Chapter 19 #2
“What would you do?” I ask, my voice gritty. I know I should stop this. I’m playing with fire. Maybe even leading him on.
But I can’t help myself.
“If I was there right now? I’d be behind you, your soft rounded ass against my hard cock. I’d want you to know how turned on I am. I’d want you to know that you own me. And I’d want you to know that I own you, too.”
He does. And it scares me. I let out a squeak.
“I’d push my hands inside that t-shirt. And I know you’re not wearing a bra, so I’d tease you by tracing the outline of your breasts. I’d do it until your breath is coming in gasps and you’re begging me to touch your nipples.”
They’re already hard, pushing against my t-shirt. I’m almost certain he knows that.
“And then what?”
“I’d turn you around so you’re straddling me. Then I’d worship your tits until you don’t remember your name. You’d know mine, though, because you’d be moaning it out loud.”
“Liam…”
He runs his hand down his bare stomach, his fingers tracing the ridges.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like that. I’d keep kissing and sucking and scraping my teeth against you, then I’d kiss my way down your sweet stomach to your thighs.
I’d be able to smell you, and it’d make me even harder than I already am.
” He slides his hand under the waistband of what I think are sweatpants, and although I can’t see what he’s doing, I know.
He’s touching himself. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as glorious as that.
“I want to see you,” I tell him. “I want to see you touch yourself.”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, like he’s trying to maintain control. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to see your cock.” I can’t believe I just said that. And yet I love the way it makes his lips part.
He pushes his waistband down his taut hips, but I can’t see anything more because of the angle of his phone.
“Your phone,” I whisper. “You need to change the angle.”
He chuckles. “My good girl has a little bad in her.”
Yeah, I do. I remain silent as he moves the phone so I can see him in all his glory. It’s thick and veined and glistening at the tip.
“Oh…” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
He laughs again. “Beautiful? Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I nod, still staring at him. “It’s perfect, Liam.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Touch yourself,” I tell him, because I need to see it in action.
“You sure?”
I’m absolutely certain. “Touch yourself until you come.”
“Jesus, Sophie.” He does as instructed, fisting himself, moving his hand up and down slowly as I watch, enraptured. His thumb slides over his tip, and all I can think about is that it should be my tongue.
I want to worship it like the deity it is.
“I wish I was there,” I tell him.
“What would you do?” His voice is tighter. Almost strangled.
“I’d take my clothes off so you could look at my body,” I say, my cheeks pinking because I’m not used to talking like this. “Then I’d crawl down the bed, my hair trailing along your stomach, until my mouth is hovering just above you.”
“Jesus…” he manages.
“Then slowly, so slow it drives you crazy, I’d slide my lips over your head, then trail my tongue over that glistening tip.”
Okay so maybe this is easier than I thought it would be. And it’s turning me on, too.
He grunts, as though he doesn’t have the words any more. I feel powerful, as though I could bring him to his knees.
“I’d have to curl my hand around you, too,” I whisper. “Because you’re too big to swallow. Though I’d try.”
He almost splutters. For a minute I wonder if he’s choking.
But no. Just turned on. So am I, for that matter. Maybe it’s a good thing there’s hundreds of miles between us because my willpower is non-existent when it comes to him.
“I’d move my head up and down. And you’d thread your fingers through my hair, guiding me because you know that I like to please you. And because you’re so turned on, you’d start to fuck my face, using my mouth like you own it.”
He’s fisting himself harder now, the tip of him swollen and red.
“And I’d be so turned on, too,” I whisper. “Because I love the taste of you. The silkiness of your skin beneath my tongue. The hardness of your cock as you hit the back of my throat.” I slide my hands down my nipples. They’re so sensitive I gasp.
“And then I’d open my legs and trail my fingers between my thighs. Touching myself because you make me so needy.”
“Touch yourself now.” It’s harsh. A command.
I do as I’m told.
“Are you wet?” he asks.
I slide my yoga shorts down because they’re way too tight to do this with them on. And then I touch myself.
“So wet,” I whisper.
“For me.”
“Always for you,” I tell him. “Always.”
“Slide a finger inside yourself.”
“I already have,” I admit.
“Such a sweet little pussy. So tight.” His breath is ragged. “Tell me it’s mine.”
I touch my clit with my thumb. The sensation makes me gasp. I’m so close it isn’t funny.
How does he do this to me every time?
“It’s yours,” I tell him.
“Say the words. Be dirty. I want to hear it.”
His hand speeds up. His chest rises and falls rapidly. I roll my hips as I mimic his rhythm with my own fingers, wishing he was here with me.
“You own my body, Liam,” I say. “My pussy is yours.”
He groans and his hand stills. I watch as he surges, come spilling out of him, over his hand and stomach. A moment later I follow him into oblivion, my own body pulsing around my fingers as the pleasure uncoils in me, my hips lifting from the sofa as I let out a low sigh.
And when I open my eyes he’s staring intently at me. I stare back, waiting for the embarrassment to come. Because it should. I just touched myself in front of a guy I’m trying to not fall for. And I watched him come on his stomach, wishing I was there to lick it off.
“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he tells me, as though he can read my mind. “Let me watch you taste yourself.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been this openly sexual with a man before. Certainly not on Facetime. But I do as he says, sliding my fingers between my lips, my tongue fluttering on them.
And he groans again.
“Next time that’ll be my cock.”
“Next time?” I say.
“Yep. I’m flying home tomorrow night.”
I frown. “I thought you had meetings in New York all week.”
“I do. I’ll fly back to New York the next morning.”
I wait for him to laugh. To tell me he’s just kidding. Why the hell would he fly from New York just for one night?
To see me. The thought of it is a thrill I can’t ignore.
And then I remember the stupid submission I need to do. I’m going to have to work on it every evening this week and next if I’m going to finish on time.
“I can’t,” I say. “I have to do some work.”
He’s holding the phone so I can only see his face. He’s completely composed now. If I didn’t know he just came so hard he covered his stomach, I would barely believe it.
“Are you saying that because you don’t want to see me or because you actually have work to do?” he asks.
“I do want to see you,” I admit. “But I have this stupid submission thing to write. It has to be done by next week. I’m going to be working on it every evening. I’ll have to work on it when we finish watching this episode.”
“Tell me about it,” he says.
“You’d be bored. It’s nothing interesting.”
“Everything you do is interesting to me. So tell me.”
He listens carefully as I explain the plan for regional hubs, and the fact that Michael wants me to write our submission.
“I don’t like that guy,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose. “I know, but hopefully this will get me more exposure. Maybe even a promotion so he’s not my boss anymore.”
He nods. “So it’s important. I understand.”
A mess of emotions wash through me. He knows my job is important to me, and even though I earn a fraction of what he does, and have so much less power, it doesn’t seem to faze him. I like that a lot.
But that respect he has for my work means I’m not going to see him tomorrow. And I’m so disappointed.
“I’ll be to yours by eight,” he says. “We can work on it together. I’ve written more proposals than I care to think about.”
I blink. “You’re still coming?”
He laughs. “I’ve no idea. It depends on how much progress we make on your work. But you’ll be coming. I’ll make sure of that.”
“I didn’t mean that.” I roll my eyes.
“I know.” He smirks. “But I did. Shall we watch the rest of Grey’s now?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, my heart hammering against my rib cage.
He’s flying back to see me. And I’m stupidly excited about that.