Page 103 of The Lineman

“Uh, El, what are you doing?”

I shifted against the sheets, my skin hypersensitive now, the fabric teasing my skin as the weight of Elliot’s voice pressed into me, making my stomach tighten.

“Touching myself. Thinking about you. Wishing your tongue was wrapped around mine and—”

“Well, fuck.”

“That, too. A lot of that.”

The image of Elliot stretched out somewhere, all tanned skin and muscle, fisting the phone in one hand and something else in the other—Jesus.

“You hard?” I asked before I could stop myself.

A low chuckle. “Been hard since I called you earlier. You?”

“Getting there.”

“You gonna do something about it?”

A rush of heat pulsed through me. I let my hand drift lower, fingers grazing my stomach.

“Maybe,” I said, teasing. “If you ask nicely.”

I smirked, but my own restraint was hanging by a thread.

“Mike Albert,” Elliot groaned. “Grab your cock or hang up the phone.”

I swallowed, pressing my palm against my length, shuddering at the contact.

“You?” I asked, my voice rough.

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. “Got my hand around myself already. Thinking about you.”

I exhaled hard, kicking back the covers. The air felt electric against my skin, every nerve alive and raw.

“Put your phone on speaker,” Elliot said, voice tight. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

I hesitated, my fingers wrapping around myself.

“Mike,” Elliot warned. “Tell me exactly what you’re doing.”

I exhaled shakily, my hand moving slowly.

“I’m stroking myself,” I murmured. “Starting slow, just teasing. It’s—fuck, my head’s so sensitive.”

“Yeah?” A sharp inhale from the other end. “I’m leaking already.”

“Fuck. Taste yourself.”

A heartbeat passed.

“What do you taste like?”

“Tangy, salty, kind of like old socks.”

“Okay, that’s the first thing you’ve said that wasn’t hot.” I snorted. “Although—”

“Yeah?”

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