Roni Loren - Call On Me

Lie. Lie. Lie. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it.

“Are you still wearing what you were earlier?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Seriously? The what are you wearing question? You could at least—”

“Tell me.”

“Ugh. The shirt but not the pants. Super hot.”

He made some sort of pleased sound on the other end. “Good. That’s exactly how I’m picturing you now.”

“Fantastic.”

“And though you didn’t ask, I’m wearing nothing. Just my sheets. I like the way they feel against my skin.”

She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into her pillow. Shit on a stick. Pike was naked. This was a stupid, stupid idea. She needed to hang up. She adjusted her headset. “You are making crap up right now. I know this game way better than you.”

“Don’t taunt me, mama. I’m not above sending you a dick pic.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Play nice then. Now, where were we?” he said, in a sleep-soft, sexy voice—all cool sheets and hot skin and long nights. “Right, you on your bed in just a thin T-shirt and panties. I bet you’ve taken your bra off, too.”

She had, but she wasn’t going to confirm it for him.

“Mmm, I can imagine that shirt is pretty see-through with nothing else beneath it. I wish I was there to brush my fingers over the front of your shirt, see your nipples rise against the cotton so I could put my mouth on them.”

“Are you charging me by the minute?” She kept her voice even, but her hand had drifted to her breast. She drew her fingertips over her nipple, casually at first, then with more purpose, sending a hot bolt of sensation down through her belly. Her toes curled.

God, what was she doing? She went through this scenario all the time with callers and never once had the urge to actually participate.

“First call’s free.” She heard the glide of sheets again. “Especially since I’m going to enjoy this, too.”

She clamped her lips together. She would not ask him if he was touching himself. Would. Not. Ask. And she would not picture what he might look like laid out naked, thighs spread, cock in hand.

She shuddered and the spot between her thighs pulsed with awareness. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Don’t. You don’t have to pretend to hate this. I told you I’m honest. Do me that courtesy, too. This is a no-risk proposition. We don’t even have to talk about it face to face. Work is work. Fine. This—this is just a no-pressure, late-night anonymous phone call. Give yourself a break, mama. Indulge a little.”

She let out a long breath, the weight of her limbs pressing into the bed. It’d been so long since her body had tingled and ached, so long since she’d fantasized about a man. The offer was so damn tempting.

“I’m hard for you, Oakley.”

Well, hell . That fucking did it. How was she supposed to stay cool after that? Hard . It was such a filthy word when he said it. She licked her lips, tried to find her voice. “Is that right?”

“Have been since you answered the phone. Your voice does it for me. I keep hearing your song in my head and picturing you in nothing but a T-shirt. If I were there, I’d peel it off of you and tie your hands with it so I could taste your skin and feel you against my tongue, watch your green eyes go black with want.”

She let out a soft, needy gasp. One he had to have heard. But she couldn’t help herself. Those sinful lips of his running over her body, tasting her? The image was too decadent to block.

“Still with me, Oakley?”

“I’m here.” It was all she could manage to say without totally giving herself away.

“Are you wet for me?” he asked, shameless and bold. “Because I’m leaking for you. You should see how slippery the head of my cock is getting just thinking about you.”

God bless America. A rumble of need moved through her like a possessed freight train, gears that had long gone rusty coming to life and spinning too fast. She could see him there, fist around himself, thumb rubbing the fluid over the tip, making his erection glossy and flushed. Could imagine being there with him, lowering her head and swiping her tongue across that little slit. She could almost taste the salt of him. “This is such a bad idea.”

“My favorite kind. What are you thinking about, baby?” he asked, voice gruff. “Don’t censor, and I won’t either.”

She swallowed past the tangle of protests in her throat. She could do this. Hell, she did this every night. She’d just never said the words and really meant them before. “I was imagining what you’d taste like.”

He groaned, and that gave her a strange thrill of satisfaction. She was getting to him, too. “Answer my other question. I want to know.”

She knew the answer but let her hand slide down her belly anyway. Her fingers dipped beneath the band of her panties and found the slickness waiting there. She stroked a finger over her clit, the simple touch making her thighs clench. “Yes. I’m wet.”

“Fuck,” he said in a strangled whisper. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? I can fucking hear it in your voice. God, you’re driving me crazy. Hold on.”

Something squeaked on his end of the line. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing lube out of my drawer,” he said bluntly. “I want to imagine how sexy and slick you’d feel around me.”

“How very prepared of you,” she teased, her words getting looser the more she stroked herself. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Not in this lifetime or the last, mama, but I’m always prepared to get off.” Mattress springs creaked as he got settled again. “Ah, fuck, yes. That’s better.”

“Tell me what you’re doing,” she said, reaching down to slide her panties off and to turn off the bedside lamp. Darkness enveloped her, keeping her safe, secret. This wasn’t really happening if it was in the dark.

“I’m on top of my sheets and have my hand tight around my cock, rubbing slow and teasing myself, losing myself in your voice and imagining what you’re doing right now. Help me fill in the picture.”

“I’m in the dark and have a headset on so my hands are free. I’ve taken my panties off and am touching myself.”

“No,” he said, gravel in his voice. “Use the words for me. I know you’re not that polite on your calls. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She inhaled a long breath, trying to find the courage. She said filthy things to men every night, but they were just words to strangers she’d never have to face. That was Sasha. She’d never gone there as Oakley. This felt altogether different—vulnerable. She’d have to see this man again, have to own this part of herself in front of him. She released the breath. Jumped off the cliff. “I’m pushing my fingers inside myself and rubbing my clit. Everything feels tight and achy, like I could come at any second. My pussy is clenching around my fingers just from me thinking about what you’d feel like inside of me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby. You’re perfect. And don’t deny yourself. Get a toy and give yourself more than your fingers.”

Her back arched, the pleasure building fast. It’d been so long since she’d done anything but snag a cursory orgasm in the shower. “I don’t have any toys.”

“What? I thought all women had a stash.”

“Not numb ones.”

“You’re not numb, baby.” She could hear his slick hand moving steadily on his end of the line. It was a familiar noise, but it’d never sounded so damn lewd and sexy. “Feel how hot and slippery you are against your hand. Feel it all. How awake and alive you are. How much you want this.”

She moaned, unable to stop the sounds now.

“If I were there, I’d fill you up. Give you more.”