Page 51 of Undeniable
“I can’t help it,” I said, torn between ending the call before things got even more out of hand and letting myself give in. To this man. To what I really wanted.
“Do you want to go?”
“No,” I said, my voice barely loud enough to hear.
“Do you want to stop? Because we can. We can just go back to talking about work or books or whatever you want.”
I considered it a moment then said, “Don’t stop. Please.”
He made a satisfied sound. “Then touch yourself,” he said, and I could hear him shifting. “Pretend it’s my hands caressing your breasts.”
His words reignited my earlier desire, though I still had concerns. But those seemed somehow less important at the moment.
Unable to resist any longer, I slid my hand up to my breasts, teasing the sensitive skin.
“Are you doing it?” he asked.
“Yes.” Was it the wine or his voice that was having such a strong effect on me?
“Good. How does it feel?”
“So good,” I said, my breath hitching.
“What kind of touch do you like?” he asked, his voice like velvet. “Would you want me to be gentle or rough? Or do you want a little of everything?”
“That,” I panted. “Yes.”
“Mm,” he hummed his approval.
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?” he taunted.
He was going to make me say the words, wasn’t he? So I gathered my courage and asked, “How do you like to be touched?” My voice was breathy, the warm air and this conversation making my head spin. “Tell me what you’d want me to do to you.”
“Everything,” he said on a sigh. “But this is about you, Olivia. Shit. I want to touch you so bad. I want to feel you in my arms, taste you on my lips.” I could hear movement in the background, and I imagined him sliding his hand down his abs and under the waistband of his pants, reaching in to fist his hard length.
I took a big sip of my wine then asked, “Are you hard?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “God, the things you do to me. It’s fucking crazy.”
His words emboldened me to ask, “Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes. Now, describe what you’re doing.” He wasn’t asking anymore; he was commanding. God, that was sexy.
“I’m—” I gasped, twisting and tweaking my nipple. “I’m pinching my nipple.”
“What else?” he demanded. I shivered from the unspoken promise of what would surely follow.
“I’m sliding my other hand down my stomach.” I cried out when I reached my clit and started circling the sensitive nub, imagining it was Connor’s hand instead. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking about you. Imagining how you look with your skin flushed and your eyes closed in bliss.” His words spurred me on, made me feel even sexier as my remaining inhibitions fell away.
“Thinking about how you taste.” His voice was gruff, masculine. “And how hard I would make you come with my tongue. My fingers. My cock.”
Holy shit.I swallowed hard. The image he’d painted…
“Tell me, Olivia. Would you like that?” he asked as I continued to touch myself.