Chapter 25
SELF-AWARE, SEXUALLY DOOMED, AND KINDA LAUGHING ABOUT IT
CAL
This is a mistake.
I know that.
And still, I can't stop myself.
The moment she sends that picture—her body, bare, stretched across her navy blue sheets like a fucking dream—I'm gone. The warm glow of her bedside lamp casting shadows across the gentle curves of her hips, the fullness of her thighs, the soft swell of her breasts.
I want to hear her.
I need to hear her.
I want to listen to her fall apart in my ear.
I want to stroke my cock while she does it, chasing my own release in time with hers.
I want to think about her lips on mine when I let go.
Fuck.
I quickly flip through my phone, making sure the voice modulator is active.
This is so fucking risky.
Texting is one thing. A call is another.
A call is dangerous.
But she's been drinking, and she wants this.
Wants me.
No one's ever taken an interest in her like this before—that much is obvious. She's so pent up, frisky with need, weighed down by so much shame about her body, about her desires.
And I should be building her up the right way.
She trusts me. That much was clear tonight.
And instead of treating that trust like it's fucking sacred—
I press Call.
There's a pause.
"H-hello?"
Her voice is soft, with the faint huskiness that comes from drinking wine.
I close my eyes, fisting my cock at the sound.
Fuck.
"Hi, pretty girl."
She inhales sharply.
"Oh my God."
I chuckle. "Not quite, sweetheart."
She laughs nervously. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this."
"You don't have to," I murmur.
"I want to."
Fuck, yes.
"Good girl," I say, stroking myself slowly.
She whimpers.
And that little sound?
That sound is going to fucking ruin me.
"Are you comfortable?" I ask.
She shifts. I can hear the creak of her mattress, the whisper of cotton against skin. "Y-yeah. Just... nervous."
"I know," I soothe. "Just focus on my voice."
"Okay."
A small pause.
"Um," she murmurs, her voice dropping. "So... my friend Amanda. She, uh, has a thing she does."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," she says, exhaling shakily. "She has her AI... um, tell her a sexy bedtime story."
"That so?"
"Yeah."
She clears her throat. "I was wondering if... if you'd do that for me."
I tighten my grip. The heat in my palm builds.
"Oh, pretty girl," I murmur. "I can do that and more."
She lets out a soft whimper. The sound vibrates through the phone, straight to my cock.
I settle in, letting my voice drop lower.
"Close your eyes for me."
I can hear the sheets rustling beneath her.
"Picture this," I murmur. "You're in the woods. Alone."
She sucks in a breath.
"The sun is setting. You're walking, trying to find your way back to the path."
A small whimper.
"But you're not alone," I continue.
"You can feel it, can't you?"
"Y-yes."
"I’m watching you."
She shudders. I can hear it in the slight tremor of her breathing.
"Tracking you. I’ve been hunting you all night."
I stroke myself faster, breathing harder. The headboard thumps softly against the wall with each movement.
"You run," I murmur, soothing and dark all at once. "You try to get away. But you can't."
She whimpers. The sound is wet, desperate.
"You feel hands grabbing you, pulling you down."
"Fuck," she gasps.
"You fight, but it's no use."
I can hear her breathing speeding up. The rhythmic rustling of sheets tells me everything.
She's touching herself.
Good girl.
Her breath hitches.
"You feel my hands moving over your body."
She whimpers again.
"I press you into the ground," I murmur, my voice rough. "Pin you down so you can't move."
Izzy's breathing stutters. A wet sound in the background tells me just how ready she is.
"I’m all over you," I continue, stroking myself, matching the rhythm I imagine she needs. "Hands everywhere. Gripping. Holding. Possessive."
A soft whimper slips through the receiver.
"My hands slide up your thighs, push your legs apart."
She makes a desperate sound.
"I’m greedy with you, my palms groping your breasts, tweaking your nipples, rolling them between my fingers until you're gasping."
She lets out a soft, breathy cry.
"I drag my hands lower, pressing between your thighs, fingers spearing into you—wet, so warm, stretching you open."
A sharp gasp.
"God, pretty girl," I groan, my grip tightening around my cock. Pre-come slicks my palm, making the glide smoother, hotter.
"I play with you, teasing you, working you up so much you start begging to be fucked."
Her breath catches.
"Tell me," I murmur. "Are you begging?"
"Yes," she gasps.
I soften my voice to draw her in. "What do you say, pretty girl?"
She whimpers, breath catching.
"Please."
I wait.
She shudders. "Please, Caleb."
I still don't respond, letting the silence stretch. Her voice wobbles. "Please, I need it."
Still, I make her squirm.
I hear the desperation building in her breath. The wet sounds of her fingers working faster.
"Say it like you mean it," I murmur.
A strangled moan.
"Please, Caleb, fuck, please, I need to come, I need you, please."
Fuck, yes.
"Good girl," I breathe.
"I finally give in," I murmur. "Flip you over on your hands and knees. My hands grip your hips, hold you in place—and then I drive my cock into you."
She lets out a broken moan. The sound ricochets off my bedroom walls.
"I grip you so hard, pulling you back onto me," I continue, stroking myself faster. The slick sounds of my hand on my cock mingle with her gasps.
She's breathing heavy, ragged, right in my ear.
"You moan like you can't take it anymore, but you love it, don't you?"
"Yes, Caleb—"
"I fuck you harder, deeper, making you scream."
She's gasping now, moaning into the phone.
"You feel it, don't you?" I murmur.
"Y-yes," she whimpers.
"You're so close."
"So close."
"Then do something for me, pretty girl," I rasp.
She moans, eager. "Anything."
"Moan for me."
A fast intake of breath. The rustle of sheets.
"Caleb—"
"Do it," I instruct, my own breath ragged. "Let me hear you."
She lets out a soft cry, her moans getting higher, breathier. The wet sounds of her fingers moving faster make my cock throb painfully.
"Good girl," I murmur, stroking myself in time with her gasps.
"Rub your clit," I tell her, voice dark, commanding. "Faster. Harder."
Her breath shudders, her moans breaking apart. "Are you close?" I ask, my voice rough with need, laced in control.
"Yes," she gasps. "So close."
"Then come for me."
She lets go.
Her gasp is otherworldly, high and raw. It fills my bedroom, wrapping around me.
The sound sends me over the fucking edge.
I groan, low and guttural, the sound ripped from my throat as I stroke harder, slower—drawing it out just to feel every fucking second of it. My cock throbs in my fist, so sensitive I’m half-delirious, my hips twitching with each pass of my hand.
The first pulse hits, thick and hot, spilling across my stomach in long, messy streaks. I don’t stop—can’t stop—milking it for everything it’s worth. My vision blurs, breath stuttering as another spurt spills over my skin, slick and obscene.
I drag it out until I’m spent, panting, hand sticky and stomach coated, cock twitching with aftershocks that won’t quit. I’d do it all over again just to feel that build—just to imagine it was her mouth instead of my fist.
"That was amazing," she whispers. Her voice is softer now, drowsy with satisfaction.
I smile, still catching my breath.
"You were amazing," I murmur.
She sighs, content and relaxed. "I think...I think I'm going to fall asleep now."
"That's a good girl."
She makes a sleepy sound. The rustle of her pulling up covers.
"Goodnight, pretty girl."
She hums, already halfway gone.
"Goodnight, Caleb."
I end the call.
I exhale, staring at my ceiling. The moonlight casts shadows across the white paint.
My heart is still racing.
My body is still wired.
And my mind?
My mind is fucked.
Because I don't want to be Caleb.
I want to be me.