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Then she said, “Mmm. That feels good.”
Hearing her begin to draw in shuddering breaths, he said, “Will you wet your fingers and pinch them for me?”
After a sharp intake of breath, Sara was quiet for a moment, then continued, “Yes. I’m pinching them lightly now. Oh god. This is making me so fucking wet, Deacon.”
Reaching down, he slid his boxers off and started to lightly stroke his cock.
“Is it? Why don’t you put your hand in your panties and tell me just how wet you are, dirty girl?”
After a slight laugh, he heard her comply, gasping at the intimate contact.
“I’m soaked.”
Giving a more audible groan this time, Deacon continued to stroke himself and asked, “Tell me how you make yourself come. Describe it for me as you’re touching yourself.”
“I like to play with my clit. I’m rubbing slow, tight circles around it now with my index finger. Oh god, that feels so good.”
Breathing a little more heavily now, Sara said, “Mmm. Tell me what you’re doing right now.”
“Laying on my hotel bed, listening to your sexy fucking whimpers and stroking my cock. God, you’re so sexy, Sara.”
Whimpering slightly, she said, “I wish these were your hands on my body.”
Hearing her pant, he could tell she was getting more aroused.
“Fuck, Sara. I want to slide my cock into that tight little pussy. Tell me you want that too.”
Now whimpering with each pant, he heard her say, “Mmm. Yeah. When you first slide it in, I love how that feels. You filling me up, stretching me. I need you to slide your thick cock into me.”
Biting back another groan, Deacon said, “You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth.”
“It’s your fault,” she panted, heavily. “You make me an insensibly horny mess. I can’t help it.”
Hearing that made him feel like a god. There was something incredibly arousing about the fact he could make this amazing fucking woman an insensible mess. He felt himself get even harder at the thought.
Stroking faster now, he said, “Tell me that tight fucking pussy is mine, Sara.”
On a moan, Sara mumbled, “Yes. Fuck. It’s yours. Only yours. Take it.”
Hearing her so close to the edge, he began to stroke himself more roughly now.
“Come for me, Sara. I need to hear you come for me.”
Her breathing hitched slightly. Her whimpers became louder and more erratic.
A few moments later, on a low moan, she said, “Fuck, Deacon. I’m coming.”
Hearing her cry out in release, he let himself go, his orgasm jetting out all over the comforter of the bed.
Gasping, he said, “Jesus Christ.”
Then on a laugh he said, “Housekeeping is going to hate what I just did to this comforter.”
Laughing, still slightly out of breath, Sara said, “Whoops.”
The rest of his week went by in a blur. After the first two relatively fruitless meetings, he struck gold with the folks at Viacom. They needed to hash out some money details, but he left New York pretty confident that they had found a home for the talk show they had been shopping around.
Sara had been slammed all week, so aside from their conversation Wednesday, they’d only been able to talk for a few minutes. He was excited at the prospect of seeing her again.
