“Where are you in the script right now,” he says, “if I may ask?”
“Your mouth is kissing down my stomach.”
“Okay. Continue.”
I reach lower, and suck in a breath. “I’m wet.”
He can’t stifle a quiet groan.
“I haven’t done this in—” I pull in more air, imagining him feeling this. “Since before London. Before you.”
“That’s right.”
“I imagine what you feel when you touch me here.”
He’s quiet on the other end.
“How soft it must feel.”
“Very.”
“If you touch me here, do you immediately want to push into me?”
“Yes,” he says with an edge, repeating more quietly, “Yes.”
I arch my neck, stroking. “It feels good.”
“Explain, if you don’t mind?”
“I’m imagining you kissing me here,” I say, and my skin grows warm, humming. “And how you started with just kissing but then licked me.”
“That sounds like a good progression.”
I love the deep rumble of his voice. “You were so sweet,” I say. “But when you put your fingers in…”
He’s quiet, but I can almost hear how he strains to hear every word.
“You just,” I say, pleasure climbing, “you fucked me.”
“Georgia.” A sharp, breathless reprimand, but it only makes me moan.
“So hard,” I whisper. “You were wild.”
“I know. I was.”
“Oh God, you liked it, didn’t you? How many fingers?”
“You tell me.”
“Three.” My fingers circle; tension builds in my spine. “I couldn’t spread my legs any wider.”
“I know.”
“Are you hard?”
“Without question.” A car door slams, I hear his short, broken gusts as he walks. Very quietly he manages, “Use your other hand to touch your breasts.”
I do, and my eyes roll back, another sound escapes. “I’m close.”
“Not yet.” He’s moving through a building. I hear him murmur a quiet thanks to someone.
“It feels so good,” I whisper.
“Continue.”
“But not as good as you feel.”
A quiet laugh. “I’m very glad to hear that.”
I’m reduced to this pinpoint of focus, breathing in, and out, imagining his head between my legs, his silken dark hair sliding through my fingers. “I want to grab your hair.”
“I would agree to those terms.”
“I want to move against you. Fuck your mouth.”
He laughs again, breathlessly. “I wish you would.”
“I’m so close.”
A quiet beep and then, “Not yet, Gigi.”
But I realize the beep echoed; I’m hearing it two places.
Through the phone… and here.
Awareness sinks just as the door slams, and a second later he appears, rounding the corner into the bedroom. Alec is already tugging the button of his shirt open, finding me on the bed, legs bent and open.
Doing exactly what I’ve been describing.
“Holy—” He yanks his shirt off and comes over me, kissing me, mouth open and groaning. Pulling back, he stares down our bodies, reaching to keep my hand from moving away. “Show me.”
He watches me touch myself, reaching to unbuckle his pants. The belt slaps my thigh as he struggles to get his button undone, his zipper down, before pulling himself free. With my free hand, I pull his head to mine, wanting his tongue in my mouth, his sounds vibrating down my throat. The movement brings our bodies closer, and his fist bumps against my hand as he strokes himself faster— Alec breaks away to kiss in a frenzy down my body, pulling my hand away and guiding it to his hair. Before I can even get his name out, his mouth is there, open and urgent, sucking my soul out of me. When I rock my hips up into him, he lets out a desperate, encouraging groan. For a few perfect seconds, I make good on my fantasy, fucking that sweet, plump mouth, and at the feel of his kiss, the view of his face between my legs, my back arches away and an orgasm slams into me, twisting me so sharply Alec has to press a firm hand down on my hips to keep me planted on the bed.
I let my legs fall loosely to the side, spent, and he presses his forehead to my hip as his free palm slides up my side to my breast. It’s only a couple of dizzy seconds before I realize what he’s doing, and I push up onto my elbow to watch his hand move, faster and faster. I sink a hand into his hair and his fist stills as he comes with a quiet groan.