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“You should go for it. I know it helps me.”
Another sigh.
“I’m not even in the right frame of mind. Besides, they’re only so good alone.”
“But you’re not alone.”
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the time of night. Maybe it was the deep, sexy timbre of his voice, soothing my raw, frazzled edges. Maybe it was all of the above, plus some. Whatever it was, those words didn’t sound crazy to my ears.
They sounded like respite.
I swallowed hard, then lifted my gaze to the mirror on the wall, taking in my disheveled, red-eyed appearance – a direct contradiction to what I always presented to the world. I didn’t want to be the woman scorned, who was more committed to her business than her marriage, who hated the way her husband looked at her made her feel about herself.
I just wanted release.
“Talk me through it?”
“Yeah.”
That response came easily.
“You sure your wife or girlfriend won’t mind?”
He chuckled. “If I had either of those, this conversation wouldn’t be where it is right now.”
“Right.”
I felt silly about it – maybe even pathetic – but that small declaration of fidelity actually turned me on.
“Why?” I asked, at risk of turning the conversation away from the path that would lead to my relief. “We’ve never talked about anything like this, hinted at it. You don’t even know what I look like. Why now?”
“Because you and your late-night soul voice have talked me to sleep plenty of nights.”
I giggled. “Late night soul? What does that even mean?”
“You know what it means. All soothing and sensual.”
“Wow,” I said, heat rising to my cheeks. “Glad someone thinks so.”
“Well, now you know. Now put your hand in your panties, and tell me how that pretty pussy feels on your fingertips.”
Everything shifted. My breath hitched in my throat, thighs clenched, as a man who I’d long thought about in abstract terms, though we spoke often, became something else. Something… real.
I did what he said.
I was already wet, just from anticipation. I sucked in a breath as my fingers made contact with my slick, sensitive skin.
“Tell me how it feels. Tell me how wet you are.”
I closed my eyes, moaning a little as I pushed my middle and index fingers through my wetness, letting them sink into me. “Dripping. It feels good.”
“Just “good”? What can I do about that?”
“Just keep talking,” I whispered, as I pulled out and sank in again, enjoying the way my body clenched around my fingers, trying to keep them in. “Your voice… it…”
“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “I must have a little of that quiet storm action too, huh?”
I half-giggled, half-moaned as I stroked myself again. “Yeah,” I breathed, and Wick groaned into the phone.
