’m mesmerized by the way he tells the story. His voice makes it feel like a song or a poem. Flowing but steady. He knows how to shape a story the way he knows how to touch a woman.
“He made her believe in love again.”
Jagger ends his story, and I relax, stretching myself in bed.
“Huh,” I whisper, acknowledging the end of the story. “Is that it? That’s your love story?”
That’s just me pushing his buttons. Of course I liked his story — I wasn’t expecting I’d like it, but there was something personal in the story he shared with me, so naturally I found myself drawn in.
Jagger laughs. “Goddamn, and here I thought I rose to your challenge. Look, you put me on the spot, that’s what I had! I’m a pilot, not Will fucking Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare’s love stories were about horny thirteen year olds who killed themselves,” I laugh.
“No,” I decide to cut him a break. “I liked yours a lot more. No, I’m serious. I’m impressed. That was a very sweet story. Do you write, is that your secret? A sensitive side to our Captain?”
“Hah,” Jagger responds. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. My memoirs, to be published upon my death.”
“I’m seriously hoping you’re a better pilot than that.”
I love the way he laughs — there’s something unrestrained about the way his laugh just makes every other sound seem warmer, too. “Okay,” he says. “Now you’re just testing me.”
“Test me soon,” I reply. “Please. When are you back in town? I’m actually seriously disappointed to have misunderstood when you said you’d call me when you land.”
“Booty call you when I land?” he suggests.
“With that story of yours, let’s just say I would not be opposed to experiencing a taste of the sort of sex Barcelona Woman got to have.”
“She only got it twice,” Jagger points out. “If you play your cards right, you might get it way more than that.”
“Actually,” I tell him, “if I played my cards that way the first time, I would’ve gotten it twice in a single night already.”
“Goddamn, touché. I was not wrong when I said you were a clever girl.”
“So when are you back?”
“Two more days. Am I going to see you then?”
I smile and it’s in my voice. “We’ll see.”
Despite everything, Jagger keeps me on the line, for what has got to be the longest call in the history of man. I shudder at the thought of what his phone bill is going to look like.
At least he’s not calling internationally, right?
This is sweet, though. I don’t think I’ve spent a whole night talking on the phone with someone, not since I was a teenager. And this is a whole lot more exciting than teenage dalliances.
“Permit me to return to my original topic of conversation,” Jagger eventually says.
“What was that, exactly?”
“How much I’m craving you,” he replies without hesitation. “How you turn me on, and make me hard… just by listening to your voice, even when you’re trying your hardest to behave on this phone call, cracking jokes and puns.”
“You’ve rumbled me. Damn,” I tell him.
“I mean it, Alexa. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re the kind of girl who really enjoys this sort of attention from a man like me… but you also just as much enjoy the act of pretending you don’t care. All polished and sophisticated, just like I saw you the first time.”
My lips purse immediately. I’m nervous. Sooner, rather than later, he’s going to find out that I’m not really this put-together socialite he assumes I am.
I’m literally in a t-shirt and panties right now. He probably imagines I go to sleep in nothing but Chanel Number Five.
“Ah, I’m not really all that,” I try to bat his attentions away.
“Of course you are,” he says. “Embrace it, Alexa. You’re red-hot, and I don’t find myself so intrigued by many people. I don’t mean that as a put-down to other women. It’s just that I really am craving you.”
“What does that mean, anyway? Like a physical, sexual-only form of missing me?”
Jagger considers his next few words. “It means my fingertips want nothing more than to be kneading your body, massaging you until you begin to relax, until you begin to moan, until your legs wrap around me. Until you breathe out softly and beg me for more.”
I’m so glad he can’t see me blush.
Phone sex isn’t my thing, yet I can’t explain away the hand that’s slowly inching its way down inside my panties. “Oh,” I moan.
“Exactly,” I hear him tell me.
He starts telling me all the things he wishes he could do to me right now, and what happens instead is that my body begins to go into that hypersensitive overdrive I instantly associate with how he made me feel, the lingering ache after our night together.
I’m enjoying this a little too much, as my fingers begin to find my slit, a rush of heat coming all over me.
“You’re terrible,” I moan to Jagger. “Look what you do to me.”
“I can’t look, beautiful,” he tells me. “All I can do is listen.”
So I make him listen. I touch myself, moaning softly into the phone, barely able to hear his own moans — he’s sharply decided to focus the attention on me, not putting me on the spot by having to deal with him as well.
We don’t even talk. I don’t have to talk dirty, although every so often Jagger shares a fantasy of his to me. I close my eyes, and lose myself to the pleasure.
Then I surprise myself with a climax that pretty much takes all my energy out of me. He’s breathing heavily, as I tell him I begin to cry out and scream. The way that I did with him.
It’s not the same, of course. This is good, really good, but it’s not quite the way it was when he pinned me down, held me by my hips, and plowed into me with the desperation of a man who’s got something to prove.
I sigh and breathe out, surprised we’re still on the phone. “Oh, wow,” I whisper. “Look… I’m really tired. It’s time for me to go to sleep, okay? I’ll talk to you… soon.”
“Two days. I’ll be back, then,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Goodnight, beautiful,” Jagger says, clicking off.
In the silence of this bedroom, I let myself relax again, ready to drift off to sleep.
My thoughts circle around Jagger’s story.
I wonder if it wasn’t really a love story after all. There was another way to see it. Another, deeper level.