Chapter 10 #3
It’s slightly terrifying, but there’s also a strange thrill in wondering how often he’s seen me in our real lives, and I never even knew it.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.
“I don’t really know what to think,” I confess. “I want to ask more questions, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”
“Then slide your fingers back inside your pussy and fuck it like I would.”
His roughly spoken order sends another rush of heat through me, and I latch onto the distraction. I’ll have plenty of time to overanalyze our conversation later, but for now, I want to lose myself in the fantasy.
As I touch myself, I can hear the shift in his breathing. There’s something intoxicating about this kind of exhibitionism and knowing he’s getting off as he watches me.
My thoughts run wild as I replay the fragmented memories I have of him. But as I try to recall the specifics, the details blur, and my mind substitutes familiar features.
Warm olive skin. Broad shoulders and a towering frame. That dark, intense gaze that twists me up in knots.
It all melds together, equally disorienting and addicting me as my fingers move faster, edging me closer to oblivion.
“So needy, aren’t you, dea?” Satisfaction bleeds through his voice. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes.” I breathe.
“Then ask me nicely.”
A quiet moan spills out of me as I try to formulate a sentence. “Please let me finish.”
“Only when I say so,” he dictates. “Now slow down and tell me why you tried to hang up on me.”
I let out a frustrated sound, because somehow I knew it would come back to this.
I’m too far gone to rationalize my thoughts, so I just set them free.
“I don’t like thinking of you with other women. I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help it.”
“Do you think you’re so easily replaceable?” He softens his tone.
I want to ask him what he means by that, but he doesn’t give me the chance.
“Show me where you want to be touched.”
It’s pure agony, but I slip back into the memory of our last time together, letting my hand roam over the places he claimed.
“There’s my good girl,” he rasps. “Do you want my attention?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You never lost it.”
The amount of pleasure I derive from that statement leaves me drunk and restless. I can barely string together a thought as I start to beg him all over again. At this point, I’m willing to offer him anything if he’ll just relieve me of this torture.
“Tell me what you think of when you want to come.”
“You.” The truth wrenches out of me.
Another low hum of approval reverberates in his chest. “Me doing what?”
“All the things we never got to do.”
A ragged breath scrapes through the speaker, and I can tell he’s getting close too. The thought of him sitting there, legs spread wide as he strokes his cock, is the beginning of the end for me.
“Bran—”
“You can come now, dea.”
His words carry on a tortured groan, eviscerating the last of my restraint.
The orgasm explodes through me, stealing my breath and melting through my veins like the purest high. Endless waves of pleasure roll down my spine, wringing out every last contraction until I sink into the bed in a boneless heap.
It’s the most intense orgasm I’ve had since we were together, and my only regret is that Bran wasn’t physically here. This was the first time he allowed himself a release with me, and I didn’t even get to see it.
As I consider it, that thought cascades into another, and I verbalize it before I can talk myself out of it.
“Would you ever want to meet again?”
The question comes out soft and far too vulnerable for my liking.
He has every right to refuse me, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
As silence stretches between us, I brace for the inevitable rejection before he finally responds.
“Why?”
His hesitation gives me pause, but instead of shutting down like I normally would, I choose to brave the landmine of uncertainty.
“I want one night with you. I want the full experience.”
A harsh exhalation filters through the speaker. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
It’s a loaded response, and it doesn’t feel very good. But what did I expect? He deserved more than what I gave him in the end. I was too cowardly to admit how much he destabilized me. So I flipped a switch and pretended nothing had ever happened between us.
“You never told me you weren’t okay with the way things ended,” I murmur.
“Would it have mattered?” he asks flatly. “You panicked and ran. I gave you time because you weren’t ready, but you made your choice.”
His observation stings, but the truth usually does. And though there are a lot of things I’d like to say, they won’t change anything.
“It’s probably best we don’t go back down that path,” I agree, even though the words ring hollow. “It was a bad idea.”
An uncomfortable silence follows, stretching on for so long, I start to wonder if he hung up. Then, finally, he releases a heavy breath.
“One night.”
“What?”
“Saturday night at Sanctum,” he tells me. “I’ll text you the time.”
Nervous anticipation blooms in my chest, warring with the raw exposure of our conversation. But before I can overthink it, he issues one final command.
“Now get your vibrator out. I’m not done with you yet.”