Twelve
W hat the fuck was I doing? Texting some girl I barely knew? Flirting with her like I was a normal guy, who didn’t have a fucking axe hanging over his head? And it was fun. God, it really was. It was like I could just be me for a while. The old me, before the universe decided to fuck me over, by deciding I’d grown old enough already.
Me : Keep guessing, lady. You need to rack up more… penalties…
Fuck me, I’m still doing it. I glanced over at Elise’s bed, but she was out for the count. She was exhausted from her nursemaid duties, even though I barely needed any help now. I should send her home, so she can start living again. Why hadn’t I done that yet?
Camille : Is it because you had stitches somewhere weird?
Just like that, reality slapped me right in the face. How the hell hadn’t I made that connection yet? My road name was Stitch, but I was wearing stitches right now, that likely signified the end of my life. Why the fuck did I have to have that name?
I sat up, rubbed a hand over my eyes, and pulled it back, noticing my eyes were damp. Were they, or was I just sweating, or something else manly and not pathetic. I’m going with sweat. I got up and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, gulping it down to try to clear the lump from my throat. Never works though.
When I returned to my bed, there was a message waiting, the little light blinking insistently.
Camille : Is it because you’re the club’s medic? Do you stitch them up when they fall off their bikes?
I smirked, caught up in our game again for a moment. Thank god she didn’t take my silence as a rejection, because it definitely hadn’t been one.
Me : You’re really racking up these penalties, girl. This is gonna be fun.
I sat back against the headboard again, feeling the weirdest, and most inappropriate urge, to slide my hand into my boxers, and stroke myself. I hadn’t had that urge since the day I found ‘the thing’. And my sister was in the damn room, so what the fuck was going on with me?
Camille : Can you give me a hint? This could take all night.
Ha! She’d never get it.
Me : I have the stamina to go all night… don’t you?
Hell, that was even more forward than anything I’d said so far. I wondered if she was in her bed like me. Whether she wore her gorgeous dark hair down, with it tumbling over her shoulders, almost covering her breasts, because of course, in my mind she was naked and squirming on her bed.
Camille : I’ve had wine, so I don’t know… could you really keep me from getting bored all night though?
Camille : Okay, I’ve got it. You ready for this? You thought I wouldn’t figure it out.
I grinned, sending back a response telling her to go for it.
Camille : You’re a serial killer, and your signature is a stitch on the forehead of each victim.
Whoa. She was scarily close. Not about the serial killer thing, but damn… I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Me : Do you normally flirt with and snog serial killers? Your taste in men concerns me.
I imagined her giggling, and tossing her hair back as she read that. Fuck me. I wished I could see her.
Me : Send me a pic of you right now. I want to see you.
After I sent it, I smacked myself in the forehead, a literal facepalm, and I don’t recommend it. It hurts.
That was so intrusive of me! As I started frantically typing to tell her not to bother, I realised a picture was loading. Fuck. Me. She sent one.
Cammy
I couldn’t believe he asked for a pic, but more than that, I couldn’t believe I actually sent one! I was definitely blaming the wine. He didn’t say what kind of pic, but in the end I didn’t want to play, so I took an actual selfie of me in bed, holding up my almost empty wine glass. I was wearing a slinky vest, and didn’t look horrendous in it.
Long agonising seconds passed after I sent it, and I wondered if it had gone through, then I panicked that I’d sent it to someone else, and then I saw that he had sent a pic back. I wondered idly if it’d be a dick pic, but strangely I hoped not.
And it wasn’t. He was sitting up in bed in a dimly lit room, bare chested and gorgeous. I found myself enlarging the picture, which wasn’t great quality, because I wanted to see as much of him as possible. Oh wow.
Me : Is that a pierced nipple?
Another pic came through, a close up of said nipple, and yeah, there was a bar going through it, and I didn’t realise just how sexy that was until I saw it on someone like him. Well, let’s be honest, specifically on him. Wow.
Me : Do you like it being touched?
What the fuck did I send that for?!
Stitch : Touched, licked, sucked… all of the above.
I squirmed on the bed, my legs squeezing together at the short but provocative message. My god, I wanted to try.
Me : Are you flirting with me, Stitch? I really don’t think I know you well enough for that.
Stitch : Only one way to resolve that, girl. Get to know me. Maybe that’s not my only piercing.
Screw it. I’m touching myself; I can’t help it. I needed to get off, and he was playing with me, teasing me, probably even trying to encourage me to touch myself. Oh god, what if he guessed that was what I was doing.
Stitch : You got any piercings? Tattoos? Anything you want to show and tell?
My god. What made me send the next pic? I had no idea.
I sent it, and then waited. And waited. I was just about to revert to calling him ‘the bastard’ when he replied.
Stitch : This’ll be the only time you’ll need to use your own fingers, girl. Next time, they’ll be mine.
Fuck! My breathing was almost raspy at the thought of him doing this instead.
Stitch : Make yourself come, girl. I wish I could be there to watch, and hear you as you get yourself off. But then, I’d take over. I’d slide my fingers inside you instead, and I’d make you ride them until you screamed.
Stitch : Are you doing it? Are you finger-fucking yourself at the thought of me and my pierced nipple?
Oh god… my orgasm was sudden, and a little shocking, but not nearly enough. I wanted more. I wanted him.
Me : I hope you can make me come harder than that. It was a little disappointing.
There was a long delay and then my phone rang. It fucking rang! It said Stitch was calling. Shit! I was suddenly nervous, shy, debating ignoring the phone until he stopped. Fuck’s sake, woman up, Cammy.
“Hi.”
He chuckled quietly. “I like the way you say that, Camille.”
Oh god, his voice was even sexier on the phone. Why was that always the way with men?
“I didn’t expect you to ring.”
Another low chuckle.
“Well, I didn’t expect you to have a disappointing orgasm, so I’m calling to help you out.” Oh god.
I covered my face with my free hand.
“Oh god. This is so embarrassing. I never thought you’d ring me. You’ve made it weird.”
This time it was a full on laugh, and then a soft curse.
“Hang on.” I heard him shuffling about, and then he was focused on me again.
“Nothing weird about wanting a good orgasm, Camille. Are you too sensitive to try again?” Wow, a man who knew that was a thing? I lightly stroked my clit, and it didn’t scream ‘get away from me’.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He made a low humming sound.
“If you’re wearing underwear, remove it. You need the freedom to spread yourself wide. And put me on speaker.” He was bossy, but I liked it.
“Should I call you Sir too?”
He chuckled again. “I’d rather you called me by my name. Have you done it yet? Get on with it.”
I set the phone on speaker and rested it beside me, then I shuffled out of my sleep shorts.
“Okay, bossy pants, I’m ready.”
“Uh, if you’re gonna give me a nickname, I’d like to veto that one. How about… hmmm… Orgasm Master?”
I giggled. “You’d have to earn a name like that, Stitch.”
“If your fingers aren’t already on your pussy and clit, I might decide not to let you come at all.”