It felt like comfort disguised as lust, and it’s a high that I feel like I’ll be chasing indefinitely, until —and unless— I’m able to explore more of that feeling with her again.
And now, as I stare at the work cluttering my kitchen island, I can thank myself for adding more onto the never-ending task list, since, out of embarrassment, I took on the assignment I was calling Sarina for.
Maybe it’s for the best. I seem to do my best disassociating when I can bury myself in work. That’s what I need right now —to distract myself.
I spend the next couple of hours sorting through emails, organizing myself for a meeting I have coming up, and finish reviewing some zoning regulations for a client. I work through the exhaustion, ignoring it until I can’t anymore and my glasses feel useless against the eyestrain-induced headache I feel coming on. Closing my laptop, I walk it over to the charger I keep on the kitchen island and grab my personal phone so I can head up to bed.
Out of habit I press the side button to see if I have any notifications. There’s none. Unlike my work phone that’s still chiming with emails that I don’t have the energy —or desire— to look at until the morning. A ping of accomplishment bursts through my chest as I stare at the digital clock on my lock screen. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone to sleep before midnight. Usually, work has me occupied until at least one ortwo a.m., and then I take a four-hour nap impersonating as a full night’s rest so I can get my workout in bright and early.
I’m halfway up the stairs to my room when I receive a FaceTime call… from Sarina.
I blink a few times, convinced that my exhaustion is playing tricks on my eyes, but sure enough, there’s her name flashing across the screen.
Excitement. Nerves. Nausea. All of it goes to war within my body. Each battling to determine my next move, and while they are warring with one another, I’m rendered motionless with my thumb ghosting over the answer button.
Answer it.
Maybe something is wrong.
She needs you.
Fuck it.
What if she’s in trouble and really needs me?
That’s all I need to consider to break the nervous spell I’m under and get over myself to answer the call.
Though if I thought the nerves were bad prior to answering the call, they are nothing compared to my pulse swishing in my ears as the screen shifts to a distorted one and the video call connects. My ears are then met with a very unexpected sound.
Heavy, muffled breathing filters through the speaker, followed by my name. My. Fucking. Name.
On repeat.
“To-más. To-más. To-más. To-más.”
My name becomes trapped in a delicious cycle of whimpered breaths and relentless moaning.
It sounds so sensual so perfect falling from her wanton lips, that it makes me feel unworthy of hearing it.
She needs me all right, though not in the way I thought.
This is somehow both better and worse.
The more she screeches my name, the more I feel helpless and want to jump through the screen.
It’s obvious this call, despite my name being front and center at her pleasure, isn’t meant for me.
I know the right thing to do is to hang up.
But the more she says my name, the more I become lost in it, and that pesky lack of willpower I’ve been fighting to maintain vanishes, as does my ability to disconnect the call.
Gripping my phone like a lifeline, I plop myself down on the step I’ve been standing on, allowing myself to take in not only the sounds but the sights, distorted and unclear as they are. Crumpled linens cloud the screen, and my vision is gifted with a sliver of her tanned skin. Desperate for more, I lean forward, as if that’ll improve my vantage point. It doesn’t. What does, however, is a quick shift in her movements. From what I can make out through the heated chaos unfolding before me, she’s lying on what I’m assuming is her bed, riding what looks to be a pillow.
The sight causes a fervent heat to explode in my veins, traveling directly to my dick.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so honored —and jealous— all at once.
Of a goddamn pillow, of all things.
