“They hurt,” I whimper, arching against the sheets. “But it feels good. God, Boone—it feels so fucking good.”
“That’s it, baby. Now slide your hand lower.” His voice fractures, like gravel cracking. “Touch your pussy for me.”
My hand shakes as it trails down my stomach. The second I brush against the wet heat between my thighs, a cry rips out of me. I’m soaked, slick pooling, coating my fingers instantly.
“I’m—oh god—I’m dripping,” I gasp.
“Describe it,” he orders, his breath harsh against the speaker.
“My fingers are sliding right in. I’m so wet, Boone. It’s everywhere. I can’t—I can’t stop.”
“That’s right. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Slow. Curl them inside you.”
I do. My back arches violently, head pressing into the pillow. The sound that escapes me is animal, desperate, as my body writhes under my own touch.
“Faster now. Show me how much you need it. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I sob. “I want you here. I want your hands on me, your mouth?—”
“Say it.” His voice is guttural.
“I want you to fuck me,” I cry out. My hips grind against my hand, chasing friction, desperate, spiraling.
“That’s my girl,” he growls.
The pressure builds sharp and hot, every nerve screaming as I work myself harder, chasing the edge. My thighs tremble, my chest heaves, and I know I’m seconds away?—
And then the line goes dead.
“Boone?” I gasp, clawing at the phone. The screen is blank.
“No. No, no, no.” My body convulses with frustration, every muscle locked tight around the orgasm that won’t break. I collapse back, sobbing with need, slick coating my thighs, my hand trembling between them.
I stab at the screen, calling him back. The dial tone drones, then breaks into his voice—ragged, fractured.
“Sadie?”
“Please,” I whimper, clutching the phone to my ear, my other hand working frantically against my body. “Please, Boone. I need?—”
“I’m here.” His voice is breaking, static slicing through it, but I hear him. “I’m here, baby.”
“Help me.” My hand moves faster, desperation clawing at me. “I can’t—I’m so close. Please.”
His breath is ragged in my ear. “Touch your clit. Circle it. Harder.”
I obey, my hips bucking, the sheets tangled around me. My body bows as the pressure crests again, so high it feels like I might shatter.
“Come for me,” he grits, voice shredded.
And I do. It rips through me, violent, shaking me apart. I cry out, clutching the phone, every nerve lit with fire as release crashes over me. Wave after brutal wave leaves me gasping, sobbing, undone.
But it’s not enough.
The orgasm fades, but the need doesn’t. My body still burns, still writhes, still begs. I press the glass of water against my skin, hissing at the cold, dragging it down my chest, between my breasts, across my stomach. Steam rises off my skin like I’m burning alive.
“Boone,” I choke out, tears slipping free. “It’s not enough. I still need?—”
His voice fractures again, broken with static. “Hold on, Sadie. I’m coming.”
