Page 61 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

That’s a compliment, right? I chose chatting with you—whether or not we have phone sex—over actual intercourse with someone else?

“I understand.”

Kait doesn’t give away her feelings, not a single hint at what she’s feeling. I’m trying to spiral out, stumbling over myself, but she’s not having it. She demands I strip and works me into a frenzy of lust and pleasure, teasing me for eons, keeping me dangling on the edge of orgasm until I babble yet again, wanting only her until she entices—no, she demands an orgasm from me. But there’s a catch—I have to say her name as I finish, a trade my soul is eager to make.

The result is the single finest orgasm I’ve ever had with her—ever, really—the kind that fills me with white-hot light flashing through my mind and body, growing brighter until nothing matters but the knife-edge of the pain of constant denial slipping into relief while I’m wrapped up in her voice. It’s so powerful I’m left a gasping and trembling mess, desperate to say her name in a manly growl but instead whimpering it as my body shudders with satisfaction and relief. I’m devastated, my world decimated by the power of her voice. It’s the kind of pleasure that rips and tears at the walls that hold the line between reality and my wishes.

She’s pleased, my not-girlfriend. Her voice is rich with it, talking to me as I return to earth. That’s all that really matters. If she’s happy, I’m happy.

But I can’t help but wonder if the mind-blowing orgasm is Kait’s way of telling me she’s pleased that I didn’t touch another woman.

“Benedict,” I say as I drift off, wanting to please her in some tiny way. “My first middle name is Benedict.”

“Sweet dreams, Henry,” she replies. Her happiness is contagious. I smile as I nestle into my pillow. “Sleep well, I’ll be thinking of you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HENRY

“SAVE A HORSE (RIDE A COWBOY)” — BIG & RICH

After a quick stop at the office, I’m finally home. Julian texted to say I had a package from Buttercup Westley waiting on my desk, and I was unwilling to wait until Monday. Kait’s frugality makes a package a big deal. Kait is, well, Kait, and that makes me unwilling to open it in front of Julian. How would I explain Barbie-sized chaps or, worse, a Fleshlight?

The sender is always a Princess Bride reference. Inigo Montoya. Mr. Preparetodie. Waverly (Buttercup and Westley’s child, who knew?).

I open the box with one of my kitchen knives, the closest thing at hand, even though I would bitch at anyone else for abusing the blade. Four ties, identical, and nice. The color of peridots, silk. It’s what I would pick out for myself, or more accurately, something my sister would pick on my behalf, but why four? Expensive too. Has my cheap Kait been replaced by spendy aliens?

A card is tucked into the bottom of the package, in the now familiar cursive so perfect it could be a font.

Dear Cowboy,

One for tying your right wrist to your headboard.

One for restraining your left.

One for a blindfold.

One for work so you can smile all day long thinking about how you earned every single one of these.

I can’t wait to Save a Horse and Ride a Cowboy.

Love,

Cowgirl

I’m standing in my kitchen, trying repeatedly to unlock my phone. She sent me an entire playlist of songs “for wearing chaps.” She’s also dedicated herself to some creative bedtime calls that feature chaps. Reverse cowgirl, girl on top, straddling my face so I can taste her, the list is long and extremely hot.

“Hi, sexy!” She’s chipper. “Welcome home!”

“I received an interesting box from Buttercup Westley.”

“You did? Was it a good box, a bad box, or a naughty box that needs a spanking?”

I grin. “Good and naughty?” I love it when I have mail from Kait. The notes she sends at least once a week, usually a few lines giving a reason why she likes me, put me in the best mood. I keep them in the top drawer of my bedside table; sometimes I read a few before I go to sleep if we aren’t on the phone. The most recent one said, “The sound of your voice is like a warm hug.”

Actual gifts, given how frugal she is, are always a surprise. My favorites are the weighted blanket she sent for Christmas and the friendship lamp that sits on my bedside table.

Kait lets out a yawn, and the rustle of skin sliding against bedding captures my attention.