Chapter 11 – “Let’s Spend The Night Together” — The Rolling Stones
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HENRY
“LET’S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER” — THE ROLLING STONES
I do the whole blow-dust-off-the-album thing, then fuss with the needle, and just like that, life is good. Music fills my living room, along with the crackle that only vinyl produces.
Ooof. I’m too old to kneel on the floor for long. I move to my chair and sink into the thick cushions. “You may not realize this, but I have an awesome chair too. In fact, my chair is the superior chair.”
Indignant, Kait says, “I’m giving this phone back tomorrow. We can’t be friends.”
“I don’t think so. You’d miss me too much. Anyway, I’m in my fantastic black chair, which is better than your inferior blue one.” I lean back and close my eyes, letting her voice and the music wash over me.
“Disagree. I am sitting in a glorious velvet delight the envy of all other furniture. The bestest sitting place in the whole wide world. Yours wishes it was this amazing.”
I love it when she’s feisty. I can’t get enough when she’s like this.
“Mine is black leather and metal, and it’s cool. Very cool. Uber cool. Your blue velvet aspires to be this awesome.” I wouldn’t know cool if it bit me in the ass, but I’m pretty sure this is stylish.
“Mine has never appeared in a children’s show, but it’s famous,” I say. “Declan used to have this vintage poster of a guy sitting, and his sound system is so amazing that his hair is being blown back in the wind from the speakers.”
Kait’s settling in—the velvet always gives her away—and I take a sip of coffee before I admit, “I dreamed of being the guy in that photo. I have a print of it on my wall, above my speakers. Anyway, the guy’s sitting in a black leather Le Corbusier.
When I got my first lawyer paycheck, I bought one.
I didn’t know how to pronounce it, but I had to have one.
When I’m stressed-out, sitting here and turning up the music until I can feel it helps. ”
“Okay, I’ve googled. I know this photo. It’s remarkable. I can see why a music-obsessed kid would be fascinated.”
“After a few years of burning the mergers-and-acquisitions candle at both ends, I bought a sound system that can make audiophiles weep with joy and plopped the chair in front of it like the photo.”
“Sounds lovely,” she says, softer than I’m accustomed to hearing her. Unsure. “Henry, are you really okay with what we did the other night?”
Woah, abrupt change of topic.
I’ve never heard her like this before. Feisty? All the time. Sexy, always. Funny, every time we talk. With a shrunken voice like she’s afraid and wanting to hide? Only since we’ve had phone sex.
I don’t hesitate to answer with complete honesty. “Yes. Unequivocally. You?”
Please don’t regret this. Please. I’m begging.
I’ve never felt connected like I do with her. Like I do after our shared intimacy.
“I kind of loved it, actually,” she says. Sure doesn’t sound like it. She’s trepidatious, as though she’s barefoot and we’ve become a field of broken glass that I don’t know how to sweep up.
“Are you sure, sweetheart? You’ve sounded off-balance ever since we had that conversation.
You’ve asked me several times about being okay, yet you’re the one who doesn’t seem comfortable.
You’re entitled to whatever you’re feeling.
I thought if one of us was an ideal candidate to feel awkward after, I would’ve placed a hefty bet on me. ”
“That’s fair,” she says in such a small voice that it’s like my heart is being smashed between an anvil and a hammer.
Please don’t sniff, sweetheart. I can’t take it if you cry. I ask another way, gentle and coaxing, “Having regrets?”
“Oh, no. No, no regrets, nothing like that. I loved it. Truly.” A tiny sniff.
No. No, not tears. No, no, no. I cannot cope with Kait tears. I rub at my chest, the same spot she has me tap when she’s trying to get me to settle into sleep.
“Then what is it?”
She hems and haws, makes some feeble attempts at starting a sentence, and really says nothing but tells me everything I need to know. She’s never been this way with me before.
“Cone of candor, Kait. Talk to me, sweetheart.” My no-nonsense voice comes out, but at the last second, I gentle it, trying to sound warm and encouraging.
“You have to know that you’re special to me,” she says. “I adore you.”
And I adore you, sweet Kait, but the words stay inside me.
“I have phone sex for a living. It’s my job, right? It’s what I do, fifty or more hours a week.”
“Right.” I keep my tone smooth, no discernible reaction, just active listening. Not thinking about all of the other men and waiting in line for her—him—to finish or anything like that because I’m not jealous or territorial. Not me.
She continues. “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” She pauses, a little sound of disbelief before she speaks again.
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve never had phone sex before the other night, not real phone sex.
Not the kind where I was turned on and into it, you know, physically.
It’s never been me having phone sex before.
It was work… my persona, not me, well, me, but, you know.
Fuck. I’m not explaining this well at all. ”
Oh. Oh.
She continues, trying to get the right words together.
“I was totally into everything we were saying and you were doing, and it was intense, and I loved it, and it wasn’t work for me, not at all, you know…
anyway. I want you to know that you’re special.
That you’re the only one who’s ever gotten that?
I don’t get turned on doing my job—it’s no more exciting to me than writing a legal document is for you because it’s never personal… until it was. Is. With you.”
“Well. Uhm, yes, I see how that could be unsettling, to have it suddenly feel very personal after years of it not being personal. Intimate even.”
This is unexpected.
It never occurred to me she’d be so hesitant and unsure in the days following.
I have to reassure her. “If you don’t want it to happen again, I understand.
I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be a bit sad, but I respect you and whatever decision you make in that regard.
We’ve never done anything like this before. It’s okay if we don’t again.”
She’s silent for a moment. “I’ve loved every minute we’ve talked. I want to take care of you. All of you. I can’t think straight for wanting it again.”
And now I’m nail driving hard.
“What I hear you saying is it was a new experience, so it feels different, but you want to have phone sex with me? Did I get that right, Kait? I don’t want to put words in your mouth.
” See Henry actively listen. See Henry repeat the words back to the speaker in a slightly different arrangement.
See Henry pretend his brain still works when his dick is like granite.
“Do you really need me to clarify, or would you prefer to cut straight to coming for me again?” I’m glad she can’t see my grin. I did poke the bear a bit. Go me.
“I, ermmm, yes.”
“Ringing endorsement, Henry. Perhaps you should let me know when you’re, ahem, up for it.”
“I’m definitely up for it.” I’m so up for it I’m going to bust my buttons. But I’m also fully aware she’s deflecting. I’ll let her have her way. For now.
She makes a tiny noise that sounds vaguely pleased and speaks again. “Have you ever had sex in your amazing chair, Henry?” She has no qualms talking about sex openly every other day of the year. I find it liberating. It makes me feel like I can speak freely because she never judges me.
“No. You?”
“No, absolutely not.” Just two giant dorks in our virgin special chairs. “It’s velvet, Henry. Velvet.”
“Got it, no bodily fluids on the velvet.” Fantasy life goal #1: getting her wet and messy in that chair. If I weren’t a realist, I’d make it my real-life goal too.
“I want you to come for me again—and again—and to christen that second-rate chair you’re sitting in,” she whispers, her sexy voice sending a hot pulse of electricity through me.
“One day, I’d like to personally change the fact that you’ve never had sex in that chair, but for today, I’ll be satisfied listening to you getting off sitting in it. ”
She sighs, a big, over-the-top, likely fake sigh, followed by a completely fake yawn. “Oh, it’s getting late, and I don’t want to keep you up too far past your bedtime. Maybe we should wait until another day?”
“Kait! It’s eight. Your time.” Filthy tease.
“Was that a growl, Henry? An actual growl? Oh, that’s going on my to-do list—make Henry growl regularly.” She stops for a second before saying, “I had wicked thoughts after listening to you. I was so turned on by our call.”
“Kait, I get lost in your voice.” Didn’t mean for that truth to spill forth. Well, when in the cone of candor, one occasionally has such things pop out.
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she says in a silky purr.
“One hundred percent. Ready and willing.” She sounds incredible tonight, tempting me as she says, “I love the sounds of your pleasure.” That sends a shiver down my neck and goose bumps down my arms. “I want you to be open with me, no matter what you have to say. Cone of candor and all that, but for what gives you the most intense orgasms.”
We’re barely getting started, and I try to play it cool, but that plan lasts for about a second and a half. The way she sprinkles sex words and instructions over me sends sharp spikes of pleasure down my shaft, and I fall quiet as she teases me with her voice.
“Henry, the sounds you make… I need this. I thought I was going to come listening last time. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
My emotions are too close to the surface, raw and whispering that she’s all I want. I can’t have her, not really, but the sensation of my defenses falling is unmistakable.
I want to push my sleep pants down. Her wish is my command. Her wishes are delicious.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispers, low and raspy. “I get wet knowing that talking to me is turning you on. I want you getting off thinking about me every damn day.”
My plan to make it go on forever is crumbling. I want to stroke. The lack of control grows. I tease the head with a gentle touch through the fabric of my soft pajamas, and pleasure coils in my spine. It’s a warning, a threat, a promise.
I’m getting louder. Before I start to cross over the line and start stroking, she has me pull back.
“Do you need to sit on your hands, Henry?”
“Kait, please.” I’m afraid of the things I’d do to make this woman proud of me.
I’m shaking. I want to rock my hips to a harsh rhythm of pants and gasps, all while pretending the touch is hers.
My body is screaming for more, the urgency building, the pressure intense.
My body hums with barely restrained hunger.
I want her voice, but I need her words.
“I’m all about quality, Henry.” How can she be matter-of-fact at a time like this? “I care how hard you come far more than how long it takes you to get there. I want your toes curling and your back arching because it feels so fucking good.”
I groan.
She destroys my will to slow down when she says, “You sound incredible.”
I’m obsessed. I don’t just crave her; this feels necessary. I can’t stay away, I can’t stop, and my cock throbs as I imagine her calling me and demanding I get off for her.
She purrs, “I love hearing you like this. I want every moan and sigh. I’m addicted. I can’t get enough.”
My willpower is in hiding, my hand creeping lower, down, down. She’s turned on, and that shoves me closer to the edge. Her throaty little sigh sizzles down my spine. My need is wild, an untamed thing roaring in me.
“I’m going to keep asking you if you want this,” she says, bold as you please.
“But nothing would make me happier than the next time you want this, you tell me, straight up, that you want to come for me and how you want to do it. You saying point-blank that you want to get off for me, that’s the ultimate aphrodisiac. ”
“I will, I promise.” Anything. I’ll rob banks. Steal candy from babies. I’ll give her anything she wants, but that’s a hard truth for another day. “For you, Kait. Anything.”
“You and me, Henry. I want you to call me, needy and eager. I like the idea of you desperate and horny.” A ripple of lust mingled with fear rips through me, making my stomach clench, and I flinch at her words because she’s predicting the future with the accuracy of a seer.
I’m shocked into silence by the intensity of what I feel, and it’s not the physical. It’s bigger than that, deeper and gentler than blood howling through my veins. It’s Kait, threading her way into the fabric of my life, one tease, one denial, one pleasure-filled moment at a time.