Page 67 of The Sweet Spot

JB’s grin turns into a smirk. “Can’t help it. You’re in bed, wearing that big Catfish shirt that keeps slipping off one shoulder... it’s messing with my head in the best way.” He shifts on his own bed, propping himself up higher.

I pull the shirt back up over my shoulder. “I've been wearing it for years.”

His reaction suddenly makes me self-conscious about everything. I reach up, ready to pull my hair out of my messy bun.

“No. Don't,” he says. “I like seeing you like this, Whit. All cozy and soft for me. Pull that shirt back down your shoulder. Slowly.”

His voice has that gentle but firm edge I’m starting to crave. I bite my lip and obey, tugging the neckline down one shoulder until the fabric sits low and loose across my collarbones.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Even through his small pixelated form, I can tell his eyes are darkening. I like it. “Just like that. Fuck, you look beautiful. Keep your hand there and trace your fingers along your collarbone for me. Nice and slow.”

A shiver runs through me at the quiet command and the praise. I follow his words, letting my fingertips glide lightly over my skin.

“Like this?” I whisper.

“Yeah, baby. Exactly like that.” JB watches me intently. “You like when I tell you what to do, don’t you?”

I nod, my cheeks burning. “I... yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice drops lower. “Now slide your hand down a little more.”

I obey, trailing my fingers slowly down between my breasts. My nipples are tight and sensitive against the thin fabric, and I let out a soft breath as I brush over them.

JB groans quietly.

I shift on the bed, parting my thighs. The hem of my shirt creeps higher, exposing more of my bare skin. I dip the phone a little so he can see exactly what I'm doing.

His eyes stay locked on the screen. “Fuck, Whit. You look so good like this.”

“Anything you want me to do next?” I ask lightly, waiting for his next command.

His eyes connect with mine for just a second, and when he realizes I'm just as game as he is to take this further, he starts.

“Slip your hand between your legs and touch yourself over your panties. Tell me how wet you are.”

I slide my hand down, pressing lightly against the lace between my thighs. A small moan escapes me. “My panties are soaked.”

JB’s breathing gets heavier. “Fuck, I love that. Rub your clit in slow circles for me, baby. Get yourself nice and worked up.” He pauses, watching me intently. “When you’re ready, I want you to push your fingers inside that tight little pussy and fuck yourself while I watch—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A loud knock suddenly echoes through his room.

JB freezes. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing away from the camera, and I immediately move my hand and clamp my thighs together.

“JB? You in there, man? Open up, it’s important,” a muffled male voice calls from the other side of his door.

“Shit, that's Tate.” JB glances at the screen, giving me an apologetic smile. “Two minutes. I'll get him out of here, and then we can continue where we left off.”

“Okay.”

He places his phone so I'm staring at the ceiling and can still hear him shuffling to the door and opening it.

“Hey, Tate. What can I do for you this late?”

Why is he still rhyming?

“JB, can we talk?”