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“Angie?”
“Ya?”
“Tell me.”
“I’m on my bed.” This is none of his business! Why am I even entertaining him?
“What are you wearing?”
“My most un-sexy pair of fleece pajamas.”
“Hmm…lucky pj’s. I would love to see you right now, sweetheart. Spread out on your bed,” he instructs. “Your fingers wearing my designer jewelry?”
“Yeah,” I choke-cough. How embarrassing!
“Good girl. This is a huge fantasy of mine.”
“Grah—”
“We should FaceTime.”
“No!” I snap.
“Shhh…touch yourself.” His voice washes over me, warming me from the inside out. I think of his fingers gliding over me—the same fingers that had a hand in making such an erotic female-friendly toy. “I’m about thirty seconds away from night shipping you a new laptop with a top-of-the-line webcam installed. I need to see you, baby. Tell me what you are doing. Paint the picture for me.”
“Graham,” I warn. “This has to stop.”
“Touch yourself, Angie. Try them out.” His words sound like a moan to my ears, lighting a flame deep from within, pushing me to the edge of insanity.
I have no idea what possesses me. Maybe it is his voice. Or maybe deep down inside, I enjoy when he bosses me around. I slip my fingers into my pants and rub the devices over my sensitive spot—trying each one out to see what I like and don’t like.
“The one that has the little silicone spikes and balls is supposed to be pretty powerful. Take your time. Go slow. Keep that one external only,” he warns, his voice strict and powerful. “The last thing I need is to be hauling your pretty little ass to the ER to remove my gift from your pussy.”
I suck air through my teeth, following his directions—more out of curiosity.
“When’s the last time you jilled off?”
What language is he speaking? “Jilled?”
“Masturbated?”
I let out my nervous laugh. It is more to just fill the silence with anything other than a real explanation.
“It’s just an expression.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Guys jack off, girls jill off,” he explains calmly.
Ah. “Jack and Jill.”
“Focus. Last time, sweetheart?”
My mind goes fuzzy over his endearment. He can be so sweet. Normal. “Oh. Um…” I think back to last week of my mental calendar. “Um…the day after our first date.” I instantly regret my choice of words.
“Hmm. And to think I didn’t have a profound effect on you at that time. You are one confusing woman, Miss McFee.”
“You touched me at the charity gala, though,” I remind him, hung up on the timeline.
