And I wanted to be caught.

“I thought about your fingers,” I continued. “What they would feel like. If they would pull and grip and if you would want to keep them in my hair or move. If you liked to kiss or if you liked to bite. The sounds you make when you’re close. God …Trouble, I thought about everything. Honestly, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

I dipped my hand between my legs, under hot pink tulle and over black satin. I wasn’t being cautious about this either.

I was burning up.

“Brian,” I moaned, moving with eyes closed so I could imagine I wasn’t the one moving. “Did you think about me that way?” I asked anxiously. “Do you?”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Wild, what are you doing?”

“What do you want me to be doing?”

I hadn’t done this in months. I couldn’t remember the last time I was touched or I touched myself. My fingers felt foreign, but surefire. Aware. This was just like I remembered.

But it was so much better with the sounds and the voice in my ear.

A self-induced orgasm was a chocolate brownie.

A self-induced orgasm persuaded by Brian was a chocolate brownie covered in ice cream and sprinkles and whipped cream, heated so it was all gooey and sloppy.

I made a noise in my throat and spread my legs wider. The tulle scratched the back of my hand.

“Come on, Brian,” I coaxed through a quiet laugh. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

“Fuck no.” I heard the soft rustling of clothes. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“You.”

“Doing what?”

“Everything.”

“Touching you?”

I nodded and licked my lips. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

He knew.

“Kissing you?”

“Yes,” I moaned.

“Where?”

“Right here.”

I dragged my finger over my clit and shuddered.

“Your pussy?” he asked. “Is that where I should kiss you, Wild? With your thighs against my ears so tight I can’t hear you scream?”

“God, yes.”

I wiggled against the onslaught of my fingers.

“Would you kiss me there?”

“I would,” he answered raggedly. “You’d have problems stopping me.”

“I …I wouldn’t stop you. I’d never stop you.”

“What about my dick?” he suggested, and just the mention of that word had me arching my back and panting. “Filling you. Fucking you. Have you thought about that?”

“Have you?” I asked, grinding my palm against my clit and pressing my fingers against the barrier of my tights, picturing just that.

His dick. Filling me. Fucking me.

“You wanna know what I’ve thought about?”

“Please,” I begged.

The pressure was building. The muscles in my legs and arms and belly tensing and twitching and tightening.

I wanted to explode.

Brian made a noise then, deep and tortured in my ear, and I knew, I knew he was getting off, too.

“I’ve wondered how sweet you’d really be on my tongue and how wild you’d get around my cock,” he said, low and smooth and wicked. “Your ass and the color of your cunt.”

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

“How tight you are and how wet you’d get just from my fingers. Your tits …touching them. Tasting them. If you liked to watch or if you’d keep your face buried in my neck while I fucked you.”

“Brian,” I groaned, fingers sliding faster. “K-keep going.”

“I’ve thought about fucking you for hours, Wild. Only stopping so I could eat you or to watch you suck me off, then fucking you again and again …and again. Every way. Everywhere I could take you, I would.” He panted in my ear. “You need to know, Syd …”

“What? Tell me. Please, I’m so close.”

“Fuck.”

He hesitated for a moment, allowing me to focus on all of his other sounds, and God, I wanted him to keep going and tell me, tell me everything, but I didn’t want to miss the noise his hand made moving over his cock or his eager breaths, growing more and more desperate by the second.

“I get so hard just from hearing your voice,” he admitted. “I think about you all the time. More than I should. If I ever got the whole thing …”

“Oh, God. Oh, shit …Oh, oh,” I gasped. “Brian …Brian.”

Blood rushed in my ears as I came hard and heavy limbed, toes curling and eyes rolling and so wet I could feel it against the tips of my fingers through my panties and tights.

It was exquisite.

I felt weightless and warm on the fall down, maybe a little drunker than I was at the start of this conversation, and my eyes shot open when I heard Brian moan my name and “Fuck, fuck, fuck” over the quiet slapping of skin.

He was coming.

I bit my lip.

God, I would’ve given my right arm to see that. I bet he looked beautiful, because he was.

I knew he was. In my blood, I knew it.

We were both silent for a moment, then I had to ask. I had to know.

“What would happen if you got the whole thing?”

He exhaled brokenly.

He wasn’t going to give me that last little piece. The moment had passed. I could feel it, could sense him pulling back and allowing uncertainty to creep in and settle, tainting what we had just shared.