Page 95 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Oh, I see. Someone’s playing hard to get.”

You don’t even know how hard.“Time’s ticking, Ms. Flowers.”

“Alright, fine! How abouuut…” She lets the last word drag to buy a few extra seconds for herself. “Evil mafia CEO plans to take over the world?”

“Why do you seem to think I’m some cartoonish overlord?”

“Because it’s funny?”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘funny.’”

“That’s because you’re no fun at all.”

“Oh?” I say, giving myself a squeeze. “I seem to remember you having your fair share of ‘fun’ last night.”

This time I didn’t imagine it: her breathdoeshitch, and for a fair handful of seconds, too.

“In fact…” I drawl, picturing her pretty pink cheeks, blushing just for me. “Thethoughtalone would be enough to keep a man up at night.”

“Is…” April swallows. “Is that so?”

“Indeed,” I confirm. “It’d be madness, really. Trying to go back to sleep like that.”

For a moment, I wonder if I haven’t overdone it. If April’s delicate sensibilities won’t have the better of her and force a quick, awkward goodbye out of her lips—lips much better suited to other things.

It’d be natural. In all my life, I haven’t once found a woman who could keep up with my appetites. I don’t expect it to be the seamstress I randomly knocked up nine months ago in a changing room.

But, as always, April surprises me.

“And, uh… What would these thoughts entail, exactly?”

I feel my face split into a grin. Feral, hungry. “Let’s see,” I reply, lazily playing with the head of my cock. “First, there wouldn’t be any clothes. It takes energy to think things up, you know. Best save it on what matters.”

“And what…” April clears her throat. I can tell her voice has gone hoarse, can almost picture her face: cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted around half a choked breath. “What does matter?”

Hook, line, sinker.

“Your wet, eager little pussy, for example.”

My tone is harsh now, commanding—just how I know she likes it. On the other end of the line, April whines, making my cock jump. “T-That’s…”

“I’d start out nice and slow,” I tell her, even though it’s a lie. If I had her here, right now, I’d be plunging deep into that tight heat without so much as a finger to pave the way. “With my tongue. Taste how slick and ready you are for me.”

Her breathing is completely gone. Held captive in her throat. Taut. Desperate.

“Then I’d make you readier. I’d drag my tongue all the way up that sweet clit of yours, enjoying all the little sounds you’d make. Quiet at first, and then louder and louder.”

“Matvey…”

“Are you touching yourself?” I demand.

A long pause. “I?—”

“Do it,” I order. “Touch yourself or I’ll hang up.”

I can practically see the outrage on her face. It’s my favorite look on her: that who-does-he-think-he-is,how-dare-heglare that makes her eyes squint like sharp crescents, her lips press tight together. It’s a treat unlike any other.

But what I love even more is her surrender. “Ah…”