Page 30 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“I should’ve known you would’ve tried things.”

“My doctor brother says I can’t take any of those meds safely.”

“Lachlan?”

He murmurs a quiet affirmation. It’s not weird at all that I know the names of his siblings in birth order. I know the names of the siblings of all of my callers. This is totally typical.

“Henry, please tell me what you need.”

“You’re already doing it. Being cared for, however you want to say it,” he says, and a huge yawn follows. “At first, I wasn’t even sure why you’re so good at this, but I realized that it’s like you care.”

My spine straightens at his words. It’s not like I care. I care. I mean, I kind of do a wee bit, even though that’s weird and this is a job and not personal at all. Callers are for money, my livelihood. They are a means to a solitary end: grad school. Period. Show me the money. I don’t care at all. Not even for Henry Sterling. Really, really.

“You watch over me. I feel like someone’s priority.” He huffs. “I’m not delusional. It is possible to have a transaction and still experience compassion.” The statement has the ring of something he’s told himself repeatedly as he torments himself for calling me.

“Henry, I’m sorry. I try so hard to take excellent care of you, but it’s not going well at the moment.” Dammit. I don’t care. This is work, and my caring stops when I hang up. This is fake caring. #workcaring

He doesn’t know I’ve broken my own rule for him. Rules. I’ll be breaking another one tonight. The nagging thoughts are pervasive, the generalized horniness and neediness growing worse by the call. Not Henry, nope, he’s a gentleman. Those thoughts are mine. I’m so hot for the man that he says hello and I squirm.

“It’s just a transaction” is my new mantra.

“I wholeheartedly disagree. I’m in the cone of candor, and I’m telling you this call is great. I’m a wet noodle. If I was any more relaxed, I’d be oozing out of this bed like… something oozy.” He lets out an amused huff. “The more we talk, the more I sound like you, Kait. Oozing like something oozy, indeed.” He sighs, his down and soft cotton making a swish as he repositions. “You care for me better than my ex-girlfriends. You’re cheap, and you’d never take me out to dinner for my birthday and expect me to pay. I feel like your priority, never a distraction or an inconvenience, even in the middle of the night.”

“You’re not an inconvenience. You’re fucking fantabulous.” He’s dated some real winners—and by that, I mean selfish assholes—but is too kind to say it.

“There’s a reason I spent my thirtieth with Julian and my brothers, playing video games and drinking beer.” He lets out another jaw-cracking yawn, and I imagine him stretching his arms out wide before rubbing his tired eyes. “The more we talk, the more I understand there was an emptiness in my previous relationships. We were never friends like you and I are. I’m never open with anyone like I am with you. I tell you things I don’t even tell Julian.”

It warms my mercenary little heart when Henry refers to us as friends, but this isn’t about me. His whisper is full of pain. I’ve always known he’s lonely, but he never complains.

“I tell myself that all I’ve ever wanted is to be debt-free, retire young, and travel, but the truth is more complex. That became my big dream—a selfish one—when I gave up on having someone special and a family. I would get a dog, but I haven’t fully accepted reality—yet—but I will, and then I can stop wondering why it feels like something is missing from my life.”

If ever a man was meant to be an adored father and devoted husband, that man is surely Henry Sterling.

He’s mine to take care of, for as long as I have him on the phone, and that means something to me—more than it should. Some girls get pissy when “their guy” talks to another girl. I don’t care. I’ve got other guys waiting in line. Except with Henry, I’d claw someone’s eyes out if they tried to have phone sex with him. He’s mine. I take care of him. Not some money-grubber who makes him feel like a wallet. Mine to comfort, mine to lull to sleep.

Mine.

“Henry, close your eyes, lie back, and let me take care of you.” I use my best come-hither voice. “I want you feeling cared for, wanted, needed, and spoiled.”

“Uh. Kait, I, uh…”

I insist. “Henry, let me take care of you.”

“But, Kait⁠—”

I don’t even let him finish the thought. “But, Henry.” I say his name in my throatiest, sexiest voice. “I’ll make sure you sleep tonight.”

“Kait, babes, that’s your sex voice, isn’t it? You sound… Your voice changed.” His voice has too. It’s suddenly a bit squeaky.

“Maybe. Would you like to hear more?”

“It’s okay to say you’re hot, right? Everyone likes compliments?” His words tumble out slow and precise, like each one takes special effort. The calm, cool lawyer has evaporated, replaced by anxious Henry.

“Henry, sweetheart, hush. I’ve got you, I promise. Close your eyes. Let go.”

“This isn’t who we are. You don’t use the sexy voice on me,” he says, his tone getting pitchy. I’d bet a year’s worth of cookie deliveries that he’s already hard. This is the sound of a man who has a hard-on he isn’t quite sure what to do with. “This is not our dynamic. This isn’t what we do.” Methinks the man doth protest overmuch, especially when he says, “I don’t know that I would enjoy a sexy call.” He’s breathless, the words spilling out.

I snort. “Lies do not become us, Mr. Sterling.” I interrupt him with my firm and in-command voice I use on domination calls.