Chapter 26
IVY
Islump onto the couch the second the door shuts behind Adrian, the humid air clinging to my skin like a second layer. He’d burst through the door just before with a quick, “Hey, grabbing my charger. Fisting date—be back late!” before vanishing again.
Thank god I don’t have to answer all the questions he’d have if he wasn’t rushing off to shove his fist up someone’s ass.
I laugh softly to myself. Then the silence presses in, amplifying everything I’ve been trying to ignore.
Too empty.
My body hasn’t caught up with the distance. It’s still there—with him.
My thighs shift against the leather—a restless, unconscious movement.
Heat lingers low in my body, heavy and insistent, refusing to settle. My tongue drags slowly along my lower lip, chasing something that isn’t there anymore—but I can still taste it. Faint. Metallic. Warm.
My breath catches.
God.
My nipples harden against the thin fabric of my tank top, aching from the memory of being on my knees. A salty tang lingers on my tongue, the ghost of his cum from when I swallowed him eagerly on the way to the airport.
His deep voice echoes in my mind—"Good girl”—low, rough, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I can still picture his piercing gaze, the way it pinned me like prey.
My stomach tightens.
Most of all, I throb for him—for the way he made my body react like that. And his massive cock—thick and veined—imagining the sensation of the metal barbells and how it would feel for him to stretch my pussy wide.
I exhale sharply, pushing myself upright. “Nope,” I mutter. “We’re not doing this.”
I grab the remote, flick the TV on, scroll mindlessly. Noise. Color. Nothing sticks.
My phone sits on the coffee table. I stare at it.
Don’t.
My fingers twitch.
Do it.
I reach for it—then stop.
God, this is ridiculous.
I drop my head back against the couch, exhaling hard.
After a moment, I grab the phone, scrolling mindlessly through social feeds to distract myself, but my thighs clench involuntarily, my pussy slick and pulsing with unmet need.
Text him? No, that's desperate.
“Get it together,” I whisper.
I set the phone down, only for it to buzz seconds later. My head snaps toward it. His name lights up the screen.
My pulse jumps.
I grab it.
Soren:
Are you alone?
Straight to the point. No greeting, no softness.
My breath hitches.
Me:
Yeah, thankfully. Adrian was here for a minute but he’s gone to fist some guy.
His response is immediate:
Soren:
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.
Camera. Fuck. Right.
My breath stutters.
I push myself up, phone in hand, moving quickly now—up the stairs, into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
The quiet feels different in here. Closer. More contained. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Are you by your bed?”
I glance behind me. “Yes.”
“Sit down.”
I do. No hesitation now. The mattress dips under me, my pulse already picking up.
“You said you were wearing shorts? Take them off. Slowly. Tell me when you're done."
I freeze for a second, but the ache in my core wins out.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband, shimmying the shorts down my hips, kicking them aside.
My bare ass meets the cool comforter, and even though I’m alone in my room I feel exposed, vulnerable. “Done.”
“Good girl. Now look at me.”
Heat floods through me, and my breath catches.
The screen shifts.
Incoming video.
My stomach flips.
I hesitate—then accept.
The image flickers to life. And there he is. Reclined slightly, phone angled just enough—and my breath leaves me in a rush.
I prop the phone against a pillow.
His face appears—sharp jaw, eyes dark with hunger—and then he angles down, showing his hand wrapped around his enormous cock, already rock-hard. Thick. Heavy.
The piercing at the tip catches the light as he strokes slowly, deliberately.
My mouth goes dry instantly. “Oh my god,” I whisper.
"Turn your camera on. I want to see you." His tone drops lower, rougher—a command wrapped in promise.
I do.
His eyes flick up—not at me, not yet—but at the screen.
Then they settle on me. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s taking me in piece by piece. “There you are,” he murmurs. “Look at you. Already like this for me. Couldn’t even wait.”
Heat blooms across my skin. I shift slightly on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—my body, my breathing, the way I’m sitting.
The way he’s looking at me.
“Now listen carefully.”
My breath slows automatically.
“You’re not going to rush this.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
"Now the panties. Slide them off and spread your legs. I want you open for me."
My pulse races as I comply, the fabric peeling away from my soaked folds with a soft, wet sound. I part my thighs, the air teasing my swollen clit.
“Stay like that,” he says.
I still instantly.
His eyes track every movement. Every shift.
“You’re already worked up,” he adds quietly. “You’re glistening. All of that for me.”
My breath catches. “I—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just answer what I ask.”
My lips part. I nod.
“I’m going to tell you what to do,” he continues, voice dropping lower. Rougher. “And you’re going to do it exactly the way I say.”
My pulse pounds. I nod again.
“Use your words,” he says.
“Yes.”
His gaze lingers on me, satisfied.
“Better.” That’s enough. He leans back slightly, one hand moving out of frame, and my gaze drops immediately. I can’t help it.
He notices. A slow smile curves his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Look.”
"Oh God," I whisper, my eyes widening at the sight.
It’s even bigger on screen, close up now, veins bulging under his grip, pre-cum beading at the slit.
My stomach flips. He’s pacing this. Controlling it. Every second.
“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks.
My throat tightens. “You,” I admit.
“Good.” A pause. Heavy. "Touch yourself, Ivy. Circle your clit with one finger. Slow. Don't rush."
I obey, my fingers dipping between my legs, slick with arousal.
The first brush sends a jolt through me, my hips bucking slightly.
I bite my lip, stifling a moan, my body language screaming submission—legs splayed wide, back arched, free hand gripping a pillow.
"I see that shiver. You're dripping, aren't you? You’re already wet and I’m not even there. Not even touching you.” He pauses. “Pinch your nipple—hard. Imagine it's my teeth."
I gasp, tweaking the sensitive bud, the pain mixing with pleasure, making my pussy clench around nothing.
He pauses his strokes, watching me intently, the silence loaded, building the tension until I whimper.
“Soren, please…”
“Not yet.” His voice is rougher, more focused, like a predator toying with its catch. “Slide two fingers inside yourself. Fuck them in and out, but match my pace. Don’t get ahead of me.”
On screen, he resumes stroking his cock, slow and teasing, his chest rising with controlled breaths.
I push my fingers into my pussy, feeling the stretch, the wet heat enveloping them. I thrust in time with him—deliberate, agonizingly slow—my breaths coming in short gasps, body trembling.
He reacts in real time. “That's it. Deeper. I can hear how wet you are. You don’t even try to hide it. Look at me while you do it.”
Everything slows after that.
Every instruction spaced out.
Every pause deliberate.
My breathing fills the silence between his words—uneven, unsteady. I feel it all—every shift, every reaction, every second stretching tight with anticipation.
He notices everything.
“Don’t move like that,” he says quietly at one point. I freeze instantly. “Wait until I tell you. You don’t move unless I say.”
My body aches with it. The waiting. The control.
My thoughts blur, narrowing down to him—his voice, his timing, the way he watches me like he’s right here, not miles away.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
“Tell me what you want.”
My throat tightens. “I want—” I stop. The silence stretches.
“Say it,” he says.
“I want you.” The words come out shaky. Immediate. Honest.
His gaze darkens. “I know. I can hear it in you,” he says. A pause. “But you don’t get everything you want. Not until I say.”
My breath stutters, the tension continuing to build, the coil in me tighter than ever. Everything in me pulling toward something just out of reach. “I—” my voice breaks. “I need—”
My eyes remain locked on his, the intensity pulling me under. I stop initiating, just responding—fingers pumping faster as he dictates.
“Add a third. Stretch yourself for me.”
The fullness makes me moan loudly, hips grinding against my hand, clit throbbing under my thumb.
The edge builds steadily, my skin flushed hot, breaths ragged, muscles tensing as climax looms. “Soren, I’m close... so close…”
“Stop.” His command is sharp, deliberate. He halts his own strokes, cock twitching untouched. “Hands off. Now. Don’t move.”
I freeze, every muscle locked. My breath coming fast now, shallow—my body suspended on the edge of something I can’t reach.
I whine, pulling my fingers away, slick and glistening. My pussy clenches desperately, the denial wrecking me—body shaking, tears pricking my eyes from the frustrated ache.
“Please, Soren… I need to come. Let me... I'll do anything you want.”
There’s a moment of silence. Two. Three.
“Not yet,” he says quietly. “You haven’t earned it.”
My eyes close. “Please—”
“Look at me. I want to see your face when you do it.”
I force my eyes open.
He’s watching me. Focused. Controlled.
Completely in charge.
“You want it?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“Say it properly.”
My breath shakes. “Please.”
He exhales sharply, his own control slipping for just a second before it snaps back into place.
Silence follows. Heavy. Breathless.
The call ends without warning.
The screen goes dark.
And I’m alone again.
Are you fucking kidding me?
My chest rises and falls too fast, my body still humming, still reacting, still caught somewhere between tension and release.
I stare at the ceiling, my mind replaying everything—his voice. His timing. The way he watched me. The way he made me wait.
My thighs shift again, but it’s different now. Not just physical. Something deeper. Something sharper.
I swallow slowly.
This—whatever this is—it’s not just about what just happened.
It’s not just about the way he touches me.
It’s the way he controls everything, regardless of distance.
My eyes close.
And I already know I’m going to want more.
Incoming video call
I gasp and hit accept faster than I’ve ever done before.
“Did you think I was done with you?” He leans closer to the camera, eyes piercing. “Beg properly. Tell me how bad you want it."
"Please, Soren. Since I can't have your cock right now, can’t have you inside me… I need you to let me come. I'm yours. Only yours, just... please."
My voice breaks, body writhing, hands fisting the pillows to keep from touching myself.
He’s silent for a beat. “What did you say? Whose are you?”
“Yours,” I moan, desperate for permission to keep going.
"Good girl." Satisfaction laces his tone. "Touch yourself again. Come with me. Now. Don’t stop until I tell you.”
I dive back in, fingers plunging deep, rubbing my clit furiously.
On screen, he grips his cock harder, pumping with rough, urgent strokes, grunts escaping his lips. "Fuck, Ivy... come for me. Let me feel it.”
The release hits me like a wave—my back arches off the bed, pussy spasming around my fingers, slickness saturating my thighs as I cry out, pleasure ripping through me.
He follows seconds later, groaning deeply, thick ropes of cum spurting over his hand and abs, his pierced cock pulsing in his grip.
Panting, I collapse back, phone slipping slightly. My body is still shaking, thighs slick, pulse hammering in my throat. I haven't even caught my breath yet.
He ends the call abruptly, leaving me alone again.
Asshole.