“Sixteen?” he asked.
“I'm here,” I said, shaking my head. When was he going to give it up? This had gone on for long enough.
“Take off your shirt,” he said quietly.
What? No. Oh, hell to the no. We were not actually going to have phone sex. Through the wall. That was... that was crazy.
“Hunter...” I said, my voice heavy with warning.
“Fee,” he said, sounding reasonable. “Sex is an issue. I get it. I'm not going to press it,” he said and there was a strange fluttering in my chest that I was trying like hell to ignore. “But phone sex isn't an issue. So let's give it a try, okay?”
No. Nonono. “Okay,” I said, sounding shy and realizing that was exactly how I felt. Shy.
“So take off your shirt,” he said, his voice again dropping low. Sensual. And I felt the desire settle deep in my belly, a heavy pressure.
“Okay,” I said, sitting up and pulling it over my head.
“Lay back down, baby,” he said and I took a deep breath and followed my instructions. “Run your hand up your stomach slowly, up and over your breast, brushing it but not stopping. Then down the other side.”
I closed my eyes, thinking of his hand as I touched my skin which felt alert, like it was at attention, like it was reaching out for the contact.
“Now put your hand around your breast, teasing the point with your fingers.”
I heard a whimper escape my tips and cringed. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to cover my unusual insecurity.
“I am taking my pants off,” he said and, as if proving his point, I heard him stumble back and hit the wall. I smiled at the ceiling. At least I wasn't the only one who was slightly out of their comfort zone. “Now I am taking my cock out of my boxers,” he said.
Oh, holy hell. I felt the desire shoot down between my legs. Electric. That was what desire felt like, a hot bolt of something you couldn't quite understand.
I could picture him, sitting on the floor, his back against the wall where my bed was, a hand reaching into his boxers and pulling out his hard cock. Stroking it once before settling at the base. Patient. Waiting to hear me writhing and crying out before he let himself stroke it right.
“You know how hard I get just thinking about you, Fee?” he asked, his voice husky. “It doesn't matter how much I come, I cant get the need for you out of my system.”
I made a strange noise, something like a whine. I was needy as I worked my fingers over my nipple. My breasts felt oddly heavy. My nipples almost painful they were so hard.
“I know you think about me,” he said. “When you're alone. I know you think about my fingers in that tight pussy... my tongue playing at your clit. My cock buried deep inside of you.” I pressed my thighs tighter together, hoping to ease the ache. It was actually painful. “Tell me you think about me.”
“I think about you,” I admitted, my voice an airy whisper.
“The other day... when you were touching yourself,” he said. “what were you thinking of me doing?”
My hand slipped from my breast, going to my eyes and covering them. “I was thinking of you spanking me,” I admitted, barely audibly.
“That's sexy baby,” he said, his tone reassuring, like he sensed my discomfort. “And then?”
This was how I was going to die. Laying on my bed on my phone sex line, telling my neighbor about how I rubbed my clit while thinking about him. That seemed like a fitting end to my strange life.
“And then fucking me,” I finished, squeezing my eyes shut.
How the hell did women do this with their boyfriends or husbands? How could you get over the awkwardness? With strangers it was different. It was all talk. I wasn't actually touching myself. It was one-sided. Hot for them, empty for me. This was foreign territory and I didn't speak the language and I was in desperate need of a map.
“I would like to do that one day,” he admitted. Because it was true. And I couldn't blame him for that. Of course he would want to have sex with me one day. That was normal. But he didn't say he was going to. He said he would like to. And that distinction made a world of difference for me. “Move you hand down to your inner thighs, baby,” he said and my hand moved as I let my legs fall open. “Run your fingers up and down that soft skin, not far enough up that you can brush your clit. Not yet,” he warned and I was stroking. I was thinking of his big hands there instead of mine.
“I like this,” I admitted, feeling silly.
“I like it too, sweetheart,” he said, sounding breathless. “Now move your fingers between your legs, over your panties. Let me hear you touch yourself,” he cooed.
I nearly shot up off the bed. I was too hot. Too beside myself with need. The slightest touch felt overwhelming. I clamped my lips shut to keep myself from crying out, a muffled noise escaping.
“Don't fight it. I want to hear baby. You sound so sexy when you touch yourself. Stroke your clit for me.”
I was lost in that moment, working my fingers over my sensitive point. Hearing Hunter's breath in my ear. Hours, days, weeks could have passed. I was outside of the world. I was fully immersed in myself and him.
“Slip out of your panties, Fee,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “then touch yourself again without the barrier. Are you wet for me?”
“Yes.” Oh, was I ever.
“Good. Do you want to feel me inside baby?”
“Please,” I groaned, biting into my lip to try to hold onto at least the smallest thread of self control.
“My fingers or my cock?” he asked, sounding about as turned on as I was.
Both. Either. Something. Everything. “Your cock,” I decided, my thighs tensing for my next instruction.
“Thank god,” he said at first.
“Are you going to...”
“Yeah, baby,” he said. “I am going to think about your tight, wet pussy grabbing my cock and pulling it deep inside.” If I didn't get to touch myself, I was going to explode. I was going to turn into a ball of flames and burn out hard and fast. I was going to be scorch marks and dust on my bed sheets. “Are you ready, Fee?”
“Yes.” Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Do you want it soft or hard?” he asked.
“Hard.” I wanted him inside me rough enough to fucking break the bed. To break through the goddamn wall. To fall through the floor.
“Good. Take two fingers,” he said, pausing, waiting for me to get ready. “and when I said 'now' I want to to shove those fingers all the way into your pussy. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, my fingers poised at my entrance. Waiting. And waiting. He was stubbornly silent on the other end of the phone for long enough to have my hips gyrating off the bed, abandoning all pretense of not being a ball of need.
“Now,” he finally said and I pushed my fingers deep inside, feeling my insides grab at me as I thought about his cock. On the other end of the phone, Hunter let out a harsh gasp as he started to stroke his cock. “Don't stop, baby. Think of me fucking you hard and fast. Don't stop.”
I didn't need any more encouragement than that. My whole body felt like it was focused on the clawing need inside me. The rush toward oblivion. The desire to get there as quickly as possible. My legs pulled together and my hips thrust upward, the palm of my hand rubbing against my clit as I pushed my fingers harder and faster. I was loud. So loud that he didn't even need the phone to hear me, but I kept it to my ear, needing to hear his breathing. “Are you getting close?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered. So close. “Are you?”
As if answering my question, I heard his head slam into the wall. “Fuck baby. I need to hear you come for me. Come for me, Fee. Now baby.”
My fingers plunged forward once more, my hand pressing against my sensitive clit and I was falling. Falling over the cliff as fireworks went off somewhere deep inside me. “Hunter!” I cried out, loud. Loud enough to wake the neighbors three floors below.
“Oh, fuck, Fee,” h
e strangled out and his breath caught. “Fuck,” he ground out as he came. It was the sexiest thing I think I had ever heard.
I laid there for a long time, curling up closer to the headboard, wanting to be closer to him. I wanted him there. Right then. Wrapped up with me, encircled around me. But I couldn't have that. So I needed to settle for what I did have. The sound of his breathing on the other end of the phone getting slower, steadier. The pillow I bunched up and laid my head across, my hand touching the headboard as if the wall wasn't there.
“That was a lot hotter than I expected,” he said suddenly in my ear. I smiled, turning my face into the pillow. This was the closest to real intimacy I had ever had with a person. It felt natural. Right. But at the same time, scary and awkward. “Fee?”
“I'm here.”
“It's not usually like that, is it?” he asked after a minute.
It was cryptic. But I knew what he meant. And a million times... no. It was never like that. “No,” I said. “Haven't you ever...”
“Called a phone sex line?” he asked, sounding amused.
“No,” I answered quickly. “No. I meant... had phone sex.”
“Nope,” he said, surprising me.
“You're really good at it.”
“Awe made ya feel good, did I?” he asked and I could swear I heard the smirk through the phone.
“Don't tease,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I'm serious.”
“I'm serious too. You cried out my name loud enough for the entire east coast to hear you.”
“Hunter...” I warned.
“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “like that. But higher. More breathy. And a lot louder.”
“Oh my god, shut up!” I said, rolling onto my back, smiling at the ceiling.
This was the appeal to people. To the opposite sex. To please each other and then lay there afterward and tease and joke with each other.
“Just being honest,” he said, trying to sound innocent.
“You're not exactly quiet when you come either,” I said, rolling my eyes and he chuckled. “But seriously... you give good phone,” I said, slipping out of the dreamy romantic feel of the aftermath. Slipping a little more back into myself. “Want a job?”
“Listening to dudes jacking off...”
“I'm sure there are plenty of bored housewives who would like to hear you as they tap the clit their husbands have never been able to find in all the years of their marriage.”
“Baby, I could never make horse noises and slap myself with...”
“A ruler,” I supplied.
“A ruler,” he laughed. “Yeah... no.”
“But that's men,” I said, shrugging. “Women aren't usually like that. They like the dirty talk and the sweet words. They want the fantasy.”
“And men?”
“Men want the kink. The dirty secret wish they're afraid to tell their spouses about.”
“That's actually kind of sad,” Hunter said and I could hear him getting up and moving around his apartment.
“You wouldn't believe how many calls pretty much start with an orgasm and end with sobbing. Either they feel guilty or they feel ashamed of how filthy their minds are.”
“What's your favorite kind of call?”
“I don't know,” I said, moving to hang my feet off the side of the bed. “I guess the doms. It's nice to not have to do all the talking.”
“And your least favorite?”
“The guys who like being humiliated,” I said, deciding it was the most honest answer I could think of. Though the animal guys were a buzzkill too.
“Why's that?”
“I dunno... how many times can you tell someone their pencil dick is pathetic, you know?”
“Are those the guys who usually end up crying?”
“No, actually... you'd be surprised. The submissive men, in real life, are usually very powerful people. Judges. CEOs. That kind of thing. The doms are generally the weak little milksops you find working behind the counter at the computer repair stores.”
“Well yeah,” Hunter agreed. “they cant get laid if they don't command it.”
“What are you doing?” I asked hearing a clicking.
“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “You know what? You would probably like this. Why don't you get dressed,” he suggested. “and in real clothes. Not in one of those skimpy clubbing dresses you like.”
“Hey,” I grumbled, walking over to my closet.
“Not that those aren't hot,” he conceded. “but put on something less... binding. Then get that pretty little ass over here.”
He hung up and I looked dumbly down at my phone. According to the counter, we were on the phone for the better part of an hour. I pulled on a loose white t-shirt and a pair of gray leggings. Which would definitely classify as binding, but he was just going to have to deal. Most of my wardrobe was tight.
Blame the floor-length sack dresses I had to wear until I was eighteen.
I felt nervous as I dressed, a fluid sensation in my belly. I walked into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and scrubbing my face. I pulled my hair into a braid. Then undid it. Then tied it up in a messy knot and decided that that was going to have to do. I put on a coat of mascara and some chapstick, slipped into the only pair of flats I owned, and checked my reflection.
There was a difference. Around my eyes. Around my mouth. Less of a downturn to my lips. My eyes less squinted. I looked younger than I usually did.
Maybe even, dare I say it? Happy. I looked almost, just barely, happy.
I knew that was dangerous. I had never even been close to happy, but I knew it was a shaky ground to stand on. Especially when the happiness is tied to another person. Because, well, I wasn't exactly a prize and soon enough Hunter would see that. He would see that and he would move on to someone with less damage. And I would be left to find the ground giving way underneath me.
I would be all the more miserable once I got a taste of happiness and had it ripped away.
But that was a problem for future Fiona to deal with. Right then, there, in that moment, I was going to let myself feel the happy. I wasn't going to sabotage it. I was going to suck out all the joy I could. I was going to let it sink into my own bones. To sustain me through the famine.
And the famine would come.
But for right now, I was going to be happy and go see what my gorgeous neighbor with the best phone sex voice in the history of all mankind had in store for me.
Fourteen
I heard her knocking on my door half an hour later. I was glad for a little time alone. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was a little more affected by that damn call than I had expected to be. I thought it was just a clever way to get her more comfortable with me so maybe we could move forward with a more physical relationship.
I didn't know what her problem was with sex, but judging by the way she shoved me away, it wasn't small. The way she had nonchalantly blew off being attacked outside of our building had given me the awful idea that maybe that was it. Maybe she was raped. Not wanting sex would be a normal response to that. As would wanting control... especially over men. Which, in turn, also explained the phone sex business.
As horrible as it was to think that was what happened, it made the most sense. Especially since she definitely had a healthy sex drive. And she liked being talked dirty to. Jesus Christ, that moaning...
I shook my head, cleaning off my new dining table, feeling myself start to get hard again at the memory.
I never considered myself a phone sex kind of guy. That seemed to be for pervs and losers. Or husbands and wives when one of them was out of town. It didn't seem like something a guy who could definitely go out and find a girl to take home would do. But with Fiona, it had been less awkward than I had expected. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She was different with me than she was with her other guys. Her usual callers. With them she was loud, obnoxiously l
oud. And filthy. Holy fuck did she have a dirty mouth. But with me she had seemed shy and uncertain. Maybe because she wasn't wearing her work mask. She wasn't pretending to be anyone. She was just herself. And while I would certainly like to get her to use that filthy mouth with me sometime, I wanted it to be her. Not phone sex operator Fiona.
I walked around putting things away. I was still working on a lot of projects, but my apartment was a lot different from the last time she had seen it. The walls had been painted a warm burnt orange color. I had made a small round black dining room set, black coffee table, and bought a black leather couch. It was a bit... man cave-y, but I liked it. It felt homey. Her cactus was sitting in the center of the coffee table.
I walked down the hall, going into my bedroom. I hadn't gotten to this room yet. The walls were bare, an ugly faded white. My bed took up most of the floor space, a giant king sized bed in a child's sized room. But a man needed a good bed. I went into my small closet and grabbed a gray t-shirt.
Then I heard her door close. I walked out toward the living room, expecting her knock. But there was nothing for a long time and I could just picture her outside the door, arm raised, trying to get the courage to knock. It was at least a full minute before she finally did.
“Hey, Dan,” she said when I opened the door, smiling a little. “You know... Vermont looks a lot like New York.”
“Fucking overpopulation,” I said, looking down at her, impossibly sexy in a t-shirt and leggings. How was that possible?
“Soo...” she said after the silence drug on for a minute. “Are you inviting me in...”
I moved out of the doorway and she walked in, looking around. “You did a lot of work already,” she said, running her hand over the dining room table. “Did you make this?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the smallest twinge of insecurity which was completely ridiculous.
“Wow,” she said, looking around, her eyes falling on the cactus and a small smile toyed at her lips. “I really like this color. It's... cozy.” She turned to me, her big green eyes finding mine. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
For A Good Time, Call... Page 9
