I gasp audibly as I read his words. Does he know what I did after he left this morning?
Warrick: Tell me, amore mio. Did you push your fingers between your thighs and think about me while you made yourself come?
He knows. Oh god, he knows. He told me to do it. He made me promise that I’d only do it in his bed. Was that a test? Is he upset?
Warrick: Fuck, Verity I’m so hard thinking about you. Tell me what you did. Tell me how you like to be touched.
Me: I can’t.
Warrick: Why not? I’m about to blow my load in my pants picturing you fucking yourself with your fingers while you thought about me.
I type out a denial before I can stop myself.
Me: I didn’t.
Warrick: Why not?
Me: This conversation is crazy.
Seconds after I hit send, the screen bursts to life with an incoming call. Staring at the cell like it might explode, my finger hovers over the screen until I remember that I promised to answer when he called.
“Hello,” I say, my voice small.
“There’s nothing crazy about you telling me how you like to be touched. All I ever want to give you is pleasure, and knowing how you touch yourself will help me learn how to make you feel good,” he growls, his voice so low the sound seems to vibrate through my ear and all the way to my core.
“I…”
“Tell me, amore mio. Did you play with that perfect virgin pussy?”
Fear and embarrassment make my throat tighten until I can’t speak.
“I think you did. I think the moment I left, you pushed your hand into your wet panties and finger fucked yourself while you pretended it was my cock inside of you. Did you come, Verity? Did you soak my sheets with your arousal?”
“No,” I whimper, forcing the word out.
“No?”
“No. I…”
“Do you have toys in that backpack of yours? Did you go and get one and slide a plastic cock inside of you instead? Mine will feel better. Mine will fill you like nothing that comes with a battery ever could.”
“No,” I say too quickly.
“But you touched my pussy, didn’t you?” he prompts. “Remember how I feel about you lying to me.”
“I…yes,” I admit.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “Did you push your fingers into your wet panties, or did you take them off?”
“I took them off,” I whisper.
“Good. I want you bare, your cream soaking into our bed so it’ll smell like you when I get home.”
“Oh god, I’ll wash them.”
“The fuck you will. I want our bedroom to smell like your cunt when I get home. I want you to make yourself come so many times I can see the wet spot when I crawl between your thighs.”
My whimper is audible, and I swear I hear his triumphant smile through the phone.
