Who the fuck am I kidding? I love men who display their power. Strong, powerful men are a fucking drug to me and I am a hopeless addict…as long as they don’t want more than a hard, fulfilling fuck. The whole relationship thing is just not in the cards. Not after seeing what losing my dad did to my mom. I can’t ever rely on someone like that for my own happiness.
Once I get Savage out of my system, I’ll move on, like I always do. He doesn’t seem to be the type who will be willing to just be friends with benefits so it may be a one-time thing, but something tells me it will totally be worth it.
Admitting that helps any reluctance fly out the window and I grab my cell phone off the nightstand along with the card that came with the roses he sent—the one with his cell phone number scrawled in neat cursive along the bottom.
You are probably going to regret this.
The beeps as I press the numbers into my phone are exceedingly loud in my silent bedroom. I enter it as a new contact, but instead of hitting “Call,” I open a message box and type the first thing that comes to mind.
< Hey! What are you doing? >
Jesus, that was lame.
I wait, not so patiently, and within seconds, those three little dots appear and my stomach does somersaults. The three dots are slow torture. Whoever invented them knew exactly what they were doing to people.
Oh, crap! I never gave him my number! What if he doesn’t even know it’s me?
> I was wondering when you were going to use that number I left you. I’m just getting into bed. <
The image of Savage, naked, sprawled across a huge bed, assaults my brain and I clamp my thighs together again with a frustrated whimper.
Goddamn this man and what he does to me.
Finding release has never been a problem for me, nor has finding a partner to do it, but ever since I met him, nothing seems to satisfy my soul-aching need for him. My dalliance with Max was wholly unfulfilling and after going through a Costco-sized box of batteries in the last two weeks, I’m surprised my poor, abused BOB is still functioning.
But I need to keep cool. I can’t let him know what he has done to me, how much I’ve been obsessing over him the last two days, and every single day since we met.
< How is your trip? >
> It would be a lot better if you were here. <
I grin as I consider my response. Flirting via text message isn’t usually my thing. Usually I’m direct and just ask where we can meet to get down to business, but with him two thousand miles away, what other choice do I have?
< What would be happening if I was there? >
Almost immediately, my phone rings in my hand, startling me and making my heart jump in my chest.
Fuck, it’s him!
I can’t not answer it, but now I feel a little stupid for texting him in the middle of the night. Shit. I take a deep breath and hit “Accept.” Trying to sound nonchalant is impossible at this point, but I give it a shot anyway, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” he replies, his deep voice sending chills down my spine and doing nothing to disperse the annoying throb between my thighs.
“What’s up?”
What’s up? Really, Danika? Are you ten? He’s in bed at midnight, what the fuck do you think is up, besides maybe his dick?
He chuckles softly before responding, “My dick.”
Moisture pools between my legs. God, I bet his cock is hard and thick just like the rest of him.
Is he touching himself?
Jesus Christ…
Watching a man stroke his own cock is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced and imagining Savage doing it has my body begging for it, despite knowing he’s hours away.
I slide my hand down between my legs and find my wet core. I’ve been practically dripping since meeting Savage, and with the visions in my head right now, it’s more like a tidal wave.
The slow glide of my finger over my clit has me biting back a groan. He doesn’t need the ego boost of knowing what I’m doing right now. For all I know, he’s just joking about having an erection.
If it is a joke, he is one sick bastard.
I grip my cock in my right hand while I hold the phone to my ear with my left. It was rock hard the second she texted me. There is only one reason someone texts you after midnight—because they are horny and thinking about you.
Score one for Team Savage.
Her sharp intake of breath lets me know she heard me and that she’s still there. I patiently wait for her response. Is she going to bite? Or will she pretend to ignore the invitation I’ve just offered her?
I’m a phone sex virgin and have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. Not being in control, not being able to anticipate her response, throws me off-kilter. Waiting for her reply is killing me.
She clears her throat and I smile, imagining her flushed face and breasts. I’ve already come to love seeing the spread of that red, and knowing I’m the one who put it there. I only hope my words had that effect on her. Given the way she reacted to me at dinner, I would place my money on yes.
“Really?” she asks in a quiet, breathy voice.
She took the bait!
“Uh-huh.” I stroke my cock slowly, desperately wanting her to join me in what has become my nightly activity since I met her. “What’s up with you? Why are you still awake at 2:00 a.m.?”