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“I want to know what your darkest fantasies are,” I tell her when she doesn’t continue. “I want to know what makes your pretty cunt wet with need. What makes you touch yourself in the dead of night. That’s how I’ll learn your heart and mind, and that’s how I’ll figure out just how pure that soul of yours is.”
“What makes you think it’s pure?” she throws back easily, her voice firm. With every turn, she shocks me. She makes me question just who the fuck she is.
“I know it is because you haven’t seen my darkness,” I return easily.
Her breath stutters over the speaker, before she says, “Then show me.” The challenge lingers between us, and my body turns hot, molten with the need to have her beneath me right fucking now.
I would say I’m too old for this shit, but I’m not. Far from it. I ponder her request for a moment before I drop my voice to a husky whisper and tell her, “Let’s start this slow. What are you wearing?” It’s the oldest line in the book, but it’s going to show me if she’s willing to take this seriously.
“My yoga pants and a tank top, which I might add are both extremely tight fitting.” I can hear the amusement in her voice, which does nothing to calm my blood from simmering in my veins.
Ignoring the lightness in her words, I ask, “And underneath?”
For a few seconds, I’m met with silence before she tells me, “Black polka-dot panties with a matching bra.” The image of her in those fucking scraps of material makes my cock thicken.
“Polka dots … Is that your favorite pattern?” I can’t help but smirk.
“No, but these are so soft against my smooth skin.” She’s toying with me. The fact that she said smooth only earns her a growl from under my breath.
“Close your eyes and lie back on your bed or sofa, or even on the carpet.” The order is nothing more than a murmur, but I know she heard me because I’m met with a soft whimper in response. I hear material shuffling, so I’m guessing she’s moving to wherever she needs to be.
“Okay,” Arabella’s response is a slight moan.
“Good girl,” I appraise her before continuing. “I want you to slide your hand over your neck. Allow your fingers to dance over your skin. A delicate flutter.” Another moan is my only response. “Over your tank top and feel how your nipples harden under your touch. Now I want you to imagine that’s my rough hand moving over your tits.”
“Elian.” She moans my name, causing my dick to leak with the need to be inside her. Or just to fucking see her, but the anonymity is fun … for now.
“I want you to take one nipple between your thumb and forefinger, and I want you to tweak it, gently at first.” I know she’s obeying me because her sensual sounds echo over the line toward me. “Now twist it hard. I want to hear you.”
A stifled moan falls from her lips and finds its way through the speaker to me, which only makes my body rigid with the craving to feel her under me.
“Harder.”
A scream, loud and clear, greets me.
“Good girl.”
Fuck, this girl is a delicious distraction. Even though I shouldn’t be doing this, I can’t stop myself.
“I want you to slide that hand over your taut stomach, under those yoga pants, but not under your panties.” There’s silence this time, and I can’t hear the path of her hand trailing to obey, but in my mind, I’m picturing her every move.
“Yes,” she finally hisses in my ear.
“Press down on your clit. Make it tingle for me.” I keep my voice a deep drawl, a murmur drenched with desire. “Circle it like you do late at night to those dark fantasies that run through your mind.”
“Oh god.” Arabella’s voice drips with hunger, and I can’t stop the smirk from curling my lips. “Elian.”
“Are you all wet for me, little deviant?” I ask, knowing the answer, but I want to hear her say it. I want her to admit what she feels. My hand trails down to my crotch, my cock hard under my touch, and I squeeze, allowing the pain to send prickles of need down my spine.
“Please, let me come,” she pleads in a soft whisper, which sets my body alight. I want my hand wrapped around her throat while I feel her cunt pulse around my dick.
Grinning, I respond, “No. Take your hand out of your pants right now.”
“But—”
“Right. Fucking. Now.” There’s no argument because she knows if she doesn’t obey, this is over. I made myself clear when I told her what I wanted. And she cannot refuse.
A frustrated sigh is her answer. “That was mean.”
“I know. I’m not a nice man.”
