Him: My thumbs are tired. Hold on.
The phone vibrates in my hand a second later.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hey.” He pauses. “So what made you change your mind about the date?”
“My friends said it would be good for me,” I admit.
“Your friends are right.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Anyway, I feel like this is a conversation we should have in person so I can see your face. Eggplant emojis don’t have enough nuance.”
This makes me laugh. “True.”
“But you’re in Boston and I’m in Hastings, so we’re going with the phone call. I may have sent a pic once, but it was solicited. She sent me one first.”
“Really? I’m not a fan of that. Too many revenge pics online.” Besides, I never really hung around a guy long enough to want to send him a picture, but I don’t share that with Tucker. “So there are pics of Tucker’s mighty wang on the internet?”
“I haven’t been tagged on Instagram yet, so I’m hopeful they aren’t out there. But thanks for calling my dick mighty. We appreciate that.” Amusement colors his words.
“We? As in you and your penis?”
“Yup,” he says cheerfully.
I snuggle deeper under the covers. “You have a name for your penis?”
“Doesn’t everyone? Guys put a name on everything that’s important to them—cars, dicks. One of my teammates in junior hockey named his stick, which was dumb because sticks break all the time. He’d gone through twelve of them by the end of the season.”
“What were the names?”
“That’s the thing. He just kept adding a number to the end, like iPhone 6, iPhone 7, except in his case it was Henrietta 1, Henrietta 2, et cetera.”
I snicker. “He should’ve used the hurricane naming convention.”
“Darlin’， he wasn’t smart enough to come up with two names, let alone twelve.”
Darlin’。 My heart trips at the endearment. When he used it before, it seemed like a throwaway. But now? After he just said guys name things that are important to them?
I quell my fantastical interpretations before they lead me to a dangerous end. We’re flirting. Keep the tone light. “What’s your dick’s name?”
“Uh-uh,” he scolds. “That’s wife knowledge. I can’t tell you until the honeymoon.”
I wait for the inevitable sense of discomfort to start tickling my neck, but it doesn’t come. Apparently the offhand jokes about marriage no longer bother me.
“So what makes a good dick pic?” he asks. “Not that I’m sending you one.”
“Is that also wife knowledge?” I tease.
“I’d consider it engagement stuff.”
I put that thought aside and consider his question. “Completely graphic doesn’t do it for me. I need context, like I said before. Your fist around it would be hot. You have good hands.”
There’s a rustling sound, footsteps, and then a door latch clicking shut. He’s gone somewhere private, and that knowledge makes certain parts of my body pulse excitedly.
“I had to leave the living room. We’ve got people over, and you thinking about my dick is hot as fuck. I’m too hard to be in public.”
My breasts feel so heavy that I’m finding it hard to breathe. As I shift underneath the blankets, I hear his breath catch.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.
I drag in some air to fill my suddenly depleted lungs. I know where this is going. If I stay on the phone, we’re going to end up turning each other on to the point that I’m going to have to masturbate once I’m done. Tucker remains silent, leaving the decision up to me. I dip my hand between my legs as if the pressure could make the ache go away, but the contact only intensifies my desire.
My voice is hoarse when I start speaking. “I’m fixated on you holding your dick. Only now you’re moving your hand, stroking yourself.”
When there’s no immediate response, I blush, thinking I’ve gone too far for him. But his next words tell me he’s right with me.
“You’re killing me.”
I bite my lip and rub harder. “I’m getting worked up too.”
“That doesn’t help, because now I’m picturing you all flushed and needy. You wet, Sabrina?”
My fingers slip across my pussy. “Very.”
“Fuck. What would I be doing if I was there?”
“Licking me,” I say instantly. He has a great tongue.