Page 109 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“You have no idea how much I want you right now, Kait.”

“Tell me everything. Now would be fine,” I whisper, and damn if he doesn’t start telling me all the things he wants to do with me, to me, in me as he licks and teases me with his mouth. The low rumble of his voice is deeper than it ever was on the phone, resonating through my body as I try to get the pressure I need. We’ve talked endlessly about the physical things we want to share, but this is more. It’s the sexy things we talked about. The pleasure. But it’s also the things I never dared say, how much I wanted things more important than orgasms, how I wanted him in my life and to be in his heart.

Henry’s hard against my panties, but I crave more than a cock inside me.

He hasn’t touched me where I need him. I rise up on my knees, kissing him, and the second he releases my wrists, I pull his briefs down enough to free his length, his shaft hot in my hand and slippery from an eternity of foreplay. I graze him with my fingertips, and the sounds he makes are even more enticing than I remember.

I can’t look away from his beautiful eyes. They are the color of light peridots, but that isn’t what makes me quiver. No, it’s being adored by him. The wonder and awe that lights his expression. Lust? Absolutely, but with a tenderness that says everything I need to hear.

He adores me.

He releases the single most erotic groan I’ve ever heard—and I’m qualified to judge. It’s the finest sound of any kind I’ve ever heard. I make a circle with my fingers, and with a tight grip, I let the head of his cock pop in and out of my hand in the slowest, most excruciating denial I can muster. Precum pearls at his slit as delicious sounds fall from his mouth.

I lean forward and whisper, “I am so fucking turned on by your pleasure.”

His lips part on a moan, his desire touching my soul. He looks into me, rampant with want, and I watch as his control slips, his fingers digging into me to haul me closer than I thought possible.

I tug my panties to the side and drag the head of his cock to me. His slick flesh rubs against my clit, nudging and rubbing, until I’m afraid I might come without him. I guide his hard length until he’s poised to slip into me.

He moans. “So good, Kait. So fucking good.”

His eyelids flutter closed, and he arches his head back, groaning. He’s at my entrance, and I want to sink onto him. To get what I’ve dreamed of so many nights. His body stretching mine with a deep slide. I tremble, desperate, rational thought gone as my need ratchets up.

Finally.

“Hen—” I start, but not saying it is my new habit. I cut his name off without a thought. Like I always do.

I’m hungry for the first delicious slide onto him, but his eyes fly open, anguish in those beautiful green depths. He grabs my hips and holds me still, suspended over him, close but not enough. Gruff, in a sex-hazed voice, he says, “No.” Then again when I squirm, louder. A firm “No, Kait.”

I let out an embarrassed whimper. I try to look away, but it’s only his big hand on my cheek that keeps me in place. His eyes are soft and sweet and call to me.

“Look at me, Kait. Not like this.” His eyes are full: love, lust and pain, tenderness and want. Anguish. “Kait?” he says, asking if I’m okay and for my approval in the same breath. “If you can’t bear to say my name, we cannot do this.” His words are forceful now, his tone unyielding.

I want to say his name again. He digs his fingers into my hips even harder, his arms shaking with the effort, holding me over him so I can’t take him the way I need him.

The words are pouring out of me. I’m sobbing the words, clinging to him. “I want you so much. All of you, I want all of you.”

He makes a sound that’s part groan and part moan, his stare branding me. “Not like this, babes,” he whispers, gutted. The word babes coming from him has me wilting. He pauses, pain building as he looks into my soul. “Not with us like this. We can wait.”

The darkness lifts when I kiss the tip of his nose and his swollen lips. He tightens his grip on me, and his hands tremble as he holds me up, so close but not enough.

“I’m all in.” It’s a plea. A vow. “I’m okay, I want this.”

“Please, babes,” he says, sorrow and desire and care in his words. “I need you better than okay. We can wait.”

And just like that, I want his name back in my mouth. And I don’t want fear to decide my fate.

“H—Henry,” I whisper, fighting a battle I never expected. “Henry,” I say, stronger. Then, emphatic, “Henry, I want this, I want you. I promise.”

He doesn’t hesitate—he lifts his hips in a thrust strong enough to drive me onto his entire length. The sound he makes as he pushes into me is unrestrained. I tighten around him so hard in response that he gasps.

“Oh fuck, Henry. Henry.” His name spills out of me, over and over, erasing every time I’ve stifled it, wished it away.

I cling to him. I bask in his touch, his presence, his pleasure. I say his name. It pours out of me. Over and over. It’s not his body, it’s not his name, it’s all of him. In my life. In my heart.

We are beyond anything I’ve imagined. Beyond the physical. My heart is full to bursting as he buries his hand in my hair and exposes my neck to his tender mouth as we rock and roll, rise and fall.

“Henry!” His name is torn from my soul, a whimper and a guttural moan, a wish and a prayer. He bottoms out, lifting his hips to meet my fall, and I shudder. I’m home, wrapped in his arms.