“Yes, right now,” he answered quickly.
I sighed, lost to the contentment of hearing he desired me too. “I think about you that way too. I imagine you find me sometimes. Isn’t that crazy? Like you come here, knock on my apartment, and you don’t even say anything, we just go at it.”
“Not my style.”
My eyes widened. “No?”
“With you, I’d take my time. Make sure I have every inch of your body memorized first.”
I wasn’t sure if he heard my groan or not, but his words were like invisible fingers teasing between my thighs. I leaned my head back on the carpet, squirming with need. My body felt flush as I pictured him over me, laying soft kisses over my skin.
“God, you’re hot. I really can’t believe I’m this turned on.” I gasped, my hand quickly covering my mouth. I couldn’t believe the way I was talking to him. I was forgetting myself, my body winning the battle against my brain.
“Can I give you something for your non-wedding day?”
“What?”
“Can I help you come?”
“What do you mean?” Was he going to ask to come over? Why did I want to let him? Being drunk and turned on was apparently a poor combination for rational thought. Because I was close to blurting out my address. The girl who never took chances was about to take the biggest chance on a man who could be anyone.
“If I tell you what to do to yourself, will you?” His voice went an octave lower. Apparently, I was hearing his sexy bedroom voice.
“You want me to stay on the phone while I…”
“Masturbate, yes.”
“Would that turn you on too?”
“Hell yes,” he answered forcefully, making me grin wickedly as I guessed he was getting as worked up as I was over the phone. “Why don’t you go on your bed?”
Oh fuck, I was going to do this, I thought. Climbing off of the floor of the living room, I headed over to my bed like on auto pilot. I didn’t even know his real name, what he looked like, and I was going to get sexual over the phone with him. But the wine had curbed my embarrassment. I was lonely and a sexy sounding stranger wanted to whisper dirty things to me. I was down.
My bed squeaked as I lay down on top of the quilt. After a long minute, he said, “Take off everything except your bra and panties.” My cheeks started to flame, but I did what he said. I tossed aside my T-shirt and slipped out of my jeans before lying back on the bed.
What should I say? I wondered. Did I tell him how I was lying there aroused, my skin flushed pink and feeling overheated? Did I say how much I trusted him with my body, that he was the only one I would ever do anything like this for?
He didn’t wait for me. Thankfully, he took the lead. “I would start off kissing you long and deep, giving you a hint of what I planned to do to the rest of you.” I closed my eyes and I could imagine him there. He’d kiss me hard, leaving me panting. I’d reach behind his head and keep pulling him down to me each time he broke our embrace.
“And what would I do?”
“You would wrap your legs around my waist, trying to get me as close to you as possible. You wouldn’t be satisfied until every part of our bodies were touching.” What would our bodies feel like together? I mused. Damn, I wanted him so badly at the moment. I wished he were in the bed with me and I was actually doing exactly what he said. I wanted the moment to be real more than anything.
“I think I’d like that.”
“I know you would like it.” His confidence was sexy, making me hot for someone I might never see in real life. Was I just drunk? Or could a stranger actually make me feel hundred times more desirable than I ever had before?
“You’d feel me getting hard and it would get you so fucking wet for me. I would graze my fingers over the top of your panties and feel how wet you are, soaking through them.” His voice was a harsh, commanding whisper, sexier than ever. “Do you like that, baby? Are you wet right now for me?”
“Yes, I am,” I whispered back. My panties were drenched. Every second I became more aroused as I got lost in his promises of what he’d do to my body. He would be good in bed—I was certain of the fact. No fumbling, confident with his movements, electrifying all of my erogenous zones with strong, calloused fingers.
“Are you checking for me? Are you running a finger up and down over your panties like how I would?”
I did as he said and my god, I felt ready to come. Every part of my body was in a state of hyperawareness—tingly everywhere and fantastically alive. “Yes, I’m wet for you.” I then started to move my fingers faster over my clit through the silk of my panties. I panted, “I don’t think I can wait.”
“But you have to wait because you want all the delicious things I can do to your body. You want me to run my tongue down your throat and then pull aside the cups of your bra. I’m greedy with your breasts, tasting them, teasing them with the tip of my tongue. Your nipple gets hard and I pull it into my mouth, sucking it until you beg for me to stop.” While he whispered in my ear, I removed my bra before dipping my fingers back into my underwear.
Damn, I wanted him. I wanted him to do all of those things to me for real. I never had a sexual experience like that ever and performing the acts on myself felt like a tease. “Do you stop?”
“I refuse to stop, not until you’re squirming below me, begging me to taste your pussy.”
“And you would want to do that?” Holy shit, is he into that sort of thing? Jake was never a fan, so I assumed most men avoided the act until it became absolutely necessary, until not performing oral for so long that it became offensive.
“Fuck yes, all I can think about is what you’ll taste like. I start to get impatient, so I rip your panties off, tearing the fabric. You smell so good and I breathe you in before I flick my tongue against you for the first time.” His breathing sounded labored with each word a harsh whisper.
I was too aroused, engrossed in my own body’s needs, that I hadn’t stopped to consider him. Was he in bed too? Did the idea of tasting me make him hard and ready? Was he touching himself too, getting off in the same deliciously wicked way? The thought made me even hotter, ready to combust with my lust for him.
“Oh my god,” I managed to say. Forming actual words was becoming a challenge.
“You like that?” he teased, knowing full well how into him I was at the moment. “Wet your fingers with your mouth and pull down your panties. Move your fingers over your clit, picturing my tongue is there. I move slowly the first few tastes, but then I’m devouring you with my tongue, not able to get enough of you. I cup your ass and pull you in closer to get more, to taste you even deeper.”
I couldn’t resist his commands. I slid out of my panties before wetting my fingers with my mouth. I started to rub my clit up and down as he whispered dirty things into my ear.
I moaned into the phone. His breathing sounded more labored as he spoke, like his control was slipping right alongside mine. “Do you like this? Do you like hearing how badly I want you to come for me?”
“I want you to come too,” I practically whimpered.
“You would come the first time when my tongue is inside your pussy. Then, we’d come together when I’m deep inside of you. Baby, put your fingers inside of you. How many do you like?”
“Three.”
His groan was full of raw desire. “Fuck, I love that. I love that you’re going to put your fingers deep inside of you and ride your hand. Ride your hand how you’d ride me.”
I gave up trying to remain quiet over the phone. I was full-on masturbating, doing exactly what he said. I closed my eyes and my fingers became him. He was owning me, grinding into me until we both came.
“I think I’m close. I really want to come.”
“Come hard for me. I want to hear you.” And I did. I had a full-on breathy orgasm over the phone. My back arched and I felt waves of pleasure shoot through me. My entire body buzzed with the aftereffects of letting myself go. I had pleasured myself before, but this was a th
ousand times more intense.
We were quiet for a while and I wasn’t sure of the etiquette. They hadn’t covered phone sex in finishing school. Finally, he broke the silence. “That was really hot.”
“It was. Thank you.” I wasn’t sure if it was normal to say thanks after phone sex, but I was grateful. He gave me an orgasm on my wedding night. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I had only ever climaxed alone, so it was very likely I would’ve been orgasm-less if the wedding wasn’t off.
I listened to his breathing, not in a rush to do much of anything at all. I could easily visualize lying naked for the rest of the night, holding the phone next to me, pretending he was with me. After a beat, he whispered, “Let me come over.”
“Stop.”
“Just let me know your address. I’ll come over right now.”
I sobered at his words. “No, why would you say that?”
“Christ, I’m sorry. I sound like a fucking animal. Can I take you to dinner? Wherever you want to go, I’ll meet you.” I couldn’t help but smile at how sincere he sounded. Like he truly felt bad he may have offended me.
“I can’t.”
“Why? We have something here. It’s not what I expected, but I don’t know…You’re the first woman in a long time that I feel a connection with.”
“Don’t ruin it, please.”
He sighed. “Do you think you’ll ever want to meet me?”
“I don’t know…” After a pause, I forced out. “Maybe.” I had to give him something. He had given me everything I needed that night. And why shouldn’t I meet him? There was a chance we’d have no chemistry out in the real world. But wasn’t there an equal chance we’d like each other in person too?
“Maybe is better than no. Go to bed then and dream about the charming and sexy guy who could be sleeping next to you right now.” He then said sternly, “And don’t wake up tomorrow being all regretful about tonight.”
“You know me too well.” I hoped he heard the smile in my voice.
“I’m serious. Turn your brain off for once and stop talking yourself out of the things you want.”
“You’re probably right,” I conceded. “I’m going to bed. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
I fell asleep feeling so thankful for him. How could a wrong number turn out to be one of the best things to happen in my life?
Chapter Nine
The day after our phone encounter, D messaged me every couple of hours. He was checking in with me, saying hi and letting me know that he was thinking about me. The messages were a virtual morning after snuggle.
I didn’t message him back. In the cold light of day, I was embarrassed by the night before. I enjoyed the experience, of course I had. I got off in minutes. But I was drunk and sad, I convinced myself, devastated Jake and my family had truly moved on. I had sought solace with a stranger because it was easy. I let go because my heart wasn’t at risk.
But the truth was the night had been a way for us to both satisfy our sexual urges. In the heat of the moment, I desired him, even thought about inviting him over, saying to hell with all of my rules. The problem was I wanted someone who would love me and only me. I wanted sex, good sex, but I also wanted it to mean something. And I could meet D and see if what we had over the phone carried over in person. Still, even if we ended up being attracted to one another, I’d never be Emily. Emily was it for him and I couldn’t compete with a ghost.
The next day, he tried again. Stop feeling weird and talk to me.
I waited until I got home from work to message him back. I never had phone sex before. I woke up and felt embarrassed. Like maybe I’m giving you the wrong idea about me.
She’s alive. He messaged back with a Frankenstein gif.
I rolled my eyes. He could be painfully cheesy, but I was definitely feeling something for him. I needed time to figure out what to say to you.
Don’t say anything. You liked it, I liked it, and that’s the only thing that matters. He had a good point, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how he asked to come over afterward. What did he want from me? Did he want me as a friend or something more?
Fine, but what are your expectations?
He wrote me back immediately. I assumed I could call you every time I get horny now and you could tell me how fucking sexy you find me.
I giggled as I read his message. What was holding me back? He was amazing. Maybe the theory of love being blind was true because when I pictured him, I didn’t see him as a romance cover model. He wasn’t a billionaire playboy with a private helicopter. I saw him as a regular down-to-earth guy with kind eyes and a wicked sense of humor. Before I could reply, he sent another message. I’m joking, by the way. There are zero expectations.
I replied back: You’re really great. Thank you for talking me down from a freak-out.
No problem. I’m glad you texted now. I have to go away this week, some traveling for work. I’m on my way now to the airport.
I still had no clue about his job. At least, he didn’t say he was off to his private air strip. I normally didn’t ask too many details about his life, but I wanted to know a little more about him before we made plans together.
Where are you going? I typed.
Flying into San Francisco, but I’ll be bouncing around until I return home on Friday evening. I probably won’t be free to talk much but text anytime. Can I call you Friday night when I get in? Might be late like close to midnight?
Sounds good. Have a safe trip.
Thanks, and don’t worry about the time difference when texting me, you know I never sleep.
On the week of what would’ve been my honeymoon in the Maldives, I found myself feeling lighter. The dread I felt on top of my chest each morning when I opened my eyes was no longer there. Finally, I reveled in the freedom of being released from the Carmichael prison. I was downright optimistic, hopeful my life could be whatever I made it. I could do whatever I wanted to without anyone looking down on me. I was choosing my job, my home, and my friends.
The highlight of my days were the messages from D. Even while away on business, he texted me all the time. They were funny and sweet, with the occasional flirting. He knew exactly how I needed him to be. No matter what he said, I was always smiling when I typed my reply back.
“What’s got you so giddy over here?” Jenny sighed as she finished delivering food to the elderly Jones couple. I put away my phone after scanning D’s latest message, deciding to reply to him when I got home. He had made a meme of a lower j and i with the phrase “Show me your tittles.”
“Nothing much. Did the Joneses get the same order again?”
She nodded. “Every day. He orders the short stack and she gets French toast and they split in half.”
“It’s sweet.”
She pretended to gag. “It’s nauseating. Who would want to always have that pressure? What if you want to eat something different one morning? Like hey, I want fucking eggs today, screw this French toast shit.”
“Bad date again last night?”
“Fucking the worst. Online dating is like opening presents from Grandma on Christmas. You get reeled in by the shiny wrapping paper, but when you open it, what’s inside is complete garbage.” She yawned, stretching her arms lazily over her head. “How about you? Anyone new since Zeke? He might’ve been worth a second date, Alyssa. Who cares if you had nothing to talk about? It could’ve just been nerves.”
“But I wasn’t attracted to him either,” I explained. “Not even a tiny bitty tingle.”
“Well, that’s a good point then. I think it’s rare for you not to know right away if you want to see the person naked or not.” Her fists curled at her sides as we both heard her name shouted from one of the rear booths. “Ugh, what does Mr. Fredericks want now? I swear he only calls me over a hundred times to stare at my ass when I walk away.” She huffed while walking over to one of our regular senior customers, Mr. Fredericks. He was one of our more annoying customers, not the best ti
pper and very high-maintenance. My tables had cleared out, so I’d likely head home early. Birdie had mentioned she’d order Chinese food for us both if I helped watch the counter while she worked on an estimate for an upcoming wedding client.
Jenny bounced back over a few seconds later. “He wanted me to turn the TV volume up. As if it’s not loud enough. I leave with a migraine every day from that damn thing.”
“At least it’s better than Ahmed’s music. I’m not sure what language it’s in, but I’m pretty sure I hear sacrificial screams in the background.”
Jenny laughed. “He needed a coffee too. Do you mind taking care of it while I head to the ladies?”
“Sure,” I said, retrieving the pot out of her hand. She darted off through the kitchen doors to our employee bathroom.
Plastering on a wide smile, I approached Mr. Fredericks. He was in his late sixties and widowed for more than a decade. Despite my attempts at friendliness, he was always short with me. Whenever he came in, he requested Jenny as his waitress and voiced his displeasure when she was unavailable. “How are you today, Mr. Fredericks?”
“Ever hear of gout, new girl?” he groused, his brows knitting severely as he stared at me. “I could barely sleep last night because of it. I hope that coffee is extra strong.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then stopped. My body stilled and I could feel the hairs on my neck come alive.
“I mean by the tenth book it becomes a challenge to keep things fresh and interesting. But my goal with the latest release was to bring the reader back to what they loved so much about the first novel…”
His voice. D’s voice was in my ear. I could recognize the sound in an instant. I had vivid dreams about that voice. I had detailed sexual fantasies about that voice. But the voice wasn’t on the other line of my phone. The sound was right inside the diner.
I twirled around, ignoring Mr. Fredericks as he asked me what was wrong. The room felt like it was spinning. Nothing made sense. Two worlds were colliding and I wasn’t ready for it to happen.
The Despair of Strangers Page 7