Chapter 26
Sadie
The glass is cold in my hand, condensation sliding down onto my fingers. I take a sip, the water cool against the furnace of my throat, and it steadies me just enough to hear the phone buzzing in Shepard’s hand. He presses it into mine.
“Boone,” he mouths, his eyes soft but tight with worry.
My heart clenches. My chest feels too small for the sudden rush of relief and longing that pours through me at just seeing his name lit on the screen.
“Hello,” I breathe, voice raw.
“Hey, baby.” His voice is thick, warm, threaded with something that slides right under my skin. My eyes flutter closed as if the sound of him alone can anchor me.
“Where are you?” My voice cracks around the words.
“Caught in traffic. I’m trying another way back.” His frustration is tangible, pulled tight in every syllable. “I should already be there with you.”
Shepard clears his throat softly. “We’ll give you two some space.”
I glance up, startled, but both he and Gabe are already moving.
No hesitation, no commentary—just quiet understanding.
Gabe avoids my gaze, his shoulders rigid as he follows Shepard out.
The door shuts with a low click, leaving me cocooned in silence except for Boone’s voice humming through the line.
I clutch the phone harder. “I wish you were here.”
“I know,” he murmurs. There’s a pause, the sound of him exhaling, and then, lower, “I’m swallowing it down just thinking about you.”
The words pull me tight, coil me sharper than the heat already threading through every nerve.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, softer now, the question weighted with more than concern.
“I don’t know.” I swallow hard. “Hot. It’s everywhere, Boone. My skin feels wrong, too tight. I can’t think. My body won’t stop…” I trail off, pressing the heel of my palm into my thigh, fighting the unbearable throb building between my legs. “It’s like I’m crawling out of my own skin.”
There’s silence for a beat, and then his voice shifts, lower, darker. “Getting you off could help.”
The suggestion makes my breath catch. “How?”
Another pause. Then, deliberate, “Phone sex.”
The words ripple over me, shocking and intoxicating. I don’t even realize I’ve let out a sound until I hear my own moan catch, unbidden, sliding free from my throat. Heat slicks between my thighs, wetness I can feel spreading against the sheet.
“Would you like that?” he asks, voice rougher now, the edge of command threading through it.
I nod before I remember he can’t see me. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Put me on speaker.”
My hands tremble as I fumble with the screen, setting the phone on the pillow beside me. His voice fills the room, deep and steady, like he’s finally here even though he isn’t.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he instructs.
“My nipples ache,” I whimper, the words falling out without thought, without filter.
“Good. Lick your fingers.”
My tongue slides over my fingertips, wet and hot. The simple act feels filthy, like he’s watching me, like his eyes are here tracking every movement.
“Now touch yourself.” His voice is thicker, strained, like he’s fighting the same fire I am. “Roll your nipples between your fingers, slow.”
I obey. The ache sharpens, spirals. I squeeze and twist lightly, and a shiver runs through me so fierce I gasp.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“They hurt,” I whimper, arching against the sheets. “But it feels good. God, Boone—it feels so fucking good.”
“That’s it, baby. Now slide your hand lower.” His voice fractures, like gravel cracking. “Touch your pussy for me.”
My hand shakes as it trails down my stomach. The second I brush against the wet heat between my thighs, a cry rips out of me. I’m soaked, slick pooling, coating my fingers instantly.
“I’m—oh god—I’m dripping,” I gasp.
“Describe it,” he orders, his breath harsh against the speaker.
“My fingers are sliding right in. I’m so wet, Boone. It’s everywhere. I can’t—I can’t stop.”
“That’s right. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Slow. Curl them inside you.”
I do. My back arches violently, head pressing into the pillow. The sound that escapes me is animal, desperate, as my body writhes under my own touch.
“Faster now. Show me how much you need it. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I sob. “I want you here. I want your hands on me, your mouth—”
“Say it.” His voice is guttural.
“I want you to fuck me,” I cry out. My hips grind against my hand, chasing friction, desperate, spiraling.
“That’s my girl,” he growls.
The pressure builds sharp and hot, every nerve screaming as I work myself harder, chasing the edge. My thighs tremble, my chest heaves, and I know I’m seconds away—
And then the line goes dead.
“Boone?” I gasp, clawing at the phone. The screen is blank.
“No. No, no, no.” My body convulses with frustration, every muscle locked tight around the orgasm that won’t break. I collapse back, sobbing with need, slick coating my thighs, my hand trembling between them.
I stab at the screen, calling him back. The dial tone drones, then breaks into his voice—ragged, fractured.
“Sadie?”
“Please,” I whimper, clutching the phone to my ear, my other hand working frantically against my body. “Please, Boone. I need—”
“I’m here.” His voice is breaking, static slicing through it, but I hear him. “I’m here, baby.”
“Help me.” My hand moves faster, desperation clawing at me. “I can’t—I’m so close. Please.”
His breath is ragged in my ear. “Touch your clit. Circle it. Harder.”
I obey, my hips bucking, the sheets tangled around me. My body bows as the pressure crests again, so high it feels like I might shatter.
“Come for me,” he grits, voice shredded.
And I do. It rips through me, violent, shaking me apart. I cry out, clutching the phone, every nerve lit with fire as release crashes over me. Wave after brutal wave leaves me gasping, sobbing, undone.
But it’s not enough.
The orgasm fades, but the need doesn’t. My body still burns, still writhes, still begs. I press the glass of water against my skin, hissing at the cold, dragging it down my chest, between my breasts, across my stomach. Steam rises off my skin like I’m burning alive.
“Boone,” I choke out, tears slipping free. “It’s not enough. I still need—”
His voice fractures again, broken with static. “Hold on, Sadie. I’m coming.”
But his voice cuts in and out, fading, his words breaking like glass through the line.
I rub harder, frantic, desperate for another release. My cries are raw, messy, shame tangled with need. I come again, quick and jagged, but it’s shallow, unsatisfying.
“I need help,” I sob, pressing the cool glass harder against my fevered skin. “Please, Boone. I can’t—”
But the line drops again, leaving me in silence.
The phone slips from my hand. My chest heaves. My body trembles, wrung out and still hungry, still desperate, the fire inside me nowhere near quenched.
And all I can think, all I can feel, is that I need him.
Now.
The orgasm doesn’t hold. It shreds me open, leaves me gasping, but the fire doesn’t go out. It only coils tighter, more vicious. My thighs are slick, the sheets damp with sweat and arousal, and still it’s not enough. My body wants more. Demands it.
I try again, my hand frantic, dragging across my clit, curling inside myself until my wrist aches. I press harder, move faster, grind into my own palm until I’m half-screaming with frustration. Nothing. The release teases, pulls me to the brink, then snatches itself away again, leaving me sobbing.
“Why won’t this work?” I cry out, my voice raw. Tears blur my vision as I arch against the mattress, begging my own body for mercy. “Please,” I choke, my other hand fisting the sheets. “Please, just let me come.”
The tears spill freely, hot against my cheeks. I’m drenched in sweat, hair plastered to my temples, and the shame of it—Shepard’s sheets under me, Boone’s voice still echoing in my head, my body betraying me like this—it all makes me sob harder.
“Fuck!” I scream, the word tearing from my throat. I slam my palm against the mattress in helpless rage, the sound cracking through the room.
A knock comes. Soft but immediate.
“Sadie?” Shepard’s muffled voice threads through the door. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I sob. I yank the sheet up, dragging it over my body like flimsy armor, my hands shaking.
“Can I bring you anything?” he asks gently. But underneath, I can hear it—the tight strain, the way his control is stretched thin.
“I don’t know.” My voice cracks. I press my forehead against my knees, curling tight under the sheet, trembling. “I don’t know what I need.”
I stumble upright, legs barely holding me, the sheet clutched around my chest. I’m shaking, shivering, but heat pours off me in waves. My body is a live wire, humming with need, and nothing I do dulls it.
The door feels like a wall I can’t cross, but my hand still twists the knob. I pull it open.
Shepard is right there, his glasses slightly askew, his shoulders taut with tension. Behind him, Gabe is seated in the chair by the bookshelf, hands braced on his thighs, eyes locked on me.
I freeze, breath shuddering. They both look at me, not unkind, but too sharp, too aware, and it makes something in me fracture further.
“I don’t know what to do,” I ramble, words tumbling out, desperate. “I can’t—I tried—but it doesn’t work, nothing works, and I’m losing my mind, and Boone isn’t here—someone tell me what to do.” My voice is high, hysterical. My tears streak down my cheeks as I press the sheet tighter around me.
Shepard’s throat bobs, and he speaks carefully. “What happened with Boone?”
“The call dropped,” I whisper. My chest heaves. “He isn’t answering. I can’t reach him.”
“I can go find him,” Gabe says, clipped, decisive. He starts to rise.
“No!” The word rips from me, panicked and sharp. I stagger forward, sheet slipping with the movement. “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”
Gabe freezes. Shepard blinks, caught between concern and something else, something darker.
An irrational part of me pushes forward, raw and needy. The sheet slides lower, baring more of my chest than I should ever allow. I don’t care.
I don’t care about shame, or logic, or restraint. My body is in flames, and every nerve screams for relief.
“Please,” I whisper, the word breaking apart. My lips tremble. “Please help me. Someone help me.”
Another wave of arousal rolls through me, fierce and undeniable. I shiver, whimper, my knees knocking as the sheet threatens to fall completely.
Their eyes are on me—Shepard’s wide behind his lenses, his jaw tight, Gabe’s darker, stormier, locked on every trembling inch of me.
I’m unraveling in front of them. And I can’t stop it.