Tease Me Tonight

by Jules Court

  She didn’t find him under the Ws. It wasn’t until she’d gone through her entire list that she discovered where he’d hidden his number. It was filed under HUSBAND and he’d thoughtfully added his picture so she wouldn’t be confused. She looked at that wicked grin and took a deep breath.

  How was this even done? Texts. Everyone texted now. She typed out Hi and dropped the phone as if it had turned to molten lava in her hands.

  You can do this. You’re a single, adventurous woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.

  She picked her phone back up. What to send? Something to let him know she was on to his tricks—no way hers was the only phone he was in as husband—but not harsh enough to shut him down.

  Last time I checked, bigamy is still illegal, husband. There. It might not be the wittiest thing she’d ever come up with, but it was casual. She squeezed her eyes shut and hit Send.

  She held the phone in her hand as if she were cradling a grenade that could go off at any moment. Except it wasn’t going off. Absolute silence but for the sound of the blood pounding in her ears.

  He wasn’t going to text her back.

  Probably because he’d already forgotten her. Either that or was regretting giving her his number. She was an idiot.

  Falling back onto the mattress, she placed her pillow over her face and wished for the sweet release of death. The was nothing like embarrassment to turn a bad hangover worse.

  Chapter Three

  Will upended the sugar canister over his coffee. He didn’t stop pouring until his spoon could almost stand up on its own. Today he needed the caffeine and the sugar. After wrenching himself away from Elizabeth, potential love of his life, before he could do something stupid, he’d gone straight home, but instead of going to bed, he’d stayed up painting all night. He wasn’t a real artist, just a guy who drew stuff sometimes, no big deal, but he’d been exploring different mediums lately, and the depths achievable with oils was blowing him away.

  Needless to say, after pulling an all-nighter, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for brunch with his siblings. But skipping would have opened him up to all kinds of abuse, especially since they’d gathered specifically to talk about their parents’ upcoming thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. So he’d met them at their favorite “greasy spoon serving breakfast all day, but don’t call it brunch, you freaking yuppie” diner in Medford, the once working class but rapidly gentrifying town just north of Boston proper.

  He rubbed his bleary eyes and looked up to find himself being watched by his sister Emily, her wife Sophia, his brother Brian, and Brian’s girlfriend Priya. “What?” he asked, and put his coffee cup back down on the chipped Formica tabletop.

  “Don’t you look fresh as a daisy,” Emily said.

  “You need a Bloody Mary,” Brian said. “Little hair of the dog.”

  “Water. You need to hydrate,” said Priya, a smart, beautiful woman with an MD after her name, who was inexplicably head over heels in love with Will’s goofball brother. She eyeballed him like she was dying to whip out her stethoscope or jam a tongue depressor in his mouth. “Ninety percent of hangovers are dehydration. The rest is just exhaustion because alcohol interferes with REM sleep.”

  “I’m not hungover,” he said.

  “Tell that to the bags under your eyes,” Brian said.

  “Is it because you’re still drunk?” Emily asked.

  “Give him a break, you guys,” Sophia said gently. Finally, someone on his side. “He looks too miserable for your teasing.” Or not.

  He cast a baleful eye around the table. He was outnumbered because he was, as usual, flying solo. “I should have stayed in bed.”

  “Too bad. We’ve got important business,” Brian said.

  “What are we going to do for Mom and Dad?” Emily asked. “This anniversary is kind of a big deal.”

  “Homemade card isn’t going to cut it?” Will asked.

  “Not anymore,” Emily said.

  “Welcome to your thirties, baby bro,” Brian said.

  “I’m twenty-eight, doofus.”

  “You don’t look a day over forty,” Brian said before stabbing some home fries off Priya’s plate. She mock threatened him with her fork and they shared a smile.

  Next to him, Emily was turned slightly toward Sophia, whose body was likewise shifted, closing a private loop that contained the two of them.

  Will cut into his pancakes. “Why don’t we throw them a party?”

  “Not another backyard barbecue,” Emily said. “We do those all the time.”

  “You could rent out a space and have it catered. Maybe get a DJ and have a sort of wedding reception.” Priya said.

  Sophia leaned forward. “Your parents might even like to renew their vows. We could invite their minister.”

  “We’d need to find something fast,” he said. “Their anniversary is only a month away.”

  “This is a really bad week for me,” Brian said. “Danny and I are working a major case. I’ve actually got to take off soon.” The fact that Brian, who’d almost been expelled from high school for fighting more times than Will could remember, was now a bastion of law and order never failed to amuse him.

  Emily and Sophia looked at each other. “We’ve got the meeting with the mortgage broker coming up,” Emily said to Sophia.

  “Don’t forget the home inspection,” Sophia added.

  “Maybe if you use some vacation time...”

  Sophia pulled out her phone to check her calendar.

  Will watched the two of them try to coordinate their schedules with a growing sense of annoyance that no one had asked him to do anything. Normally he’d just shrug and let everyone else work out the details—the prerogative of being the youngest—but today the fact that no one ever expected anything of him got under his skin.

  “I can handle it,” he said.

  He got a table full of incredulous expressions in return.

  “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

  Brian held his hands up. “Hey, you want to do all the work, knock yourself out.”

  “Fine with me,” Emily said.

  “I can help,” Priya said.

  “You don’t have to,” Will said. Why did they all think he was a moron?

  “I know. I want to. I like your parents and I... I’d like to be part of this.”

  Brian put his hand over Priya’s and Will pulled his head out of his ass long enough to remember that she wasn’t close to her family. He hadn’t pried—if Priya had wanted him to know why, she’d have told him—but he could tell the estrangement was painful on her side.

  He pushed stop on the self-indulgent pity party and gave Priya a real smile. “That’d be awesome,” he said.

  They took a few minutes to compare schedules. Between her odd hours as an ER doc and his as a firefighter, they almost gave up until they hit on Friday afternoon.

  “Okay, it’s settled,” Priya said. “Meet me at the hospital at noon and we can go from there.”

  His phone beeped with an incoming text. He forced himself to take another bite of his pancakes before he casually reached for his phone to check his texts. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up at the name. Elizabeth had texted him in the daytime. That was the stuff of relationships, not hookups, which meant his plan had worked. He was a genius.

  “So, I gotta run,” he said to the table. No way was he texting her back with his family around. They would waste no time busting his chops if they knew he liked this girl, even sweet Sophia—she’d been married to his sister for way too long not to have had some MacGregor rub off on her. He drained the last of his coffee before pointing at Priya. “But I’ll see you on Friday. And I’ll see the rest of you jackasses later—except you, Sophia. You’re not a jackass even if you did marry into this family.
”

  A round of boos and a few crude gestures accompanied his exit. He’d once had a girlfriend who’d gone on about love languages, like everyone spoke a different one, or some bullshit. He hadn’t paid attention because that was back in his shallow days before he’d grown into the mature adult he was now. But if there was such a thing as love languages, then his family’s lexicon was composed of jokes and insults. It worked for them.

  He waited until he was safely home before responding to Elizabeth’s text. It wasn’t a power play, he just wanted to give her full attention, and as a firefighter, he’d been a first responder to too many accident scenes to ever text and drive. He settled down on his sofa, kicked off his shoes and read her text.

  Bigamy? he wrote. He debated whether to add a winky smile face emoji but thought better of it. Smiley faces weren’t very manly. He hit Send.

  God, he hated texting. Not that he’d want to go back a hundred years and be forced to write letters, but there was another option. Why didn’t anyone use the phone part of the phone? He wanted to hear her voice.

  While he was waiting for her response, he picked up his sketchbook and a pencil off the coffee table and began doodling. It didn’t take long for his phone to chime.

  I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Boston whose phone you’re in under husband.

  He tapped his phone in his hand. How to convince her that he wasn’t a playboy without coming across as insincere or coming on too strong? This was so much easier in person. What are you doing?

  I’m in bed, she responded.

  Sorry if I woke you up.

  I’m not sleeping.

  What was she doing in bed? Don’t picture that. That’s how you get in trouble.

  Then what are you doing? Why did you send that, you idiot? Nothing suggestive. You want to get to know this woman, not just be her plaything.

  She sent back a smiley face, then, So, I found something on the internet.

  And there it was. That stupid calendar was going to follow him around for the rest of his life. The internet was forever. It was for a good cause.

  How did that puppy not slip off you?

  You think the oil’s bad, the bronzer was even worse. I don’t know if you noticed in the dark light of the bar, but I’m not orange. I’m actually white.

  Let me see.

  See what?

  Send me a picture, she texted.

  Despite his better angels, her request lit him up like soft hands on bare skin. But this was too easy, too impersonal. He needed real contact.

  You first, he sent because his brain wasn’t in charge anymore.

  * * *

  Elizabeth was being a very bad girl. Excitement sparked tingles that raced down her spine. This was so dirty. Could she send a risqué picture? Maybe start out with something tame. She lay down and arranged her hair to spill across her pillow. She held the phone above her head and snapped the pic. It didn’t turn out too bad. Her eyes were half closed, but that was kind of sexy. Too bad her T-shirt was baggy. Why didn’t she own anything lacy? She hit Send before she could change her mind.

  It only took a moment to get a picture back. It was his hand giving a thumbs-up. A thumbs-up? Not what I’m looking for, she sent.

  A moment later, another picture. This? The tiniest patch of skin was revealed where he lifted the hem of his T-shirt. Not only was he a flirt, but he was a tease. She wanted to lick that seam of skin and then unbutton those jeans.

  She hiked up the hem of her T-shirt and snapped a pic. She sent it quickly before she could think. She was having too much fun to think. There would be plenty of time to be embarrassed later.

  Her gaze moved to her nightstand. Megan was gone. No one to hear.

  She pulled out her vibrator. The only thing that gotten between her thighs in eight long years. She’d gone through a lot of batteries.

  She pushed her panties off and sent another text. More.

  Instead of a text, her phone rang. A Facetime request from Will. She tossed her vibrator on the nightstand as if he could already see her. Just answer it. She fluffed her hair, took a deep breath, and answered. His face filled her screen.

  “Give me a panoramic,” he said. “I want to see your bedroom.”

  “It’s a mess.”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “You first.”

  He gave her a 360 rotation with his phone. It landed on an unmade bed with rumpled sheets. She swallowed against the onslaught of wicked images. Tangling with him in those sheets, his taut muscles hard under her hands as she clung to him while he drove into her.

  The picture on her phone shook. Caught up in her lustful fantasies, it took a second to realize he’d kicked a pile of laundry out of view. “Ignore that,” he said.

  He swung the screen around to show her the rest of his room. An easel sat in the corner.

  “You do more than sketches on cocktail napkins?” she asked.

  “Well, napkins are my preferred medium.”

  “No, you’re like an actual artist.”

  “I dabble.”

  “You’re modest? This is a new development.”

  “Your turn,” he said.

  “Fine.” She stuck her arm out and swung the phone around. A second too late, she realized what she’d revealed. Oh shit. Her vibrator was sitting right there on her nightstand. Maybe he didn’t see it.

  “Go back,” he said.

  She feigned dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw something very intriguing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So now you’re shy? You’re as shy as I am modest.”

  She felt herself flush but tried to play it off. She picked up her vibrator. “You mean this?”

  “How often do you use it?”

  “None of your business.”

  “What do you think about?”

  A firefighter with oiled six-pack abs. “Nothing. It’s no big deal. Orgasms are healthy. I’m a nurse. You should have one a day. It’s like doing yoga or getting a massage.”

  “So nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why don’t you do some yoga right now?”

  “You want me to...” She waved the vibrator.

  “You don’t have to show me the details unless you want to. Keep the camera on your face.”

  The thrill of something dangerous raced through her. This was so bad it looped all the way around to become very, very good. A current raced between her thighs. Need knotted her belly. The question wasn’t whether she was going to get herself off—because if she didn’t come, she’d explode—but whether he’d watch while she did it.

  “You’re not seeing my bits.”

  “Is that the medical term?”

  She stuck out her tongue.

  “Lie down on your bed,” he said in a silky voice.

  “Do I look like the type of woman who likes to take orders?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “I can take orders, too. It’s a two-way street.”

  “Then you need to get on your bed, too.”

  She was really going to do this. She put her phone facedown on the bed, propped her pillows up behind her, and fluffed her hair.

  “Hey, no dropping the phone. I need to see your face.”

  “And I need to see yours.” She picked her phone back up careful to angle it so he only saw her top half. She flicked on her vibrator and put it between her legs. The first contact made her gasp.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Amazing.”

  “Keep your eyes open and look at me.”

  His green eyes blazed right through the phone screen. The vibrator hummed against her out
er lips. She nudged them apart to lightly place it on her already engorged clit. Her eyes fluttered shut against the near ecstasy that flooded over her. It was almost too much.

  “Keep those eyes open,” Will commanded.

  “I can’t. It feels too good.” She’d done this a thousand times in a mechanical, detached way. It’d never felt so intense before.

  “You can.”

  The first clench of her stomach muscles and she knew her orgasm was coming. When she felt the fluttering of her vagina, she automatically pulled the vibrator away.

  “You’re done already?” Will said in a teasing voice. “Keep going.”

  “I can’t.” She was about to come and the continued vibration would be too much sensation.

  “You need to learn a new phrase like ‘whatever you say, Will.’”

  Against her instinct, she followed his teasing instructions and held the vibrator against her clit as waves of pleasure rolled through her body. She held it past the point where she wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or pain anymore. The phone fell from her hand as her entire body stiffened. She could hear the gasping noises as if they were far away even though they were coming from her own mouth. The blood was pounding in her ears.

  She released her hold on the vibrator and it dropped on the bed as waves of pleasure crested over her. As if from a distance, she could hear it buzzing merrily away but was too boneless to reach for it. Will’s voice sounded from the phone’s speaker, but the words were indistinct.

  She turned off her vibrator and tossed it aside before picking her phone back up.

  “How about dinner tonight?” Will asked.

  “What?” Her brain was still scrambled. Why would he want to have dinner? He’d just watched her get herself off. Obviously this wasn’t on a relationship track. She’d never even done that with her most serious boyfriend, who she’d dated for her entire freshman year of college.

  “I have to go.” She ended the connection.

  * * *

  Will looked at his phone in amazement. She’d hung up on him. He’d just watched her face tighten in pleasure as she orgasmed and then she shut him out. He sat on his bed with a racing heart and a throbbing cock and cursed himself. The minute she’d mentioned that stupid calendar he should have known it would end this way.