Page 41 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Got it, no bodily fluids on the velvet.” Fantasy life goal #1: getting her wet and messy in that chair. If I weren’t a realist, I’d make it my real-life goal too.

“I want you to come for me again—and again—and to christen that second-rate chair you’re sitting in,” she whispers, her sexy voice sending a hot pulse of electricity through me. “One day, I’d like to personally change the fact that you’ve never had sex in that chair, but for today, I’ll be satisfied listening to you getting off sitting in it.”

She sighs, a big, over-the-top, likely fake sigh, followed by a completely fake yawn. “Oh, it’s getting late, and I don’t want to keep you up too far past your bedtime. Maybe we should wait until another day?”

“Kait! It’s eight. Your time.” Filthy tease.

“Was that a growl, Henry? An actual growl? Oh, that’s going on my to-do list—make Henry growl regularly.” She stops for a second before saying, “I had wicked thoughts after listening to you. I was so turned on by our call.”

“Kait, I get lost in your voice.” Didn’t mean for that truth to spill forth. Well, when in the cone of candor, one occasionally has such things pop out.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she says in a silky purr. “One hundred percent. Ready and willing.” She sounds incredible tonight, tempting me as she says, “I love the sounds of your pleasure.” That sends a shiver down my neck and goose bumps down my arms. “I want you to be open with me, no matter what you have to say. Cone of candor and all that, but for what gives you the most intense orgasms.”

We’re barely getting started, and I try to play it cool, but that plan lasts for about a second and a half. The way she sprinkles sex words and instructions over me sends sharp spikes of pleasure down my shaft, and I fall quiet as she teases me with her voice.

“Henry, the sounds you make… I need this. I thought I was going to come listening last time. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

My emotions are too close to the surface, raw and whispering that she’s all I want. I can’t have her, not really, but the sensation of my defenses falling is unmistakable.

I want to push my sleep pants down. Her wish is my command. Her wishes are delicious.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispers, low and raspy. “I get wet knowing that talking to me is turning you on. I want you getting off thinking about me every damn day.”

My plan to make it go on forever is crumbling. I want to stroke. The lack of control grows. I tease the head with a gentle touch through the fabric of my soft pajamas, and pleasure coils in my spine. It’s a warning, a threat, a promise.

I’m getting louder. Before I start to cross over the line and start stroking, she has me pull back.

“Do you need to sit on your hands, Henry?”

“Kait, please.” I’m afraid of the things I’d do to make this woman proud of me. I’m shaking. I want to rock my hips to a harsh rhythm of pants and gasps, all while pretending the touch is hers. My body is screaming for more, the urgency building, the pressure intense. My body hums with barely restrained hunger.

I want her voice, but I need her words.

“I’m all about quality, Henry.” How can she be matter-of-fact at a time like this? “I care how hard you come far more than how long it takes you to get there. I want your toes curling and your back arching because it feels so fucking good.”

I groan.

She destroys my will to slow down when she says, “You sound incredible.”

I’m obsessed. I don’t just crave her; this feels necessary. I can’t stay away, I can’t stop, and my cock throbs as I imagine her calling me and demanding I get off for her.

She purrs, “I love hearing you like this. I want every moan and sigh. I’m addicted. I can’t get enough.”

My willpower is in hiding, my hand creeping lower, down, down. She’s turned on, and that shoves me closer to the edge. Her throaty little sigh sizzles down my spine. My need is wild, an untamed thing roaring in me.

“I’m going to keep asking you if you want this,” she says, bold as you please. “But nothing would make me happier than the next time you want this, you tell me, straight up, that you want to come for me and how you want to do it. You saying point-blank that you want to get off for me, that’s the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

“I will, I promise.” Anything. I’ll rob banks. Steal candy from babies. I’ll give her anything she wants, but that’s a hard truth for another day. “For you, Kait. Anything.”

“You and me, Henry. I want you to call me, needy and eager. I like the idea of you desperate and horny.” A ripple of lust mingled with fear rips through me, making my stomach clench, and I flinch at her words because she’s predicting the future with the accuracy of a seer.

I’m shocked into silence by the intensity of what I feel, and it’s not the physical. It’s bigger than that, deeper and gentler than blood howling through my veins. It’s Kait, threading her way into the fabric of my life, one tease, one denial, one pleasure-filled moment at a time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HENRY

“STRIPPED” — DEPECHE MODE