7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Rina
Stupid. This is such a stupid idea.
I can blame it on being overtired, overworked, and completely running on empty. That’s the only thing I can think of that would lead to me texting Arlo.
This week has been hell. I have a huge delivery tomorrow, so I had no choice but to work around the clock to get three pieces of furniture done. I think I’ve slept a grand total of six hours all week, and I’m officially losing my damn mind. It’s the only logical explanation.
The Asshole:
Currently, I’m relaxing at home. Why?
Me:
Curious.
I’m the one that texted him, and now I freeze up? Lovely.
Me:
What are you wearing?
Me:
Feel like getting our rocks off through our words ?
Awful, just terrible. Who even talks like that? To make it worse, I would put money down that he’s just watching those little ellipses pop up every time I attempt to write something.
The Asshole:
Can I help you with anything?
Me:
What do you think you could possibly help me with?
The Asshole:
Hey, you’re the one who texted me. I’ll help in any way I can if that’s what you’re looking for.
I’m standing in my bathroom, so I take a long look in the mirror and think about what I want and why I chose to text Arlo in the first place.
Because I wanted an orgasm before I crashed for the night and Arlo was the first thought that popped into my head.
Grabbing my phone, I walk to my bedroom and strip out of my clothes before crawling under the covers. Direct and to the point is the way to handle this.
Me:
I’ve had a long-ass few days, and I need an orgasm so I can get some good sleep tonight.
The Asshole:
And are you already naked for me?
Me:
Yes.
The Asshole:
Slide that free hand down your stomach, but don’t touch that pussy. Just touch your body.
I do as I’m told, and as frustrated as I am that he isn’t getting straight to the point, my body lights up as I comply with his simple directions.
The Asshole:
Bring that hand up and circle your breast, but don’t touch your nipple.
Me:
You’re being a fucking tease.
The Asshole:
I am because you came to me for an orgasm. Not a random video, not a book—me.
Me:
I’m currently re-thinking that strategy.
The Asshole:
No, you aren’t. Squeeze that hand for me, and switch to the other breast and do the same thing.
The Asshole:
Slide that hand up to your throat, imagine it’s mine, and add just a little pressure.
Whimpering at the feeling, I’ve never been into the whole choking thing, but obviously that’s changed for me. I don’t even have the brainpower to text him back, but he doesn’t seem to mind as his texts continue to come through.
The Asshole:
Now, move that hand straight to your clit, circle it a few times before you pinch it, then tell me how wet you are for me.
I do as he says and then dip my fingers down to feel the slickness everywhere. I move my fingers up to spread it around my clit before I text him back with my other hand. One-handed texting has never been so difficult.
Me:
Too wet. It’s annoying that I’m this turned on.
The Asshole:
Fight it all you want, but I’ll still get you there and you know that. Dip those fingers down and get them nice and wet for me. Move them to your nipple and circle that wetness all around. Get them nice and hard before you pinch it too. Then switch to the other side.
Again, I follow directions like the good girl I am. He’s right; I’m fighting on principle only, but damn do I want this. I’ve never been this turned on while playing on my own. His words are doing all sorts of good things for me, and I really should stop fighting it. I’ll deal with how I feel about it all after the fact. Or tomorrow. Or never.
The Asshole:
God, I love your breasts. I wonder if I could make you come just from playing with them. Move that hand back to your clit and circle it nice and slow. Don’t go too fast.
Me:
Since when have you been a tits man?
I freeze as soon as I send it. Talking about the past, acknowledging it in any form is like eating the forbidden fruit. I don’t talk about it. And I just opened the crack on our past in a few mindless words.
Me:
Are you naked? Or is this one-sided?
There, redirection.
The Asshole:
I’m in the bathtub, so yes, I’m naked.
Mister “I only take showers” is in the bathtub? What the hell? Nope, not going there. I’m going to focus on his nakedness. His lean muscled body that his stupid Sheriff shirts do nothing to hide.
Me:
And is your dick hard?
The Asshole:
Of course it is. I’m imagining doing all of this to you and stroking it. I’ll be honest, though; I may come faster than you do.
Me:
Well, it’s not a competition as long as you get me off.
The Asshole:
Do you have a vibrator or dildo close by?
A rush of arousal hits me hard. I think it’s more about the fact that he’s not shying away from toys.
Me:
Pick your poison. I have options.
The Asshole:
Dildo. A vibrator will get you there too fast.
I reach over to my bedside table and grab the very standard six-inch dildo I have. I rarely use it, but this seems like the perfect application.
Me:
Done.
The Asshole:
Lube it up for me then. Thrust just the tip in. Keep circling that clit while you’re doing it.
Fuck, that feels good. I lean my head back and moan as I slide the toy in. It’s hard to follow directions and not thrust the entire thing in, but I want to see what he does next.
The Asshole:
Rock your hips. Act like you’re meeting me thrust for thrust.
I do as I’m told, and it feels so damn good that I decide it’s my turn to have a little fun.
Me:
Grip that cock tight. Bring your other hand down to your balls and tug on them gently. Imagine it’s me on my knees for you.
The Asshole:
Jesus fuck, Marina, you can’t say shit like that and not warn a guy. I almost came all over myself.
Me:
You’ve got me so close I thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine.
His reaction makes me feel giddy, like I still hold some power even if it doesn’t feel like I do. Even if I feel like I’ve lost all control since I let him in at the hospital.
The Asshole:
Mission fucking accomplished. Slide that toy all the way in and hit that spot on your clit that gets you every single time. I’m so fucking close, but I need you to come with me.
I’m feeling the build-up of my orgasm. It’s so close I can taste it when a ping from my phone interrupts me. A video from Arlo pops up, and I click on it.
My jaw drops. Arlo, in the bathtub, stroking his sexy-as-fuck cock and coming all over his abs. A faint groan of my name sounding through the speakers sends shockwaves through my body as I rub my clit hard with his motion. I whimper out my orgasm before I’m completely out of breath and collapse against my bed.
Holy shit, that was hot as fuck. Who knew he had it in him?
The Asshole:
Did you come with me?
I take a second to catch my breath because not only did I come, but it rivals the orgasms he gave me on Friday.
Me:
Yes, yes, I did.
Me:
I didn’t know you had that in you. That was sexy as hell.
Will I regret telling him that in the morning? Most likely, but I don’t care. That was by far the hottest thing I’ve seen by a mile. Screw dick pics. I want a video of a guy coming from now on.
The Asshole:
It would have been better in person, but it’ll do for tonight.
Me:
For tonight?
Why, oh why, am I even asking? This is supposed to be a one-off, just like Friday was. Yep, doing a great job at keeping it a one-off, Rina.
Logic can suck it for once.
The Asshole:
I’m here whenever you need some relief, so how about we keep it open-ended?
Can I do that? Keep anything with Arlo open-ended and not lose my heart to him again? I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I do know my business isn’t slowing down any time soon, and having guaranteed orgasms on top of everything isn’t a bad thing.
Me:
I could be amenable to that.
I swear I can feel him smiling from here, and my hackles raise just enough to second-guess things. But then, he texts me again.
The Asshole:
There’s no pressure, ever, Rina.
Feeling myself start to crash, I toss my toy on the floor so I remember to clean it in the morning. I plug my phone in as my eyes feel heavy and send one last text before I crash for the night.
Me:
Thank you. Good night, Arlo.