She obeyed, letting her eyelids flutter closed and drawing in a slow, steady breath. With her exhale, some of the tension leaked out of her body. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, I don’t want you to think about coming.” His words thrummed through her like he’d plucked a guitar string. Having Des suggest ways for her to get off in theory was vastly different from having him give those suggestions real-time, when she was naked under a feather-filled duvet. “Making yourself come should be the furthest thing from your mind. The goal is not to have an orgasm. The goal is just to feel good. Understand?”
“I understand, but?—”
“What are you wearing?”
Her eyes snapped open, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Um,” she stammered, “I just got out of the bath, so...”
There was a pregnant pause from the other end of the line. “Are you naked, Cami?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. “Yes.”
Des cleared his throat. “Good. That’s—good.” She could hear him inhale, and couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was affected. Did the idea of her naked intrigue him? Had he thought of it before? Then he continued, “Put your hand on your chest for me. On your ribcage.”
She passed her phone to her left hand to hold it against her ear, and then laid the other where he suggested. “Alright.”
“Can you feel your heartbeat there? Your breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like having your breasts played with? Your nipples touched?”
Jesus. Desire stabbed through her body at some combination of his words and the image they evoked—one of Des himself carefully trailing a finger over the curve of her breast, circling her areola as her nipple beaded in response. “Yes,” she said again. There was something needy and unfamiliar in her voice that she didn’t recognize.
“Do it now,” he urged.
She did. Her palm slid up over her breast, kneading gently, and she brushed her thumb over her nipple. Her nerve endings sparked with pleasure. Would he be gentle if he touched her? With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend he was there. That he was whispering in her ear, kneeling between her legs, and trying to learn what she liked.
“Does it feel nice?”
“Yes.”
“Do you play with your nipples when you masturbate?”
She pinched her nipple lightly between her thumb and forefinger, gasping softly at the sensation. “Not really. I—I don’t do it much. It’s too...” She trailed off, distracted now with her other nipple. If she put him on speaker, she could play with both at once, but then the phone might slide off the pillow somewhere, and she’d have to go fumbling for it.
Des prompted her. “It’s upsetting when it doesn’t work?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay, Cami. We aren’t trying to get you off tonight, alright? We’re just making you feel good.”
“Right,” she agreed. Distantly, it occurred to her that this was crazy. She saw him at work on a regular basis. If accepting sex toys from him crossed the line, letting him talk her through masturbation was so far past the line that the line was a speck. An inconsequential bit of dust.
And she didn’t care at all.
Fuck the line.
“Do you like having your nipples licked?” he asked.
She pulled on one, gasping and arching up off the bed. “Yes.”
“Imagine that. Imagine... someone you like, someone you want, there with you. Their mouth is hot on your skin. Their tongue is firm and playful.”
She wanted his mouth on her. She wanted him to suck at her skin, leave hickies on the undersides of her breasts.
“Are you wet, Cami?”
