Chapter 26 #2
My grip tightens as I exhale a shaky breath, thinking about what she must look like right now. Is she wearing my jersey? Does she have a big game day bow in her hair? Are her legs wide open, or is she under the covers, shyly helping herself?
“What are you wearing?” I ask, keeping my voice lazy, even though I’m about to burst because I’m so gone for this girl. “Tell me everything. I want the picture of you in my head.”
A soft, embarrassed laugh slips out of her. “Just... just that lacy pink cami I like to wear to bed.”
“With the matching shorts?”
“No. Just some pink panties, which aren’t exactly helping right now.”
Fuck. I want to be there right now.
I groan low in my throat. “Push them to the side for me. Let me imagine those pretty lips all swollen and slick.”
She doesn’t reply, so I keep going.
“Slide one finger inside yourself slowly so you can feel how tight and wet you are for me. Pretend it’s the tip of my cock teasing your entrance, not letting you have more until you beg.”
She whimpers as the rhythm picks up. “Zach...”
“Yeah?” I stroke myself harder, matching her pace now. “Tell me how it feels.”
“I need you,” she breathes. “I'm thinking about how you feel when you're inside me.”
I am too, baby.
“You're so thick, and it feels so good when you stretch me.”
“Mm. I love being inside you. Put another finger in.”
There's a little groan, but I know when she does it because she takes in a sharp breath.
“Now hold your fingers there. Feel every pulse of your pussy around them.”
“Zach,” she lets out as a broken moan.
“Now curl your fingers, Honeycomb. Find that spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.”
She moans out my name again.
“If I were there right now, I’d tie your wrists above your head, shove your thighs wide open, and bury my face between your legs. I'd drag my tongue from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit, over and over, until you’re grinding on my mouth.”
She lets out a broken cry, the wet sounds turning frantic.
“I’d suck on that pretty clit until your legs shake, then I’d pull back and blow on it just to watch you twitch and beg. I wouldn’t let you come until you’re crying my name, and your pussy’s dripping.”
“Zach, please—”
“Rub your clit faster, Honeycomb. Fuck yourself harder. Imagine it’s me pounding into you, owning every inch of that tight, wet pussy, because it’s mine.”
Another moan.
“Say it, Honeycomb. Tell me it’s mine.”
“It’s yours—” she sobs. “It’s all yours.”
“Good girl. Now don’t stop until I tell you. I want to hear exactly what my Honeycomb sounds like when she comes thinking about my cock.”
A raw, trembling cry rips from her body as she comes. The sound peaks, then slows as she rides it out, whimpering softly.
I’m right there with her, groaning low and rough as I spill over my hand, my hips bucking hard, and my vision blurring for a second.
The line goes quiet except for our ragged breathing.
I pull my shirt off and use it as a quick way to deal with the mess before dropping it to the floor.
My wrist is throbbing. I flex my fingers once and immediately stop. The deep, insistent ache has moved up past the joint now, worse than this morning, worse than last week. I lay my hand flat on the mattress and leave it there.
I don't give a shit about my hand right now. That moment... the connection I felt with her was so fucking worth it.
Her little laugh is the first thing that registers. “That was—”
“Yeah.”
“We should probably—”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves to hang up.
I can hear her breathing slow down, and the quiet shift of her settling back into her pillows, the distance between us suddenly making itself known.
She’s not here. She’s not mine.
I look at the ceiling, hating this distance. The connection we just had only emphasizes how far apart we really are. “Honeycomb?”
“Yeah?”
“You going to tell me where you are now? I've narrowed it down to a hundred schools now, but I'm going to need a little more information.”
She laughs, and I can picture her genuine smile. “Nice try, Z.”
“Come on. I feel like that earned me something.”
“It earned you a good night.”
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
I shake my head at the ceiling, smiling despite myself. “Night, Honeycomb.”
“Night, Z.”
The line goes dead.
I set the phone on the nightstand and lie there while my wrist pulses steadily and The Baseball Bachelor plays on mute. Sam Brennon has whittled it down to fifteen girls, and I’m currently feeling better about his long-term prospects than my own.
Why the hell do I feel worse than before she called?
That’s never happened before.
It’s because I miss her. I miss being close enough to touch her.
I hate that I have no idea where she is.
She's living in a dorm room I've never seen, a college I still can't name, a bed I haven't been in, and she's choosing to keep it that way.
I understand why, but it still costs me every single time.
I reach for the melted ice pack and press it back around my wrist as if it’s going to have any kind of effect now.
How long am I going to do this with her?
I stare at the ceiling.
As long as it takes.
She’ll come to find me, because she’s mine, and I’m forever hers.
I close my eyes and wait for sleep, hoping it will come to me quicker than my Honeycomb.