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He punched his pillow. He needed to stop.
His phone chimed and he looked down to see Sophie’s name. Are you awake?
He went from hard to granite. He typed back. Yes, you too?
I can’t sleep.
He couldn’t help it. He fisted his cock. Why’s that?
It took thirty seconds for her to reply. I miss you.
He groaned. I miss you too.
I’ve been drinking.
Are you drunk texting me?
Her response was immediate. Yes.
He stroked his shaft, wondering if she was over there touching herself. It was foolish, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself. Are you touching yourself?
Yes.
Christ. Fuck it. Where?
Everywhere. Is your hand on your cock?
Grip tight, he slowed his movements. He was so on edge the urge to come almost overwhelmed him. Yes. Play with your nipples and tell me how it feels.
A minute went by and he waited, his breath too fast. He’d slowed his pace to a crawl. Even though it was stupid, he didn’t want it to end.
His phone beeped. It’s not as good as when you touch me.
He’d never sexted before, and he wanted to hear her voice, but if he heard those breathy little moans of hers, there was no way he wouldn’t go over there, so he resisted the impulse to call her. Knowing she was right next door, her hands on her body, thinking of him was enough for now.
Tell me why.
Because you touch me without fear.
He took his hand off his cock to type out his reply. I knew from the second I saw you how you needed to be treated.
How do I need to be treated?
Hard, and rough, and dirty.
I’m thinking about it now.
Which time?
In the bar, I can mimic how you rubbed my clit with my hand. It helps me feel like it’s you.
He groaned. Remembering how he’d pushed her, and how hot it made her, the way she soaked his fingers. He wanted her to feel that same ache.
Another text. Ryder . . .
Yes, Sophie?
This is the first time I’m going to come since the last time.
