Page 60 of After Care

“Describe it for me.” I laughed in response, but explained the layout of my room finding it similar to the resort condo. I only had a queen-sized bed at home, but my dresser stood opposite of it, with a chair to the side and a night stand closest to where I slept. The description reminded me of the night Tommy knelt before me, lapping at my core before making love to me. My heart rate increased and my hand slipped to cup a breast before skittering down my belly.

“And what are you wearing?” The question asked with seductive intent caused a chuckle in response.

“A T-shirt and underwear.”

“The red ones?” he asked, his voice lowering.

“Nope.”

“The purple ones?” I laughed again, curious that he seemed to have memorized my boring, bright underpants. “Don’t say the pink ones.”

In fact, they were the pink ones, the same ones I’d worn on the night haunting my thoughts.

“Yes,” I exhaled again, too breathy, too deep.

“Where’s Mr. Bob?” he questioned, and I blushed as he referenced the toy buried in my bathing suit drawer in hopes my children would never find it.

“Too far away,” I whispered as my fingers hesitated at the top of coarse hair, curly and crisp near the edge of my legs.

“Darlin,’ I want to touch you. Can you do it for me?”

I nodded as if he could see me. I sampled myself, tickling through the hair and pressing the nub that ached for him.

“Whatcha doin’, beautiful?” His voice sounded strained, and I was curious if he touched himself. Without waiting for an answer, he spoke again. “Describe it to me.”

I should have been embarrassed. I was mortified, but I was thrilled at the same time. I was too close to the edge to stop myself, and my legs shook in desperation, the pulse between my thighs beat faster than my heart.

“I’m touching myself.”

“That’s my girl,” he stressed. “Tell me more.”

“I’m parting the folds, and I’m wet. Really wet.”

“Fuck,” Tommy hissed.

“My fingers aren’t as good as yours.”

“That’s right, darlin’, nothing feels as good as my fingers on you, spreading you.” The comment sent a surge through my middle, and I gasped. My fingers increased the pressure. “Keep talking, beautiful.”

“I’m stroking fast, pressing hard. Oh, God, Tommy, I’m so close. So close, baby.” I moaned, spreading my legs wide and twirling over the folds, rocking my hips upward, reaching for something deeper.

“Feels good, darlin’. So good. You’re almost there, almost there.” He was panting through the phone.

“Are you touching yourself?” I asked, my voice too high, filled with surprise, despite my assumption.

“Fuck, yeah, darlin’. Just thinking of you makes me so hard, so needy.” He paused for a breath, and it was the only sound from both our sides of the phone.

“Slip a finger inside, darlin’.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Do it, darlin’.” His voice came out in a rush, his breaths jagged. I stroked over myself, rubbing harder, picking up the pace.

“I can’t,” I stuttered, feeling myself on the edge of something, but not getting there. My fingers were coated, the slick sound of my skin echoing in the room.

“You can,” he barked, his breath hitching.

“I’ve never—” I started, but he cut me off.