Page 31 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

A loud clearing of his throat, and adult, collected Henry is back. “Kait, if you’re going to do the sexy voice thing, you can’t be quoting The Princess Bride. The mixed message confuses all of my parts.”

“As you wish.”

I turn on my sultry work voice again. It isn’t hard—I don’t have to fake a thing because this man makes my brain sweat. He’s sweet and hot, and he has me breaking rules and crossing boundaries. I’m aroused, excited, and concerned, but I don’t stop.

“Henry,” I purr. It’s my turn. Not his old girlfriend’s turn or his other crappy girlfriend’s turn. It’s mine, and I intend to bury him in pleasure. I will gleefully ruin him for other women. “I want you as desperate for me as I am for you, Henry. I crave you.” It’s sexy talk. It’s not real. Need isn’t vibrating my bones apart right now. “But only if you want this. Only if you want to try this with me. If you don’t, we can always try Benadryl.”

I wait for his consent. A hard swallow follows a long exhale before his sexy baritone, raspy with arousal, makes me squirm. “Anything you want, Kait. Anything. I’m yours.”

A harsh breath follows. It’s mine.

CHAPTER NINE

HENRY

“SLOW HANDS” — NIALL HORAN

“Henry, the only words I want to hear coming out of your mouth are yes, no, more, please, and oh my god, Kait.”

Her voice is wrapping around me, stoking my nerve endings to life. A bead of sweat trickles from my temple down into my stubble, but my arms and shoulders are cold in the chill of the room as I wait in restless anticipation.

I’m ready to spontaneously combust from the overdose of sheer adrenaline and lust.

“Henry, babe, would you rather we didn’t?” Babe. How can I say no when she calls me babe?

She’s all business now, serious but tempting.

“No. I mean, yes. Errr, point of clarification, please, Kait. Let’s try.” My voice is gravel on filthy black ice, and my entire existence consists of one ingredient: unadulterated want for all things Kait. My chilled fingers are laced together on top of the duvet, the very concept of having her real voice in my ear when I reach under the covers stunning me into stillness. Every fiber of my being is etched with desire, carved deeper into my bones with every word she speaks.

I’ve been keeping secrets.

Does she suspect I’ve been coming so hard I risk brain damage, over and over, to thoughts of her? I counsel myself not to call every day, and on those colorless, silent nights, I imagine it’s her hand. Finding new and creative ways to be generous, I make fantasy Kait climax again and again before finishing.

“As long as you’re sure…” she teases.

My body is absolutely sure.

With that remark, she flips a switch, and Kait goes from my smart, snarky, sleepy-time friend to the fantasy woman I conjure when my hand is on my dick but magnified into the stratosphere.

She’s gone sultry, if sultry can be defined as every word she says is like a firm stroke with exactly the right amount of squeeze up my shaft before lingering and caressing over my precum-soaked glans. It’s sultry like that.

“I want to be the last thing you hear at night and the thing you burn for when you wake up,” she says, anything but calming. “I want you addicted. Needy.”

Not a problem, Kait. Every part of me wants this. At first, I got off thinking of her on nights we didn’t talk. It’s every day now. Sometimes twice a day. She has become part of the soundtrack of my life. Nothing has ever competed with the music in my brain until her.

“I want this,” she says, smooth and strong, and I tremble. In every variation, my imagination conjures a Kait as eager as I am. Hungry. Greedy. But this isn’t fantasy. Her murmurs flash over me, stoking the flame ever higher.

I’m escalating.

Her orbit becoming mine, the Venn diagram of us becoming a circle as I’ve been calling more, craving more. Wanting. Need piling up around me like an earthen dam until I struggle not to drown in it. I wait in line for scraps of her attention.

I’ve been lying.

I tell myself I won’t, and two minutes later, I’m using my fist and a handful of shower gel to banish the ache in my balls while groaning her name. Again.

“How long has it been?” Her voice is husky, lower now, her words slower too. I don’t pretend I don’t know what she’s asking. We’re adults here.

“A few days, traveling and all.” Too long to be the guy with impressive stamina, a sex god dedicated to her pleasure any way she wants to take it.