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“Really? Because I have had many conversations with you, and such skills have never been made apparent.”

“What happened to being honest?”

I should have heeded his warning—it was there in his tone of voice, in the teasing lilt to his words. But I had relaxed, the wine making my decisions less than stellar. So, I pushed.

“Oh, I am being honest. Your phone calls were… clumsy at best.”

“Clearly you’re forgetting that phone call that had you—”

“Had me what, Luke?” I interrupted, deliberately using his name and not his road name.

I was playing with fire and I knew it.

“If you want to go reminiscing down phone sex memory lane, I’m more than happy to hitch a ride. Let’s start with the first one. I—”

“I don’t think we need to go there!” I hurried to interrupt, not feeling quite as brave now that he was willing to rehash each and every one of them.

“Oh, but I think we do. You’ve called my skills into question here, Princess, it’s only right I defend my honour. Especially as it seems you’ve forgotten. It would only be right to refresh your memory.”

Heat flamed my face. I remembered them all. Each and every one of them. In vivid detail.

Fuck.

“Don’t you remember the way you had to hold the pillow over your face to stop your dad hearing you scream? The way your bedsheets were soaked afterwards?” His voice was deeper now. So much deeper.

My fingers skimmed the bottom of my nightdress, brushing against my thighs, and I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me.

“I remember.”

“Good. Because I hear your moans every night. I remember talking you through it, telling you how many fingers, how fast to fuck yourself. I remember you asking me if you could cum, and when I said no, you begged and pleaded with me. I could hear you panting, desperate to get off. But you were still such a good girl and pulled your fingers out of your perfect pussy, just like I told you to.”

“And then you made me suck on them,” I breathed, my thighs clenching together.

He chuckled darkly. “I did. And then I made you fuck yourself harder than ever, whilst I fisted my cock and got off to the sounds of your moans.”

“Do you still think of me like that?”

Why the fuck had I asked that?

“Every damned day,” he replied without any hesitation. “Sometimes I still think I can smell you on my skin, and then I’m no better than a teenage boy, jerking off every chance I get. All I have to do is close my eyes, and I can picture you perfectly. Laid out on the bed, your hair spilling over my pillows. Bent over my bike, your luscious ass up in the air. In the shower, the water spilling over your insane tits, your back slamming against the wall over and over as I fucked you senseless.” He took a deep intake of breath and exhaled slowly. “It’s like torture at this point.”

GoodGod.

My back arched at his words, the palm of my hand pressing against myself just to try to relieve some of the ache he had created.

I could feel my arousal on my inner thighs, and my nipples had hardened to stiff peaks. My mouth was dry, and all I could think about was pushing my fingers between my legs and doing something about the situation he had created.

Surely he wouldn’t notice if I—?

“What are you doing?” he asked, and my hand immediately pulled away from where it had been going.

“Nothing,” I replied, but even I could hear how desperate that sounded.

“Liar.” His voice had changed. It was darker now. Lower. “I know your voice, princess. I know how you sound when you’re turned on. I know how your voice sounds when you’re desperate to touch yourself. Let me ask you again, what are you doing?”

What do you want me to do?

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask. To open up the door to him guiding me through it again. To pick up where we leftoff all those years ago, having him guide me, give me direction, commands, setting the pace of how fast, how many fingers…