Chapter 8 – Rule #5 Never trust a caller.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KAITLIN
“Oh, Kait, you are super horny. You get in bed and find a dildo next to your pillow!” He’s really excited about this dildo. “It’s smooth, stainless steel, and the perfect size, the perfect length, not too thick, but way heavier than a normal dildo.”
Whatever, dude. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say, so we’re going with the generic sounds of enthusiasm. “Ooooooh! This dildo is going to be gooooooooooood.”
“You’ve gotta have it.” He’s so worked up his voice keeps cracking, even though he’s a verified grown-up. “You slide the dildo in your pussy while you play with your clit.”
“Oooooooh.” Insert fake moans here. “I’m so full.”
“You’re getting into it, fucking yourself.”
In reality, I’m driving to work, talking hands-free, and I’m sure there’s paint on my cheek because it itches. Moaning louder, I say, “This is the best dildo I’ve ever had. Amazing.”
He’s talking faster, the words tumbling out. “Surprise! The dildo starts to vibrate.”
What? A magic vibrating dildo? Will the wonders never cease? “What’s happening? I feel vibrations!” Call me the master of stating the obvious.
“You pull it out and look at it, trying to figure out what is going on!” His enthusiasm is growing.
“I pull it out and look at it. Is it a dildo?” I have no idea what to say. None. I’m a parrot. Polly wants a cracker? Polly wants a vibrating dildo, which, by definition, is a vibrator?
“Your dildo is really a tiny rocket ship, and the engines have started!” ChatGPT and NASA combined couldn’t figure out what I should say next, so I moan more.
“There’s a teeny weeny cockpit, and you see me, the tiny pilot, waving at you. I’m human, only tiny.”
Oh! It’s a giantess fantasy, of course. Got it! “I see you in there! You’re so wee. Hi, tiny little you!” I match his enthusiasm. It’s easier when I can comprehend what the hell we’re talking about.
“Kait, you instinctively know what to do.” I assure you, Martin, I do not. “You shake me out onto your palm.” Why yes, but of course. Obviously.
“I shake tiny little you out of the cockpit onto my palm. You look…” Crap. I don’t know. Is he scared? Is he a happy tiny man? “Diminutive.”
“I’m terrified. I know what you are going to do.”
“The tension builds! What will I do with my giant hands and my enormous body? I could crush you like a bug or flick you across the room if I wanted. I’m ginormous!” If you don’t know what to say, say it enthusiastically. “You’re helpless, and I’m gargantuan!”
“You know what to do with my tiny body, Kait!” He’s shrieking with excitement.
Shrieking. I turn down the volume. “You shove me up your ass! You can feel me running around, trying to get out of your cavernous colon, but your giant sphincter is too strong. I can’t escape your butthole!
Oh god, I’m going to suffocate in your rectum!
Help me! Help!” I bite my lip, trying to hold in a giggle.
“Before I asphyxiate, you fart me out, my tiny arms and legs flailing like I’ve been launched from a cannon.
You fart me against the wall. Splat!” The second he says “splat,” he’s done, screeching as he comes.
Mute button, mute mute mute! Thankfully, I’m parked outside our building. I’m crying with laughter. I had no clue what I was doing, but it was fun. Ten out of ten would do again.
I wish Henry would call. It’s been forever.
Lie.
It’s been less than forty-eight hours. I convinced him that he can call every day if he likes, and it doesn’t mean anything other than he’s found an effective way to fall asleep.
On the other hand, I’m turning into the worst phone sex operator in history. He hears my voice and passes out. I hear his voice, and my nipples perk up.
I need a massive dose of him, normal and sweet.
Is it a full moon? The internet says waxing gibbous, but the guys are fucking nuts tonight, Martin the most normal of the bunch.
One was so bad—and brutally realistic—that I had Hunter google him to see if he was on parole for a sex crime.
We didn’t find anything, so we banned his revolting ass from doing another call.
I need a shower or three, some brain bleach, and my favorite human.
The onslaught continues until 3:00 a.m. Hunter waves as I head out the door, her six-to-two shift stretching later than usual, and I hear her say to whoever is on the phone, “I’m sure I can find someone who thinks coprophilia is as hot as you do.” Not it.
I’m not even home yet when she calls. Before she can speak, I blurt out my frustration.
“No. Just no. I’m done. I know it’s my role to make sure our three salaries are covered by calls, I do, but no more.
Someone will want me to fuck a Brillo pad or something.
They all suck tonight.” I can’t deal with another asshat who wants to lock me in a box and take me out to fuck me like some serial killer with a blow-up doll.
She lets me vent for another minute before she interrupts. “I’ve got a call for you.”
“No. Please. I’m spent.” I need a break. I’m exhausted, and my bed misses me.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry. Let me rephrase. Henry’s calling. He said he knows he has a private line, but he was worried he would wake you and wanted to know if I thought you’d still be awake. Is he not the sweetest man ever?”
“There is nothing I’d like more than hearing Henry’s voice before bed.” I have hours of talking left in me, no problem. I text Henry and tell him to give me five minutes to get settled and give me a call.
I grab my sack of square cheeseburgers and fries from White Castle and head into our apartment. I don’t eat in my awesome chair because stains are forever, but screw it, I’m hungry, and Henry’s calling.
“Hey, Kait, how are you?” Dammit, Henry, the husky, tired thing should not be sexy.
“Henry, honey bunny, you sound like you’re dying of death.” He sounds worse than I feel. “Are you sick?”
“I slept like a baby last time we spoke. I passed out and woke up the next morning, feeling fantastic. I slept for at least nine hours.”
“Your blue light avoidance, exercise, and sleep hygiene stuff is paying off,” I say, but he didn’t answer my question. “Are you ill? You don’t sound good.”
“I haven’t slept since.” Not sick. Exhausted.
Now I’m ticked. “Henry Ann Marie Sterling! Why did you wait until three in the morning to call? You know it works better when you don’t wait until you’re a mess?
Stop worrying about what it means and freaking call me.
For fuck a damn duck’s sake, Henry.” It’s going to be hours. I hope I don’t fall asleep on him.
He laughs, a scratchy, worn-out sound, like an album played too many times. “I just got home from the airport. Work travel hell, flight delayed. I couldn’t sleep on the plane. Be gentle with me, sweet Kait. I called the minute I could.”
“Have you had a shower? Changed your thermostat? Changed clothes? Did you eat?” We have a regimen.
He chuckles, amused. “No, I walked in and called. I had some string cheese and a handful of potato chips while I waited.” His voice is heavy, weariness infused in every word, but he may be happy to hear my voice too.
We’ve gotten his sleep stuff largely dialed in. “Bedroom, please. Shut your door and crack your window, not too much—it’s legit cold out for late November. We’re aiming for a cool sleep environment, not frostbite. Is your thermostat turned down?”
“Woah, hang on, I’m thinking in slow motion.” There’s a shoosh as his window slides open. “It’s set for 65 since I was away, I think? Alexa!” he says. “What is the temperature on the thermostat?”
Alexa answers, “The thermostat is set for 62 degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Thank you, Alexa.”
He’s always polite, even after not sleeping for days, but this is a little much. “Did you thank Alexa?”
“Yes, Kait, and when the machines rise up and take over the world, my Alexa will defend me for being nice to her, so bite me.”
Against my will, I laugh. He’s loosened up more every time we talk, and I’m here for it. He’s delightful. It’s beyond charming that he never uses curse words. I’m foul enough for both of us.
“Get in the shower. You know the drill—warm shower, cold room. I’ll wait. Oh, Henry, the lavender stuff.”
I’m not bossy; I’m helpful. He needs to be managed, then babied.
“Okay.” He’s reached that place where he’s sluggish. I close my eyes, waiting for the sound of his clothes hitting the floor, and imagine we’re sharing his bathroom before climbing into his bed. This slice of normal life is anything but mundane. It’s… intimate.
The water changes when he steps in, and he lets out a soft murmur of pleasure.
The snick of the bodywash cap has me imagining his hands sliding over his chest with handfuls of soap.
Sexy little movies start in my head—water dripping down his torso, droplets clinging to his nipples.
A tiny groan escapes me. I hope he can’t hear it over the water.
He’s forbidden fruit, and I wonder how he tastes.
In my mind’s eye, he’s rubbing the lavender gel everywhere, reaching up to wash his hair so his abs and pecs are on display.
My pulse picks up at the thought of him naked in the steam, rivulets of water racing down the hills and grooves of his body.
It’s my imagination run amuck—he told me once he’s six foot one and that he’s lean.
Traveling means heavy stubble. Imagining it brushing against my neck sends a shiver through me. I’ve never responded to a caller like I do with Henry. It’s concerning and arousing.
We never talk sex. I want to. The need to uncover what makes him tick and then use that information against him in delicious ways is powerful, as is the desire to discover his pleasure.
The water stops a moment before the door makes a dull thud. “Better, Henry?”
“Cleaner.” He’s toweling off. I’m jealous of his towel. He brushes his teeth, does some stuff I can’t parse out, before throwing back his covers. The down makes a distinct rustling sound that I hear in my dreams.