Cleo: ‘Cause you’d kiss me?
Mr. Darcy: More, if you’d let me.
Sliding between the sheets, she plopped her head back onto the pillow. She would absolutely let him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even flown solo, let alone had someone else get her off. Pressing her thighs together, she rolled onto her face with a frustrated groan. She propped herself up onto her elbows and typed out an answer.
Cleo: You’re killing me.
Mr. Darcy: At least we’ll die together, eh?
Cleo: I don’t think you quite understand.
Mr. Darcy: My blue balls beg to differ, Miss Bennet.
Cleo laughed. Her whole body radiated heat, her clit throbbed, and her nipples could cut glass. It was going to be a long night if she didn’t let off some steam. She rolled onto her side, pulled open her bedside drawer and hunted for her vibrator. It was time to see just what it could do… other than fall on the foot of one unsuspecting hot hockey player. Sliding the vibe below the band of her pants her tense muscles loosened. A message startled her, she left the toy on her stomach while she read it.
Mr. Darcy: Penny for your thoughts.
Cleo: You don’t want to know.
Mr. Darcy: Well now I absolutely want to know.
Her chest heaved. She took the phone with one hand, and put the vibrator next to her on the bed with the other. Swallowing down her shame and fear she snapped a picture and hit send, chewing on a thumbnail while waiting for his reply.
Mr. Darcy: Fuck. You’re not playing fair Lizzy. I’m trying to be a gentleman here.
Mr. Darcy: Okay, I know the blue ball comment wasn’t gentlemanly, but Christ. I’m trying.
Mr. Darcy: So, I’m not normally this needy, and I kinda hate myself for asking, buuuuut… that’s for me, right? I mean, because of me? Or did a nekkid Chris Evans singing and playing the guitar drive you to getting off?
Mr. Darcy: No judgement, I almost blew my load when he started playing that guitar too. ;-)
She’d expected judgement, not wisecracks. His insecurity was alluring and intoxicating. The fact he was trying to confirm he’d made her want to touch herself drove her crazy. The fact the idea of her touching herself turned him on, drove her even crazier.
Cleo: Can you stop talking about Captain America when I have this thing between my thighs please? I mean, he’s hot and all but he’s not who I want to have in my brain right now.
Mr. Darcy: At the risk of sounding like a conceited prick: whodoyou want in your brain right now, Miss Bennet?
Cleo: Why, you, of course, Mr. Darcy.
Her stomach clenched. She’d never been this forward with a man before, but hiding behind her cell phone it was easy to be brazen, to pretend she was confident and sensual, even if it made her cringe a little inside.
Mr. Darcy: The relief I’m feeling right now is really somethin’. I can’t compete with Cap. I know my limits. I do not have America’s ass.
She giggled.
Cleo: I appreciate the lols. I’m nervous. I don’t really do this kind of thing.
Mr. Darcy: Masturbate? Phone sex? Or both?
Swallowing hard she typed out her reply.
Cleo: Both. I’m not very experienced.
Not like Lincoln Scott and those asshole friends of his, anyway. Or you, Mr. You-left-your-bra-here.
Mr. Darcy: Despite the Brinderella (Bra plus Cinderella – I think that’s a catchy name right there) I’m not all that experienced either. Just relax. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
She scrunched her eyes closed at the throbbing between her legs.
