Devious Whims (Immoral Starts)

Cami

“W-A-T-C-H. Watch. Thirty-two points,” Mike says proudly. After placing the last tile, he grabs the notepad and scribbles his score.

I smile at his genuine excitement. “That was a good one.”

I’m not the biggest fan of Scrabble, mainly because I suck at spelling. But it’s my husband’s favorite, so every Friday we have a board game date.

My phone buzzes next to me, and a glance at the screen steals my breath. The unsaved number taunts me because I have it memorized, and I know exactly who it is. I grab it and stand on shaky legs.

“I gotta take this,” I tell Mike as I hurry up the stairs to the guest room.

“This is a collect call from Cluck’s County Correctional from Inmate…”

I let the usual spiel play as I lock the bedroom door and enter the walk-in closet while accepting the call.

When it’s finally silent, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

His throaty laugh sends shivers down my spine. “Hmm. I’ve missed your voice.”

My heart twists at his words. There’s a selfish part of me that has missed him too. It’s been a few months since he’s called. It isn’t unusual for long stretches of time to pass without a call, but this has been the longest.

“Are you alone?” he asks.

I lick my dry lips. “Yes.”

“Of course you are. Because you’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Humiliation burns through me, sending arousal straight between my legs. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t respond like this. I can’t stop myself.

“It’s been a long time,” I whisper, my fingers aching with how hard I’m gripping the phone.

His deep laugh rumbles, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps across my skin. “And you’ve been saving it for me, haven’t you?”

Shame burns my cheeks, and I don’t want to admit the truth, but I do. I always do for him. “Yes.”

“Such a good girl. Spread your legs and get wet enough that I can hear it,” he commands.

My blood rushes in my ears, the steady beat making me light-headed as I lean against the wall and lift my foot onto the stool next to me. The thin, light-blue summer dress falls down my thigh and gathers at my hip as I slide my fingers between my legs.

“Touching yourself?”

“Yes,” I breathe out as I gather the wetness from my hole and drag it to my clit, rubbing in slow circles.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

I close my eyes, imagining the Devon I knew from my youth. His midnight black hair hung in limp curls over his forehead and sometimes shielded his jade-green eyes. He would swipe it to the side before falling to his knees, pushing my legs apart and making unwavering eye contact as he ate me out.

“You. Always you,” I tell him.

Devon hums in approval. I pick up the pace strumming myself, my legs starting to quiver as my body pulls tight at the tension of an impending orgasm. “Which one is it this time? My tongue or my cock?”

I let out a soft moan. “Tongue.”

“Yeah, you like that one. The thought of me tasting your sloppy pussy gets you off?”

Nodding, I swallow the words as I push a finger inside myself and pump it quickly. The sloshy noises as my juices spill around my hand make me pant.

“You ready?” Devon says, the impatience in his tone makes a trickle of nerves build in my stomach and reminds me to answer him out loud.

“Yes.”

The huff of breath is loud, crackling over the line. “Good, put me on speaker.”

Pressing the volume button down a few clicks, I set him on the edge of the vanity desk. It leaves the phone’s microphone almost perfectly in line with my pussy. I pump my fingers a few times, ensuring the sound of my arousal is loud.

“Fuck,” he cusses in a low, raspy voice. “I can practically smell you. You’re so wet for me. Your cunt is crying for it, isn’t she? She wants me inside her. Stretching her with my fucking giant cock, filling her with loads of my cum.”

I push my fingers in and out faster, my chest aching as I try to catch my breath. I do want that; I want it desperately. The fantasies of him fucking me invade my mind constantly, and the phone calls are a sweet reminder that he wants the same.

“Devon…” I gasp out, feeling myself tighten around my fingers. I wish he was here to touch me, his hands on my hips or breasts. His tongue lapping at everything spilling from me and onto the carpet.

“Keep going,” he says, his tone deepening with arousal. When his short huffs of air become audible over the speaker, I imagine he’s working himself with me. I’ve never seen Devon naked, but I just know that he would be glorious. The truest, finest specimen of man. Even when we were only teenagers a glimpse of his body when he would come back from a run and the tattoos he got inked made me insatiably horny.

My breath comes in quick pants as my body tenses with the rising wave of bliss. It is always a slow build rather than a large crash that washes through me.

“Yes, ,” Devon whispers, his arousal deepening his voice. “Come for me.”

“Oh god,” I whimper. My fingers move in erratic jerks, and I latch onto the fantasy of him, stretching me with his thick cock and filling me with his cum.

“Come, baby. Come as if all your cream is slathered on my cock,” Devon demands with rushed authority.

I bite down on my lip hard as I reach my peak, succumbing to the ecstasy as my legs shake. Holding in my scream, tears stream down my face as I drop my hand from my sex and slump against the stool.

“Fuck, fuck,” Devon grunts.

Taking in deep gulps of air, I lean against the desk as I wait for the lightheadedness and my elevated heartbeat to fade.

“My lawyer should be contacting you soon,” he says, breaking the silence as his breath calms.

I fix my dress, pulling it down after wiping my mess between my legs. “What? Why? What happened?”

Devon snickers. “Calm down. It’s good. I’m being released next week. He’ll give you all the information you’ll need to pick me up.”

My heart thunders in my chest for an entirely different reason and I glance at the locked door, thinking of the man waiting for me downstairs.

“Okay,” I whisper. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as I try to comprehend what’s happening. “That’s—wow. Next week.”

I thought I had more time to ease Mike into the idea of bringing Devon into our home. Though we’ve been together for a couple of years, I haven’t been too open about my past or my family. My parents don’t even know I’m married or where we live. They never bothered to check in with me after Devon’s conviction, ashamed of us both.

“I thought you would be more excited,” he rumbles over the speaker.

Swallowing the nerves, I pick up the phone and press it back to my ear. “I am, just doesn’t give me a lot of time to prepare the house for you. I want it to be perfect.”

Devon hums. “As long as your face is the first thing I see when I take my steps to freedom, that’s perfect to me.”

I bite down on my lip, suppressing my smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up without telling me goodbye, and my heart aches at the familiar abrupt ending. I wonder if he wants the first time he tells me he loves me to be in person, or if he is more embarrassed to admit his feelings over the phone while others listen in. The first time he coaxed me into doing this for him, I’d barely been able to come, anxious someone who wasn’t Devon would hear me.

I stare at my reflection in the dark phone screen, not ready to go back downstairs and face Mike. Next week, my life will irrevocably change and I’m not as excited as I thought I would be. My conflicted feelings about what I want have me stuck frozen in the closet. I’ve never doubted my love for Devon and the life I want him to build with me, but my heart aches thinking about leaving everything behind me.

Clearing my throat, I look in the mirror and ensure my flushed face is gone and my make-up’s not smeared. I push my worries about my future to the back burner of my mind and start a list of everything I need to do to prepare to bring my stepbrother home.

Step One: Tell my husband about our soon-to-be houseguest.