Chapter 36
Ivy
The phone rings, and I impatiently wait for Wesley to answer.
A few beats pass, then the call finally connects, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I was nervous about sending that picture to him, but I’m so damn desperate for him, all reservations flew out the window. I want him. I miss him.
“Hi.” I smile, then make sure it's only my face that fills the screen.
Wesley holds the phone above his face, and a dim light coming from his side, lights his features just enough for me to see him. God, I miss his face. Seeing him almost everyday for months has spoiled me.
“Hey,” he replies.
I move around the room, making sure the door is locked, then looking in the large mirror propped up against the wall to lift my tits and give my hair a good zhuzh.
I put my wireless headphones in and prop the phone back up where it was on the nightstand, making it the same angle as the photo.
I crawl back into the middle of the bed, and kneel for him again. Wesley looks stunned.
“Is this too forward?” I ask quietly, suddenly feeling a little shy.
Wesley clears his throat. “No. Not even a little bit. Turn around.”
An involuntary giggle-squeal of excitement leaves me, and I turn for him, making a show of bending over and popping my ass up.
Wesley groans, and I hear blankets rustling.
“You’re so fucking hot, baby. Lay down and touch yourself for me,” he commands in his low, honeyed tone.
I immediately lay down, and I can tell that he likes that by the growly sound of approval coming from him. When I lay back on a stack of pillows, I pull my surprise out from underneath the blanket. When it comes fully into view, I see him squint at the screen.
“Where the hell did that come from,” he asks.
My voice is breathy as I slide the silicone down my chest, and circle my belly button with it. “I’ve had it since I moved in. Haven’t needed much use of it lately.”
“That stays in our room now,” he growls, his shoulder muscles shifting.
“Our room?” I ask, immediately feeling giddy.
“Yes, honey. Our room. Now be the good fucking girl you are, lose the underwear, and fuck yourself.”
“Yes, baby,” I reply without hesitation.
By the way his jaw ticks, and his nostrils flare, I would say he likes that a lot.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, and I grin.
I do what I’m told, and slide the already drenched piece of lace down my legs, and off completely.
“Are you touching yourself?” I ask.
I have a clear view of my screen, but he’s still only showing me his face.
“Yes,” he grits out, like he’s barely holding himself together, and finally moves the phone to show his bare chest and abs along with his corded, inked forearms straining as he fists his thick cock, stroking roughly.
Yes.
I love watching him touch himself. I moan at the sight, and preen at how powerful it makes me feel. To know I affect him like this. It makes me want to be so, so, good for him.
I lean back and do everything he instructs me to. I fuck myself slowly, then fast, and slowly again. I drag my bra down, and play with my piercings, like he loves to do. I can tell he’s losing control. I call him baby again, and his strokes get frantic.
Good.
Time ceases to exist as we moan and writhe together, making filthy promises for when we finally see one another again. Wesley edges me nearly to the point of tears, but finally gives me permission to come.
The words barely leave his lips before I’m coming all over the neon pink vibrator and making a mess of the duvet. Still catching my breath, I crawl over to grab my phone and demand Wesley flip the camera so I can watch him too.
I watch in awe as he pumps his huge, perfect cock only a few more times until he covers his hand and stomach in cum. His abs move up and down with his ragged breath, and cum drips down his still hard cock. I let the intrusive thoughts win, and screenshot the image.
“What did you just do?” he asks, his voice breaking a little.
Whoops. He must’ve gotten a notification.
“Um… spank bank material?” I say it like a question.
“Spank bank…” Wesley starts, and I wince, readying myself to delete the picture and apologize profusely.
Just because I sent a picture to him, doesn’t mean he’s okay with me screenshotting his cum covered dick. I open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off by Wesley’s deep, throaty laugh.
Oh.
“Are you going to touch yourself to that picture later, baby?” he asks, a softness to his voice.
“Yes, absolutely,” I respond instantly.
He hums. “Good.”
We both clean up and get into bed, placing our phones against the pillows next to us, like we're in bed together. We stay up way too late talking, and when I wake up the next morning to my alarm, I see a text from Wesley.
It’s a screenshot of my sleeping face, with a message attached.
Wes: I stared at you far longer than I’m willing to admit. Talk to you tomorrow.
I clutch my phone to my chest and kick my feet under the blankets, like a fucking school girl. I’ve got it so unbelievably bad for this man.
Fuck it.
I’m going to tell him when he comes home. I’m going to tell him I love him. I feel like I can’t hold it back, and want to tell him now, but refuse to continue this teenager-like state I’m in, and tell him I love him over the phone.
I get out of bed, and head to the kitchen so I can make Delilah and I breakfast. I’m moving around the kitchen, waking up my laptop on the island, and starting the coffee maker when I hear little bare feet pad on the hardwood.
I smile to myself before I turn around, and when I hear my girl get closer, I look over my shoulder to see Delilah with her pajamas askew and hair sticking up in all directions.
Same, girl.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say brightly.
“Good morning,” her tone is a little off, so I turn to fully face her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I miss Daddy,” she says with a wobbly voice.
Same, girl.
“Oh, come here,” I say, and reach my hands out for her.
She comes to me willingly, reaching her hands up so I scoop her up in a big hug. She rests her little head on my shoulder, and wraps her arms tightly around my neck seeking comfort.
I rub small circles on her back. “He’ll be home in just a few days. Do you want to call him?” I ask.
She nods against my T-shirt—Wes’s T-shirt—so I shoot off a text asking when would be the best time for him, then set Delilah up with one of her favorite shows to try and distract her as I continue to make our breakfast.
I’m not great at cooking, but making something this toddler is willing to eat is not hard as long as you keep it simple. Frozen waffles, scrambled eggs and strawberries it is.
I haven't had to worry about dinners because Wesley already prepped our dinner for every night that he will be gone, and had them ready for me in individual containers to just pop in the microwave.
I'm plating the eggs when I get lost in daydreams about how thoughtful he is, smiling to myself as I recall my birthday, and every breakfast he’s ever made me.
Then there was that one time he noticed I liked a certain flavor of sparkling water, and one day I opened the fridge and there were probably thirty of them in there.
Then he noticed I had a small bottle of unscented detergent in the laundry room, so he switched out their scented detergent and softener for an unscented and hypoallergenic option.
My phone ringing brings me back to reality, and I see it’s Wesley calling. I swipe to answer, and put the call on speaker.
“That was fast,” I say by way of greeting.
“If my bug misses me, I want to talk to her,” he replies casually.
I call out to Delilah, and walk over to the dining table where she’s enjoying her food.
“Here she is,” I say to Wesley as I’m handing the phone over.
“Ivy,” he stops me.
“Yeah?” I ask, bringing the phone back to me.
“Good morning.” I can hear the smirk.
My face flames, and I’m suddenly incredibly grateful he didn’t FaceTime. “Good morning,” I respond through the full toothed smile that plays across my lips.
I set the phone on the table next to Delilah so she can talk to her Dad while she enjoys her breakfast, and fan my burning cheeks when I turn away. How does he do that to me from a simple good morning. He’s lucky I didn’t shout “I love you!” at him as a response.
When Delilah is finished with her conversation, she brings the phone back over to me on the barstool at the kitchen island where I’ve been doing most of my writing. I shut my laptop and take the phone, noticing Wesley is still on the line.
He tells me his plans for the day, which is already well underway since he’s two hours ahead of us. His day has already included lots of needles and ink, and he sends me some pictures of the work he’s done this week.
He’s really talented.
I let him know that Delilah, Soph, and I will be heading to Rose’s this afternoon for some checkers and baking.
We flirt a little, but keep it PG due to the child in the room, then say our goodbyes to take on the day. After Delilah and I are both dressed, we slip on our shoes, and head out of the house to take a walk, because the weather is absolutely beautiful today.
Delilah bends down to pick up a pinecone she likes, and hands it to me to put in the tote I now bring on our walks. I examine it, and nod appreciatively. I’m not ashamed to say I can appreciate a good, proportional pinecone when I see one.
Am I biased because my favorite girl in the world picks them?
Absolutely.
Do I care?
Nope.
“Do you sense any eggs around here?” she asks, scanning the trail.
I wince.
I really screwed the pooch with the whole egg sensing bit. I couldn’t bear to see her disappointment when she couldn’t find one, so I pulled the dragon egg sense card out of my ass, and I’m really paying for it now.
Maybe I can buy one online, and plant it somewhere.
Jesus, I’m really starting to lose it.
When we return home from our walk, or what Delilah is referring to it as, our “Dragon Egg Hunt” I see Sophie walking up from her house down the road.
She’s wearing a tight white tank top, short bike shorts, and running shoes.
Her slick back, long blonde ponytail sways with each step, and I admire just how hot my best friend is.
When she finally approaches, I tell her just that. “Damn girl, you look good as hell. If only I swung the other way,” I sigh out, shaking my head.
She mirrors me, sighing loudly for dramatic affect. “Yeah, shame. It’d really solve all my problems, honestly.”
“B-E-A-U?” I spell out in question, aware of the little parrot in our company.
“B-E-A-U,” Delilah repeats.
Great.
Sophie throws her head back and laughs. “Yes,” she answers. “B-E-A-U. Unfortunately.”
“C’mon, let’s go to Rose’s and you can tell us all about it. I’m sure she’ll have several opinions,” I reply, chuckling.
“Please,” Sophie groans and scoops her niece up into her arm, tickling her side, and making Delilah squeal with laughter. “I need that woman’s wisdom.”