Page 71 of Lovestruck at Sundown
Listening to the clear need in his voice, combined with the self-stimulation, made me release a soft moan.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” he ordered.
“I’m touching myself like you asked me to,” I said softly. “Will you touch yourself, too? Or are you just going to order me around?”
“I’ll do anything you want.”
“Touch yourself.”
I could hear him fumbling with his clothes, followed by aplopas he probably let himself fall back on his trailer bed.
“Are you … aroused?”
“What do you think?” He chuckled. “Wish I could be there so you could see what you do to me.”
“Show me.”
He sent me a photo of his hard dick, the head moist with a bead of precum, making my jaw drop and my breath catch in my chest. I was drunk with lust and love and desire.
“Say something.” His voice was deep and commanding.
“It’s my first dick pic,” I admitted, staring at the photo. “I’m in awe. You’re perfect.”
“No way.”
“I swear.”
“A first,” he said proudly. “All mine.”
“I thought you didn’t care about those anymore.” I laughed under my breath.
“I lied.”
I gasped playfully.
“Coming!” William yelled, but it was clearly not meant for me.
“Already?” I joked. “I’m only getting warmed up over here.”
“Someone knocked on my door, smartass,” he replied. “But I won’t leave my trailer untilyoucome. So grab that vibrator and do exactly as I say unless you want me to pay a fine for delaying production.”
I turned it on and said, “Guide away.”
December 12, 2010
Nina and Iwere hanging out in my apartment wearing sweatpants, intermittently snacking, watching TV, and chatting about everything and nothing when my doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Nina groaned, shooting up from the couch. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
“Did we order more food?” I asked. It was such a cold day in New York, so we felt no shame spending it as couch potatoes.
“No, we didn’t.” She laughed as she opened the door. “Hi!” I heard her say. I lifted myself with my elbows but couldn’t see who it was.
“Billie!” Nina shouted. “Get in here.”
I got up and headed toward the front door. Aaron stood outside next to a petite woman. She sported a short, jet-black, cropped haircut with longer strands landing right above her eyes and wore a crisp white button-up shirt underneath a black wool-lined leather jacket and a pair of classic Converse. The fine lines of a nondescript tattoo curled up from the side of her neck.
“Hey, Billie.” She smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Moira. William sent me.”
