Her hand slid down between her legs. Her arousal had slicked the insides of her thighs. “Yes.”
“You can rub your clit if you want,” he said, like he was giving her permission, and she got her fingers wet with her own fluids, then moved up to give a generous rub. “Just remember, you’re not trying to come.”
“Just feeling good.”
“That’s right.” There was something faintly approving in his tone, like he was proud of her for doing this, for letting him talk to her while she played with herself.
“When you finger yourself, how many fingers do you like?”
She writhed on her mattress as her fingers delved back down to probe her entrance. The duvet was far too hot now and she kicked it off entirely. “One or two.” She was too far gone to be embarrassed now, and delved her middle finger into herself for the second time that night. “One right now.”
“You’re— you’re fingering yourself?”
“Mmhmm. It feels good. I want to come.”
“Ah—I know you do, Cami, but we aren’t going to push it. Not tonight.” He took a breath so deep it was audible through the phone line, and she could almost feel it. His warm breath ghosting over her skin as he fucked her with one thick finger. “You keep fucking yourself as long as it feels good, okay? But don’t worry about coming. Be kind to yourself.”
“Des,” she breathed.
“I’ll stay on the line as long as you want me to, okay? Or until you fall asleep.”
Masturbating herself to sleep. It wasn’t something she’d ever tried before, but it didn’t sound like a bad way to spend an evening. Especially with Des on the phone.
8
He stayed on the phone for close to an hour before she fell asleep. He wasn’t sure at what point she stopped masturbating, or if she’d kept going until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, but he’d tried to talk her through it. When he’d sensed her starting to push herself, Des walked her back a bit, asked her to focus on slow movements over her clit instead of penetration, gentle motions instead of purposeful ones.
And, goddamnit, it had nearly killed him.
Hearing Cami when she was that turned on, listening to her pant into the phone as she fucked herself with her fingers, had had him so hard he couldn’t see straight, and he might have actually given himself an aneurism by ignoring it. But she’d trusted him enough to let him help her, and his own sexual gratification had never been part of that. It would have been sleazy of him to turn the help he’d offered her into a way for him to get his rocks off. So his cock had stayed firmly in his pants and he’d white-knuckled through it.
Afterward, when the call had disconnected, was another story. He’d hopped in the shower and fucked his fist for all of three jerky thrusts before he painted the tile wall with his come.Frankly, he was surprised he’d lasted that long. She’d sounded so unbearably hot.
The fact that she couldn’t come was none of his business. He should leave it alone, but something inside him ached that a woman like Cami might think there was something wrong with her. She was fun and smart and witty, and she deserved the kind of orgasms that would make it hard for her to walk. And, God help him, he wanted to help her get there.
He was still riding the high of hearing her exhale his name when he pushed into Sex on the Beach the next afternoon.
At the sound of the bell jingling to announce his presence, a blonde head poked up from behind a four-way display.
“Hi,” Cami greeted. It wasn’t her usual customer service voice, which made him feel special in an incredibly stupid way, but there was a hint of nerves to her tone that wasn’t typical of their interactions either. She ducked back behind the four-way to finish what she was doing, but not before he had time to note the blush that started to taint her cheeks.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her.
He crossed the store, weaving around various displays of increasingly expensive sex paraphernalia, and finally joined her at, fittingly enough, a small selection of DVD pornography, for those who hadn’t upgraded to streaming. She was sorting them alphabetically, and, from the looks of it, by kink. He squinted at one of the titles.
“There’s a DVD of people jerking off on bare feet?”
He was gratified to see the way the corners of her mouth pulled as she fought a smile. “From the creators of RateMyFeet.com.”
“I see. What rating did your feet get?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She straightened up, clutching the now-empty cardboard box the DVDs had been shipped in, and unsubtly glanced around the store. Probably checkingfor other customers. Then, she asked, her voice shier, more hesitant, “How are you?”
He couldn’t help but prod her, just a little. Smirking, he said, “A little tired.” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and he took pity on her. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I was happy to... help, I guess.”
Her eyes met his, and she smiled. “You did help, I think. I appreciate it anyway.” Then she knocked out the bottom of the cardboard box so she could unfold it for the recycling bin, and turned away to head for the check-out counter. He followed.
“Good. Because I’d like to help some more.”
