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You’d use your tongue? Tell me how,I type back recklessly, pouring more champagne.
Send me a picture of where your fingers are right now.
Another step. Another line. I’m not about to send him a picture of my bare pussy, but with a little squirming I manage to push the tight skirt up, slipping my fingers under the lavender lace of my panties and angling the camera so he can see, the fabric tugged just a little to the side so he can see a hint of smooth, bare flesh. I gasp as my fingers touch my clit, hot and slick and throbbing, and it’s all I can do to not keep going instead of sending the text.
That’s as much as you get,I text him teasingly.But I’m so wet right now thinking about it.
God, lass, what I wouldn’t give to taste that. I imagine your pussy is every bit as sweet as your mouth.
Oh my god.I still haven’t forgotten the intense, incredible pleasure of Connor’s mouth as he ate me out for the first time on that beach outside of Dublin. I’d known oral would feel good, but nothing could have prepared me for feeling the wet heat of his tongue, the sucking of his mouth against the most sensitive parts of my body.
The memory makes my toes curl against the tile, my fingers seeking out the edge of my panties again as I hold my phone in my other hand, the images in my head switching wildly between Connor’s face between my thighs on that blanket and the idea of Niall there instead, his stubble scraping against my soft flesh as his tongue—
What are you doing right now?I text back, because I can’t possibly text him what I’m thinking right now, which is that I’d give anything to have a mouth between my legs, licking me to the orgasm I’m beginning to more and more desperately need.
The picture that he sends me is of his flexed abs, his hand wrapped around his now free and straining cock, his palm cupping the head of it so the entire length isn’t visible.Thinking of you, lass.
I tip my head back, feeling breathless. I don’t have the slightest idea of what to text him to get him through it, to keep him going, so instead I snap another angle of my fingers in my panties and send it to him.I’m doing the same. Imagine that it’s you making me moan instead, and tell me when you’re about to come.
Even that is far more brazen than anything I could have imagined myself doing even an hour ago. I set the phone down next to me, leaning back against the wall as I finish my glass of champagne. There’s something wickedly decadent about rubbing my clit with one hand while drinking champagne with the other, and I let my thighs spread open a little wider, imagining Niall between them, his blue eyes looking up at me as his tongue traces the same patterns that my fingers are, or new ones that I haven’t found yet.
My phone chimes.
I’m so fucking close, lass, but I want to make it last. Want to imagine touching every inch of you, kissing you, the sweet pleasure of sinking my cock inside of you. I wish I could hear the sound you make when I do it. Fuck, I want you so goddamn much, you have no idea, Saoirse—
Just a little longer,I type back quickly.It feels so good, imagining your tongue. I want to come too, when you do.
I’ll wait for you, lass.
Somehow, that last text feels like it means more than just him staving off his orgasm until I’m close, too. My chest clenches again, a little of that guilt returning, but it’s overridden by lust as I rub my fingers more quickly across my swollen flesh, finishing my champagne as I arch upwards into my hand. I feel warm and tipsy and almost floating, the bubbles of the alcohol fizzing in my veins, and I feel the pleasure growing, spreading through me.
I’m so close,I quickly tap out with my left hand.I’ll come when you do.
Fuck, lass, I’m about to. I’m so fucking hard I can’t stand it. I have to come for you, right now—Saoirse—
I can almost hear it too, see it, his rasping groan, his hips bucking upwards, his cock swelling in his fist as he starts to burst. It sends the first ripples of pleasure through me, my thighs trembling as I start to come too, my back arching as I bite my lip and pant, trying not to be heard as I grind against my hand. Another picture flashes on my screen, this one of Niall’s fist wrapped around his cock, milky liquid streaking his skin, and it’s all I can do not to cry out as another rippling throb of pleasure wracks my body at the sight.
That’s all for you, lass,he texts.I hope you don’t regret this in the morning. And I hope you came too. I hope it felt as good as mine, because that was fucking incredible.
I give myself a second to come down from it, to float in the hazy, warm afterglow of my orgasm, before I text back.
I came too, just now. And it felt incredible. I won’t regret it. But I should probably get some sleep.
It feels cold, to cut him off like that, but I’m suddenly gripped with a post-orgasmic fear of what else he might say, of what late-night feelings might slip out, technological pillow talk brought on by satisfaction and alcohol.I’m really tired,I add.
That’s alright, lass. I have a long day too tomorrow.
For a moment, three dots hover on my screen, then disappear, then hover, then disappear, as if Niall is typing and retyping words he’s not sure he should say. I’m both afraid to know what they are and devastatingly curious, but when his last text comes through, it’s onlyGoodnight, Saoirse.
Goodnight,I type back, feeling an odd kind of disappointment.
I set the phone down, caught between the thrill of what I just did for the first time, and a lingering guilt and strange melancholy. Niall can never mean to me what I know he wants to. He can never be the love of my life. No one can, because Connor refuses to fill that spot, and so long as I’m married to him, my loyalty will always have to be first and foremost to him despite that. Whoever else comes into my life, they will always be second to Connor. Always a lover in the shadows, hidden and secret, always an afterthought.
Iknowthat’s not what Niall wants. I also know he’s preparing himself to be just that, telling himself he’d rather wait for me and have some part of me than nothing at all.
After Connor and I sleep together, will I still ache every time I remember that he’s not the one who wants me this way?
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I was only able to imagine Niall coming for me because I’ve seen Connor do it, because he taught me about the way a man looks when he’s hard, the way he reacts, the groans and twitches and taste and scents, all the sensory experiences of arousing a man.
