Sadie
The glass is cold in my hand, condensation sliding down onto my fingers. I take a sip, the water cool against the furnace of my throat, and it steadies me just enough to hear the phone buzzing in Shepard’s hand. He presses it into mine.
“Boone,” he mouths, his eyes soft but tight with worry.
My heart clenches. My chest feels too small for the sudden rush of relief and longing that pours through me at just seeing his name lit on the screen.
“Hello,” I breathe, voice raw.
“Hey, baby.” His voice is thick, warm, threaded with something that slides right under my skin. My eyes flutter closed as if the sound of him alone can anchor me.
“Where are you?” My voice cracks around the words.
“Caught in traffic. I’m trying another way back.” His frustration is tangible, pulled tight in every syllable. “I should already be there with you.”
Shepard clears his throat softly. “We’ll give you two some space.”
I glance up, startled, but both he and Gabe are already moving. No hesitation, no commentary—just quietunderstanding. Gabe avoids my gaze, his shoulders rigid as he follows Shepard out. The door shuts with a low click, leaving me cocooned in silence except for Boone’s voice humming through the line.
I clutch the phone harder. “I wish you were here.”
“I know,” he murmurs. There’s a pause, the sound of him exhaling, and then, lower, “I’m swallowing it down just thinking about you.”
The words pull me tight, coil me sharper than the heat already threading through every nerve.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, softer now, the question weighted with more than concern.
“I don’t know.” I swallow hard. “Hot. It’s everywhere, Boone. My skin feels wrong, too tight. I can’t think. My body won’t stop…” I trail off, pressing the heel of my palm into my thigh, fighting the unbearable throb building between my legs. “It’s like I’m crawling out of my own skin.”
There’s silence for a beat, and then his voice shifts, lower, darker. “Getting you off could help.”
The suggestion makes my breath catch. “How?”
Another pause. Then, deliberate, “Phone sex.”
The words ripple over me, shocking and intoxicating. I don’t even realize I’ve let out a sound until I hear my own moan catch, unbidden, sliding free from my throat. Heat slicks between my thighs, wetness I can feel spreading against the sheet.
“Would you like that?” he asks, voice rougher now, the edge of command threading through it.
I nod before I remember he can’t see me. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Put me on speaker.”
My hands tremble as I fumble with the screen, setting the phone on the pillow beside me. His voice fills the room, deep and steady, like he’s finally here even though he isn’t.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he instructs.
“My nipples ache,” I whimper, the words falling out without thought, without filter.
“Good. Lick your fingers.”
My tongue slides over my fingertips, wet and hot. The simple act feels filthy, like he’s watching me, like his eyes are here tracking every movement.
“Now touch yourself.” His voice is thicker, strained, like he’s fighting the same fire I am. “Roll your nipples between your fingers, slow.”
I obey. The ache sharpens, spirals. I squeeze and twist lightly, and a shiver runs through me so fierce I gasp.
“Tell me,” he demands.
