Page 82 of When Darkness Calls

“Um, well…” I clear my throat. “I guess to just set the tone you should know I like being the dominant one, but I’m willing to play submissive if my partner wants that.” I shift in my seat, trying and failing to ignore the thoughts of her bent over in front of me, ass painted the same pretty pink as her lips rolling into thoughts of her straddling my torso, my hands tied high above my head as her tongue trails down my neck.

“Do you like being submissive?” Her question makes me pause.

“I—…It’s a little more complicated than just liking one or the other for me. What I like the most is the pleasure. All I care about is giving my partner the best experience possible. So…if that means they want to be in charge, then okay. But I prefer being dominant. I like the rush of being in control of how much or how little they feel, how long it will last, seeing their body responding to each touch, caress, stroke. It’s fucking addicting.”

My breath has quickened, heart racing, pounding in my ears. My dick is throbbing, tenting my sweatpants. Heat radiates through the fabric as my hand runs lightly over it, sending a short electric wave through my system. My jaw clenches as I do it again. And again. And again.

Relief is nowhere to be found.

I may just drown in my need for her.

“So…you get off on your partner’s pleasure…” Her voice is hushed, thoughtful, but I can hear the want, the same need flooding my bloodstream bleeding through her words.

“Yeah, basically. And doing anything and everything I can to give them as much of it as possible in the time we have.” My voice has turned into a graveled rasp. Sinking lower into my seat, I have to bite my lip to stifle the groan that escapes from the feeling of the sweatpants rubbing against me.

“I think I might like the idea of that too…” She sighs, the sound is muffled, as if she might be trying to stifle her own arousal.

Fuck. God. If this is turning her on too, I genuinely might spontaneously combust right here.

“Yeah, sweet girl? What do you like about it?”

“Having someone do all of these things to me, making me feel good in so many ways…even if it’s not even penetration, and having them enjoy it just as much as me. My pleasure being their pleasure…” A soft noise follows her pause.

Then another.

She’s fucking moaning.

My head falls back against the couch, eyes sliding shut, listening as if it might be the last thing I ever fucking do.

She must have moved her phone away because the sounds are so faint, but fuck if they aren’t there. I need more. I need so much fucking more. Louder, harsher as I pull each of them from her soul with every flick of my fingers over her sensitive nipples, swipe of my tongue on her clit, thrust of my cock into her soaking pussy.

“Yeah, sweet girl. That’s exactly how I like it. Your pleasure is mine,” I growl.

Tugging down my waistband, my cock twitches as the cool air rushes against my skin. I hiss at the sensation before wrapping my hand around myself, stroking slowly.

“Do…do you think you could come from it?” Her question takes me by surprise. The slow way she asked, almost shy, hesitant…propositional…

Is she asking me to come right now? ‘Cause I’ll be damned if that’s not the easiest fucking ask of the century. I’m positive one fully audible moan from her will have me spilling into my hand and probably all over the couch too.

“For you, I know I can.”

Her whimper hits my senses like sinking into a hot spring. My skin burns, itching for her touch, her taste, her smell.

“What do you want right now, Dani?” I rasp through a groan, my grip tightening on my cock with each upward stroke.

Her reply is instant, as if she knew the words before they fell from my lips. “You. I want you,” she moans. “I want you to come with me, Shadow.”

I do. I breathe once, twice, listening to her touching herself through the phone, imagining how she must be laying in her bed, rumpling the sheets as she writhes from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Wondering whether her thighs are shaking from the need, the want, in much the same way my hands are. How her breaths are ragged on the line, those harsh inhales and exhales would have her chest heaving. If she is flushed, a deep pink settling across her cheeks and the top of her breasts. Would my hands fit the sharp dip of her waist perfectly, like they were made for the purpose of touching her there.

Her skin would be so soft beneath me, velvety, smooth. I crave the feeling of my hips nestled between her plush thighs, her hands trailing across my shoulders and nails leaving marks along my back.

And hearing her say my name—my real name—as she comes undone.

It’s that thought that pushes me over the edge milliseconds before her own cries of release filter through the line.

We’re both quiet. The only sounds coming from the whooshed breathes into the speakers, until she giggles. They grow louder and louder until she’s fully laughing, and I can’t help but to join her.