Still thinking about me?
I hesitate, fingers hovering, but the heat between my legs answers for me, and even more floods my chest, my throat, my face.
Me:
Maybe.
A moment passes.
Then my phone buzzes, one message after another.
Soren:
I know you are.
I can’t stop thinking about your pussy already reacting to me.
Show me.
I want to see what I did to you.
I know you didn’t stop thinking about it.
My cheeks flush, a fresh wave of wetness soaking my panties. I shift on the couch, pressing my thighs together for friction.
Me:
Soren, that’s not fair.
You’re too far away.
Soren:
And whose fault is that?
What’s not fair is how hard you make me.
Call me.
Now.
I swallow hard, my free hand drifting to my thigh without permission. “Jesus,” I murmur.
My heart pounds as I hit the call button, preemptively switching to speaker.
His voice fills the room, low and commanding, like gravel wrapped in velvet. "Good. What are you wearing?"
He doesn't rush, letting the silence stretch, making me squirm.
"Tank top and shorts." My voice comes out breathy.
“And what are you doing right now, Ivy?"
I glance around like he might somehow be here. “Just... sitting on the couch in the living room.” I lean back, my free hand trailing absently over my stomach.
His tone instantly shifts. “Go somewhere private.”
My eyes flick toward the living room corner.