Page 49 of West Bound
“Dakota got them for me.”
“Of course she did,” he gripes.
I should defend her, but all I can think right now is how beautiful he is and how much I love the sound of his voice. He’s already filling all my thoughts and senses every second of the day when we’re trapped together in this little cabin, tempting me with every quirk of his lips and each sexy little frown. The smell of his cologne is everywhere I go, and the way he pushes his glasses up while he’s reading distracts me every single time.
“Pull my shirt up. I want to see all of them.” I clutch the hem of the shirt and pull it the rest of the way up, until it bunches around my waist. For all my complaints about being stuck wearing his clothes, I’ve grown attached to sleeping in them.
I glance down, and I see now why he wanted me in this position. The moonlight from the windowpane pours in, highlighting my pale skin and the black lace panties in a neat little square around my hips and upper thighs. I suck my lowerlip in between my teeth when I realize how obvious it is that I’m already fantasizing about him.
“This wet already?”
“Hearing you talk like that… I can’t help it,” I admit softly.
“Touch yourself.”
My nerves come front and center then. Doing this in front of him in complete silence feels awkward.
“Can you hit play again?” I’ve still got the earbud in my right ear. “It’ll make me less self-conscious,” I explain when he gives me a skeptical look.
He nods then, pulling his phone out and hitting the play button. His low groan rumbles through my eardrum, and I hear the sound of his hand working over his cock. My cheeks flood with heat as he stares back at me, both of us listening to him through the speakers.
“Touch yourself.” The live version of him reminds me of my role in all this. I run my fingers back over the top of my waistband, teasing the skin there until goose bumps start to form in their wake, and then I slide them under, closing my eyes to focus on his voice. If he can get off listening to me, I can do the same. It's only fair.
I part my index and middle fingers as I move past my clit, brushing it just enough to feel the spark light. I gasp and bite my lower lip when I feel how drenched I am, letting out a soft moan as I start to slip the pads of my fingers back and forth through my wetness.
It’s loud, the sound of it piercing the night, and his eyes are glued to where my hand moves under the material as I listen to him moan through the recording in my ear.
“Fucking hell, Zeph,” the real one curses, palming his cock through his jeans.
I tease my clit softly. I’m so sensitive I don’t dare keep the pressure up for more than a second at a time. It has to last. Ineed to come hard but I want it to be with him. I have to take a deep breath to try not to let myself fall apart too soon.
It’s like the audio version of him knows because he starts talking again.
“This part here, where you let out these stuttered little breaths. I can tell you’re working yourself up to the edge, barely able to fucking take it, and then you stop. That frustrated little sigh where you tease yourself and then hold it at bay. Do you like being edged, darlin’?” He groans again, and I hear him slow his pace down as well. It’s some sort of unholy trinity, the three of us together like this—the recorded version of him and the real one, with me pinned down in between them.
“Do you?” Levi repeats his counterpart’s question.
“Yes.” The word comes out on half a moan as my fingertips brush over my clit again, and the recorded version of him moans in unison.
Listening to him sparks every last nerve in my body. I let my head fall back as I start to work myself closer to the edge. The recorded version of Levi takes over all my senses as I hear the sound of skin on skin as he works himself over. He breathes heavily, and I imagine he’s on top of me, his breath at my throat. I can hear the distant sound of my own muted moans in the background of his. We sound filthy. I can’t get enough.
“Oh fuck yes. Work that pretty little clit for me. You sound like a fucking angel when you come,” the recorded Levi urges me on.
“Oh,” I let out an audible gasp that echoes through the cabin.
“Stop,” Levi, the one whose eyes are glued on me, demands sharply, and I pull my hand away, fisting it in the blanket he left discarded on this side of the couch. I take a deep breath and pinch my eyes closed for a moment as I try to block out the way my nerves are lighting up. The recording goes silent, and I look up at him in question.
“Fuck. Didn’t think it was possible to be jealous of myself.” He lets out a coarse laugh as he tosses his phone to the coffee table.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” I whisper, unsure what I did wrong.
“I do,” he reassures me. “But if I only get to experience this once, I want every last second to count.”
“Oh,” I murmur my understanding in the soft sound.
“Take your panties off and give them to me,” he orders.
“Are you starting a collection or something?” I tease as I reach for the waistband.
