43. Nathan
forty-three
I have usedthe video function on my phone twice. Both times involved calling my brother. I have to say, if I’d realized that I could video call Claire while she was naked in my sheets, I’d have considered upgrading my technology a long time ago.
But before we can really put this into action, I tell her to wait, and rummage around in my luggage. She laughs when I return with earbuds plugged in. I lift my brow at her.
“You would have an iPhone with corded headphone capabilities.”
“I could always leave the headphones out,” I offer. “But I’m sharing a wall with Aaron, Sam, and Drake.”
Her eyes bug, and I smirk.
“Now let me see you.”
Her mouth parts, and the second the vibrator touches her nipple again, I hear a moan straight into my ears, like it’s solely mine.
“Oh, that’s my good girl,” I moan, my voice low. One hand strokes my aching cock through the fly of my slacks, still confined, while the other barely holds up the phone. “Tell me how that feels.”
She has my T-shirt pushed up around her throat like a necklace, and while one hand pinches a nipple, the other rotates the tip of the slim toy around the other.
“I could come like this, no joke,” she pants. I believe her.
“Is that how you want to come? With your pussy clenching on nothing, sweet Claire?”
“Yes. No. Fuck.”
“We’ll save that for another day. Give that other nipple some attention and then we’ll see how wet my pussy is.”
“Your pussy?” she laughs, tailing off into a moan as she gives her other nipple attention.
“Yes. It’s mine. You are mine.”
I don’t add any more. She seems to understand. After a few more moments of teasing her nipples, I tell her to stop.
“How wet are you for me?”
“So wet. I’m ruining your sheets,” she giggles, flushed. Gorgeous.
“Let me see.”
She takes her phone from the nightstand and angles it between her legs where I can see the evidence of what that did, shiny and swollen and ready. She’s right. I probably could make her come with just nipple stimulation. I add that to my mental list.
“Such a good girl. You’re so wet for me. Put it against your clit now, honey.”
“Wait. I want to see you. Please tell me you’re touching yourself.”
I angle the phone toward my cock.
“Is this what you want to see? Me aching for you, Claire?”
“Mmm, fuck yes. Take it out. Squeeze yourself, Nathan.”
And here, I thought I was in control. I do as she says, groaning as I free my shaft.
“Put that toy on your clit, sweetheart. I wanna hear you scream while it makes you come.”
She does exactly what I ask, and I earn a screaming, back-bowing, hip thrusting reaction. The simple touch of that toy to her clit has her hips thrusting intensely, as if she can’t even help it. Her body is pure poetry in motion. Writhing in my sheets, creating her own music.
“Fuck, oooohhh I’m gonna come already—oh my God, Nathan!”
It’s almost instantaneous. She comes, and comes, and comes. Doesn’t let up. Doesn’t take the toy off her pulsing pussy. She just tilts her hips, moans, and writhes in my sheets, the sweet sounds of her screams echoing off my bedroom walls and straight through my headphones. The only two things to keep me rooted in my hotel bed are the fact that my cock is raging hard, and the fact that I don’t drive this late at night.
“Good girl, Claire, ride that toy cock,” I praise, watching her thighs tremble like an earthquake while I stroke myself in time to her thrusts. After minutes of writhing, she starts to come down, panting. “Do you think you can handle it inside you, sweetheart? Can you show me how well you take it?”
“I don’t know,” she pants. “I almost… that was almost too intense.”
A thought crosses my mind, her gushing in my sheets, and I mentally add another purchase to my cart. Something we can try together later.
“Next time then. When I get home.”
“I want you to do it to me.”
I grunt, squeezing my cock against that image, of me plunging a toy inside Claire.
“Did you…”
I shake my head, and angle my phone downward again, stroking myself for her.
“You poor thing. Come for me, Nathan. I want to see you.”
Panting, I stroke myself, squeezing harder on each thrust.
It doesn’t take long before my release coats my stomach, her name on my lips as it does. I collapse against the pillows, my phone resting over my chest as I come down. I hear her in my ears, a giggle of my name, and lift it so that I can see her.
That sweet face is exactly what I need. Wrapped up in my clothes. In my sheets. Smiling at me and telling me, “I wish you were here.”
“I do too.”
We lay there. Staring at our phones. As if we were next to each other. Her in this hotel room, me in my bed next to her.
“I should probably get cleaned up,” I say.
“Oh. Yeah. Me too. I’ll throw your sheets in the wash?—”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I insist.”
There’s no point in arguing. We both have a task, and yet neither of us moves.
“I don’t want to get off the phone.”
I surprise myself by saying it first. First, as if she was going to say it too.
“Oh, good. Me neither.”
That relief in her exhale has me believing she was about to.
After we take a few minutes to ready ourselves for bed, I settle against the pillows in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and lift my phone to find a cozy sight: Claire, bundled up in the study, a fire going in the background, and a warm mug of tea in hand.
“Is this okay? I just figured, if we were going to stay on the phone?—”
“It’s perfect.”
My heart aches at that sight. Sure, Claire in the throes of orgasm in my sheets was something to behold. But her, in my space, all cozy and warm? Comfortable being there alone? Making her mark on my home? That does something to me.
We talk until after midnight. About our days. The conference. She tells me about her girls’ night, and I tell her about the baseball coach from Meadow Ridge that tagged along with our group all weekend. She begins to doze, and I remind her that the fireplace is lit behind her, which rouses her from her blanket burrito. And then, she takes me along with her to lock up my house. The moment she tells me she’s going to hang up so that she can drive home, panic sets in.
The late night hour. Incompetent drivers on the road. My fault, my fault, my fault.
“You can’t drive home like this.”
“I’ll be fine,” she yawns. “It’s like, less than fifteen minutes to Penelope’s.”
“Stay the night. Please.”
My nerves itch all over, but I can’t tell her that. She doesn’t know. She hesitates at my demand.
“Are you sure?—”
“Positive. It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. The only drivers on the road are dangerous ones.”
In the few seconds it takes her to respond, my heart rate seems to triple in an attempt to reach over to her and tie her down. She needs to be safe. I need her to be safe.
“Okay. I’ll just set an alarm for early. I’m supposed to have breakfast with Penelope.”
The collapse of my chest in relief is a scary thing.
But an even scarier one is the way that Claire asks if I’ll stay on the phone until she falls asleep in my bed, and I stay on well after she’s finally fallen.