got for that is a long, low groan and sliding my hand into my pants. Jesus, I’m leaking like crazy. From the phone, I can hear a wooden scrape.
“Was that a drawer?” I ask, voice husky.
“Yeah.”
“What’d you get?”
I’ve seen her bedroom so many times I can picture it: her bedside table, open, with the lamp on it, Lola on her hands and knees, pulling something out. The tiny pajama shorts she’s wearing riding up her thick thighs and pulling over her ass and—fuck, I have to slow down.
“Some lube,” she says, a forced casualness in her voice. “The pink dildo.”
The pink dildo’s the bigger of the two she’s got, and it’s my favorite. What can I say? She was right that I’m dick-centric. I like watching her moan and come while she fucks herself and I imagine that it’s me.
“What would you do next?” I grit out, hand stilled at the base of my cock.
The only answer is a click that might be the bottle of lube opening.
“Lola,” I say, after a moment, and I’m rewarded with a sigh and a whimper and a moan.
“Oh fuck, Max, that’s good,” she whispers. “God.”
“Where are you?”
“Hands and knees. On my bed,” she says, voice airy and breathless. I listen so hard I nearly hurt myself, trying to hear the sound of her fucking herself. I can’t. “You’re in the car?”
“Haven’t moved.”
