“Touch yourself.”
Your voice: a murmur inaudible to those around you, but I easily hear it. You’ve called me during your break from all-day meetings.
I slip a hand into my panties. You listen to my quickened breaths as I rub my clit. You know I’m close when my faint moans turn to cries.
“Stop.”
Your command clips the wings of my bliss, and I whine in protest.
“Please let me come!”
The teasing grin in your reply is maddening, for I am now precariously balanced on a tightrope taut with need.
“Wait for me, love. I’ll be home soon.”
