Page 7 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Your jaw is relaxed, wanting to sag open. Take a deep breath now and feel your face relax. Your tongue is soft, and your teeth aren’t clenched because your jaw is loose.”

The step-by-step relaxation is amazing; I’m not sure I can even lift my head. How have I never done this before?

“Every breath you inhale leaves you more relaxed. Every breath you release is draining more stress from your body. In, filling with calm, then out, venting anxiety and worries. In with rest, out with tension. Your body is getting heavier, sinking into your mattress. With every exhale, you’re calmer, your thoughts quieter. Your legs grow heavier, your arms far too massive to lift, your body no longer resisting,” she says, pausing and exhaling with me. It’s wonderful.

“Your toes are heavy. Your feet are heavy and pushing your heels deeper into the mattress topper. Knees, thighs, hamstrings, all too heavy for anything other than complete stillness.”

She flows slowly through my body, a trickling patter of Latin as she names the individual muscles in my hands and arms, then my back, before moving to the front of my torso.

Kait’s intelligent; she knows how to pronounce them all. I’d ask her about that, but it’s too much effort when I’m so heavy and she’s more airy breaths than words.

“Your fingers are so heavy that it’s nearly impossible to keep touching your chest to match your heartbeat.”

Kait’s voice is a wisp, a cloud wrapping around me and holding me leaden but weightless, content.

CHAPTER THREE

KAITLIN

RULE #2: NEVER HANG UP UNTIL THEY RUN OUT OF MINUTES, ESPECIALLY IF THEY FALL ASLEEP.

“Yes, baby, harder, yes!” I screech. He likes it when I’m loud. “Puck me harder, puck me dead!”

I’m pretending to get railed by a hockey player, bent over the bleachers, and it’s fun as long as I forget hockey players stink. When they’re all sweaty and geared up, they sniff like the before part of a Febreze commercial until they get out of their gear.

“Puck me, baby, puck me!” Creative license is the spice of life. “You’re so pucking good, baby, give me all of your stick.”

I almost say nothing but net, but I’m pretty sure that’s a different sport.

“Oh, oh, oohhhhhhh, Chet, you are pucking wonderful. Pucking elite!”

I’m dusting my bookshelf and making our living room smell like lemon spray while coming up with pucking euphemisms. Look at me being uber productive.

I rock.

Then I hear it. The ding-dong of the doorbell.

Puck me running, Scooby-Doo.

It’s our tax documents. I’ve been waiting all day to sign for them, but I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t think I’d be mid-fake orgasm when they arrived.

I could not answer. Puck! We have to sign tonight before midnight; Jess and Ana are coming over for a carryout-and-sign-things dinner tonight. It’s a tradition.

I have to answer.

I have to answer.

I open the door, and of course, it’s the really attractive UPS man who would absolutely be my type any other day of the week. Any other time of day. Just not now. Tall, dark hair, blue-eyed, handsome. Muscular but not jacked. Grrrrrr.

I put my finger to my lips and point to my phone as he starts to ask for my signature, but still, he jumps back as I let out an unexpected feral wail of fake pleasure. To be fair, I’m wearing earbuds, not holding the phone to my ear.

“Yes, take me, take me hard, make me lose control.” I point at the earbuds. As if that explains anything. “You puck me so good.”

UPS man is a bit baffled, with a smidgen of intrigue, or perhaps he’s afraid of how intrigued he may be.

I point at my phone and silently mouth, “Phone sex,” like Captain Obvious’s dumber and more obvious sister. He nods back. We pretend this is normal.

He stands there with his signing pad electronic thingie but forgets to offer it to me. I take it from him, along with the fake pen.