Not So Nice Guy
Page 13
“See?” she says with a got-you smirk. “You’re not decent either.”
She’s referring to the fact that I don’t have my shirt on. I didn’t bother after my shower.
“Yes, but unlike you, I’m wearing pants.”
It’s a guess, but when her eyes go wide and her blush blazes even harder, I know I’m right.
“Yeah…well…” She clears her throat and averts her gaze to something off screen. “It’s really hot in here—stuffy.”
“Well yeah, I imagine things heat up when little Ian is on the prowl.”
“That’s not why I’m hot. I just worked out.”
Who the hell does she think she’s fooling?
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“So what?!” She’s exasperated by this conversation. “I’m a liar and you’re clearly horny as hell. Why don’t you call one of the Freshman Four? I’m sure they could help you out—y’know, give you a refresher course before tomorrow morning. You clearly need it.”
“You’re right, I do.”
She swallows slowly. The phone wobbles in her hand.
“Do you?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why do you think I’m on those dating apps? It’s not to meet friends. Now are you going to suggest you can ‘help me out’ like this is a low-budget porno?”
“You’ve clearly never had phone sex. You’re pretty bad at it.”
Her blue eyes hit mine. “What?”
“This isn’t how it usually starts. I ask you what you’re wearing and you tell me, but I already know: white tank top, panties, nothing else.”
“Ian.”
My name is a warning, a buoy telling swimmers to turn back now, but I’m sick of warnings, so I head out to open waters. It’s time to test a theory.
“Want to ask me what I’m wearing?”
“I bet I can guess: black workout shorts, Calvin Klein boxer briefs.”
Interesting. Maybe Sam does watch me when I change.
“And…I have had phone sex before. Don’t think you can intimidate me with this weird game you’re playing.”
One of her hands disappears from the screen and I know she wants to touch herself. Maybe her hand is on her thigh. Maybe she’s barely spreading her legs, trying to convince herself she’s only adjusting her underwear. I bet soon, her fingers will skim along the hem of her panties, brushing the silky material against her wetness. She can’t take them off or I’ll notice. No, she’ll just have to tug them to the side if she wants to feel skin on skin.
“But I think I should hang up the phone now,” she says, breathy.
“Or you could let me finish what I’ve started.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her innocent act is poorly constructed. I bet she’s barely touching herself and trying to talk herself out of it, but it’s too late. I know it’s been at least a few months for her. I know deep down, she’s as starved as I am.
“You want to pretend? Let’s pretend. We can call this research for tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Me making you come right now.”
“Jesus Ian.”
I could say the same thing to her. She thinks I’m the only one seducing here? She’s a walking seduction. Even now, she’s biting down on that full bottom lip and I’m seconds away from wrapping my hand around my dick. Her white tank top is paper thin. The hints of her I can see beneath it are driving me to the brink of madness.
“Tell me what you’re doing with your hand, Sam.”
“Flipping you off.”
“Be honest.”
“Ian, this is—”
“A fantasy, remember?”
For a long moment, our eyes lock on screen and I’m watching the cogs spin in her head. She wants this and at the same time, she doesn’t. I think I have her but I know at any moment, she could press that little red circle on her screen and deny us both.
I don’t say a word as I wait for her to make a decision.
I won’t coerce her any more than I already have.
Finally, her velvety voice spills through the phone. “Okay, you want to play? I’ll play. I’m…touching myself.”
“How? Over your panties?”
“Yes.”
“Pull them aside.”
Her eyes pinch closed.
“Sam,” I say, reaching down to adjust myself. My dick is begging for attention, but I want to concentrate on her. “Pull them to the side and tell me how wet you are.”
We’ve probably spoken hundreds of thousands of words to each other throughout our friendship, but right now our sentences sound like they’re being spoken by strangers.
Her head tips back and her gaze hits the ceiling. She’s exposing her neck. If I were there, I’d drag my teeth along her pulse line.
I hear a little rustling and then her eyes flutter closed.
“Very.”
I grin. There, I just proved my point from earlier.
“I’ll have a courier bring over a bottle of Gatorade after this.”
Her eyes flick open. “Ian!”
I wish I could wipe away my expression, but I can’t. This is too good, too many years in the making.
“Brush your finger up and down. It’s not your touch, it’s mine, and if it were me, I’d be thorough. I’d take my time and sink my fingers into you so slowly, and in return, you’d sink your teeth into my shoulder to keep from moaning my name.”
I know she’s listening to my commands because her breaths get shorter and shorter. I see nothing from her waist down, and yet I feel like I have a front-row seat. My imagination runs wild. I’ve been in that room. I know her sheets are white. I know her panties are usually lacy and thin. She likes wearing color. Her skin does too. She’s flushed from head to toe, no doubt.
“I want you to slide your middle finger inside and imagine it’s me.”
She shakes her head, but I know she’s listening to me. I know she’s doing it.
“If I were there, I’d tug those panties off and press your open thighs against the bed.”
She chuckles. “I’m not that flexible.”
I smirk. “I know for a fact you are.”
In the next instant, she drops the phone and the screen goes black. For a second, I think she’s gone, but I can still hear her breathing hard, sheets rustling, fabric slipping down her legs.
Fucking hell. She’s stripping off those panties.
“How long has it been since someone tasted you? And I don’t mean some rushed foreplay, the two obligatory licks, Sam. I mean face buried between your legs, tongue plunging deep over and over again.”
“Ian…please…”
“I want to taste you.”
She’s panting.
So close.
Her breaths are shorter and shorter.
Her legs are trembling.
I’m imagining her on that bed, pink and wet and so very good at listening.
“I’m so close, Ian.”
“Imagine how well we’ll fit, Sam. Imagine how easily I’ll fill you up.”
“Ian…I’m—”
The rest of the sentence dissolves and so does she.
She’s fisting her sheets, about to come undone just from the sound of my voice.
“I’ll be so gentle at first, but you know what? I’ve been lonely way too long and I need to fuck—hard.”
I know she’s seconds away from letting me hear her come and then—suddenly the line goes dead.
She hung up on me.
Damn.
I smirk.
Another man might feel deprived, but I don’t.
This is just the beginning, and she should know that.
I text her a few minutes later when I know she’s lying on her bed, the residual waves sending shivers down her body. She’s flushed and panting, trying to reclaim her breath. I know she’s freaking out over what just happened, but I’m not.
IAN: Next time we’ll do that in person.
7
S A M
It’s the morning after THE PHONE CALL and I’ve developed some kind of PTSD. I don’t answer Ian’s wakeup call, mainly because I don’t need to. I’m already awake and in my kitchen, scrambling eggs. On my counter, there’s bacon, fresh blueberry muffins, sliced fruit, coffee, and orange juice. I look like a mom on a sitcom. Any minute now a teenage boy will stroll in with bedhead. I’ll tell him to sit down for breakfast and he’ll say, Mom, UGH, I’m late for school! I’ll throw a granola bar at the back of his head as he walks out the door.
She’s referring to the fact that I don’t have my shirt on. I didn’t bother after my shower.
“Yes, but unlike you, I’m wearing pants.”
It’s a guess, but when her eyes go wide and her blush blazes even harder, I know I’m right.
“Yeah…well…” She clears her throat and averts her gaze to something off screen. “It’s really hot in here—stuffy.”
“Well yeah, I imagine things heat up when little Ian is on the prowl.”
“That’s not why I’m hot. I just worked out.”
Who the hell does she think she’s fooling?
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“So what?!” She’s exasperated by this conversation. “I’m a liar and you’re clearly horny as hell. Why don’t you call one of the Freshman Four? I’m sure they could help you out—y’know, give you a refresher course before tomorrow morning. You clearly need it.”
“You’re right, I do.”
She swallows slowly. The phone wobbles in her hand.
“Do you?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why do you think I’m on those dating apps? It’s not to meet friends. Now are you going to suggest you can ‘help me out’ like this is a low-budget porno?”
“You’ve clearly never had phone sex. You’re pretty bad at it.”
Her blue eyes hit mine. “What?”
“This isn’t how it usually starts. I ask you what you’re wearing and you tell me, but I already know: white tank top, panties, nothing else.”
“Ian.”
My name is a warning, a buoy telling swimmers to turn back now, but I’m sick of warnings, so I head out to open waters. It’s time to test a theory.
“Want to ask me what I’m wearing?”
“I bet I can guess: black workout shorts, Calvin Klein boxer briefs.”
Interesting. Maybe Sam does watch me when I change.
“And…I have had phone sex before. Don’t think you can intimidate me with this weird game you’re playing.”
One of her hands disappears from the screen and I know she wants to touch herself. Maybe her hand is on her thigh. Maybe she’s barely spreading her legs, trying to convince herself she’s only adjusting her underwear. I bet soon, her fingers will skim along the hem of her panties, brushing the silky material against her wetness. She can’t take them off or I’ll notice. No, she’ll just have to tug them to the side if she wants to feel skin on skin.
“But I think I should hang up the phone now,” she says, breathy.
“Or you could let me finish what I’ve started.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her innocent act is poorly constructed. I bet she’s barely touching herself and trying to talk herself out of it, but it’s too late. I know it’s been at least a few months for her. I know deep down, she’s as starved as I am.
“You want to pretend? Let’s pretend. We can call this research for tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Me making you come right now.”
“Jesus Ian.”
I could say the same thing to her. She thinks I’m the only one seducing here? She’s a walking seduction. Even now, she’s biting down on that full bottom lip and I’m seconds away from wrapping my hand around my dick. Her white tank top is paper thin. The hints of her I can see beneath it are driving me to the brink of madness.
“Tell me what you’re doing with your hand, Sam.”
“Flipping you off.”
“Be honest.”
“Ian, this is—”
“A fantasy, remember?”
For a long moment, our eyes lock on screen and I’m watching the cogs spin in her head. She wants this and at the same time, she doesn’t. I think I have her but I know at any moment, she could press that little red circle on her screen and deny us both.
I don’t say a word as I wait for her to make a decision.
I won’t coerce her any more than I already have.
Finally, her velvety voice spills through the phone. “Okay, you want to play? I’ll play. I’m…touching myself.”
“How? Over your panties?”
“Yes.”
“Pull them aside.”
Her eyes pinch closed.
“Sam,” I say, reaching down to adjust myself. My dick is begging for attention, but I want to concentrate on her. “Pull them to the side and tell me how wet you are.”
We’ve probably spoken hundreds of thousands of words to each other throughout our friendship, but right now our sentences sound like they’re being spoken by strangers.
Her head tips back and her gaze hits the ceiling. She’s exposing her neck. If I were there, I’d drag my teeth along her pulse line.
I hear a little rustling and then her eyes flutter closed.
“Very.”
I grin. There, I just proved my point from earlier.
“I’ll have a courier bring over a bottle of Gatorade after this.”
Her eyes flick open. “Ian!”
I wish I could wipe away my expression, but I can’t. This is too good, too many years in the making.
“Brush your finger up and down. It’s not your touch, it’s mine, and if it were me, I’d be thorough. I’d take my time and sink my fingers into you so slowly, and in return, you’d sink your teeth into my shoulder to keep from moaning my name.”
I know she’s listening to my commands because her breaths get shorter and shorter. I see nothing from her waist down, and yet I feel like I have a front-row seat. My imagination runs wild. I’ve been in that room. I know her sheets are white. I know her panties are usually lacy and thin. She likes wearing color. Her skin does too. She’s flushed from head to toe, no doubt.
“I want you to slide your middle finger inside and imagine it’s me.”
She shakes her head, but I know she’s listening to me. I know she’s doing it.
“If I were there, I’d tug those panties off and press your open thighs against the bed.”
She chuckles. “I’m not that flexible.”
I smirk. “I know for a fact you are.”
In the next instant, she drops the phone and the screen goes black. For a second, I think she’s gone, but I can still hear her breathing hard, sheets rustling, fabric slipping down her legs.
Fucking hell. She’s stripping off those panties.
“How long has it been since someone tasted you? And I don’t mean some rushed foreplay, the two obligatory licks, Sam. I mean face buried between your legs, tongue plunging deep over and over again.”
“Ian…please…”
“I want to taste you.”
She’s panting.
So close.
Her breaths are shorter and shorter.
Her legs are trembling.
I’m imagining her on that bed, pink and wet and so very good at listening.
“I’m so close, Ian.”
“Imagine how well we’ll fit, Sam. Imagine how easily I’ll fill you up.”
“Ian…I’m—”
The rest of the sentence dissolves and so does she.
She’s fisting her sheets, about to come undone just from the sound of my voice.
“I’ll be so gentle at first, but you know what? I’ve been lonely way too long and I need to fuck—hard.”
I know she’s seconds away from letting me hear her come and then—suddenly the line goes dead.
She hung up on me.
Damn.
I smirk.
Another man might feel deprived, but I don’t.
This is just the beginning, and she should know that.
I text her a few minutes later when I know she’s lying on her bed, the residual waves sending shivers down her body. She’s flushed and panting, trying to reclaim her breath. I know she’s freaking out over what just happened, but I’m not.
IAN: Next time we’ll do that in person.
7
S A M
It’s the morning after THE PHONE CALL and I’ve developed some kind of PTSD. I don’t answer Ian’s wakeup call, mainly because I don’t need to. I’m already awake and in my kitchen, scrambling eggs. On my counter, there’s bacon, fresh blueberry muffins, sliced fruit, coffee, and orange juice. I look like a mom on a sitcom. Any minute now a teenage boy will stroll in with bedhead. I’ll tell him to sit down for breakfast and he’ll say, Mom, UGH, I’m late for school! I’ll throw a granola bar at the back of his head as he walks out the door.
