The phone rang, its vibration cutting through the quiet hum of my bedroom. I glanced at the clock, a small smile playing on my lips. Right on time. I let it ring twice, letting the anticipation build before I picked up, deliberately letting my voice drop into that soft, husky register I knew he liked.
“Hello, this is Lynnea.”
“Hi, Lynnea. It’s Phil.”
His voice was a little tight, a little nervous. I could almost picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his work clothes, the day’s stress clinging to him. “Phil,” I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue like a caress. “I was hoping you’d call tonight. How are you feeling?”
“Better now,” he said, and I could hear the relief in his tone already. “It’s been a long day.”
“I know the feeling,” I cooed, shifting against my silk sheets. The cool fabric was a delicious contrast to the warmth building under my skin. “Why don’t you get comfortable for me? Tell me when you’re settled.”
I listened to the soft rustle of his clothes, the thump of his shoes hitting the floor. I closed my own eyes, picturing him.
“Okay. I’m comfortable.”
“Good. Me too,” I lied, though not really. I was comfortable, but I wasn’t ready yet. I let him hear the whisper of my own sheets as I settled in. “I’m in my favorite silk robe. It feels so cool against my skin. Are you wearing anything, or did you get completely comfortable?”
“Just in my boxers now,” he said, his voice a little lower now.
“Mmm, that’s a good start,” I purred. My own hand was already resting on my thigh, the heat of my palm seeping through the thin silk. “I love knowing you’re right there with me, listening. Just close your eyes, Phil. Let my voice be the only thing you focus on. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, and I heard the soft sigh that followed. It was the sound of release, of him finally letting go.
“I’m touching my collarbone right now,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the delicate bone. A genuine shiver traced its way down my spine. “My skin is so sensitive there. It makes me shiver. I’m tracing a line down my chest, over my breastbone… down to the tie of my robe. It’s coming undone.” I tugged the silk belt, letting the robe fall open. My nipples pebbled instantly in the cool air.
I heard a soft sound from him, a sigh of pleasure. It was my favorite sound in the world.
“I hear that,” I said, a genuine smile in my voice. “That sounds like a happy sound. Does it feel good when you touch yourself?”
“Yeah,” he groaned, and the sound went straight through me. “It feels really good.”
“Good. I want it to. My robe is open now. I’m running my hands over my own stomach, up my sides. My nipples are getting hard just thinking about you touching yourself. I’m pinching one, just a little. It sends a jolt right down between my legs.” I wasn’t lying. A sharp, sweet jolt of arousal shot through me, pooling deep in my core. My hand slid down my stomach, my fingertips ghosting over the neat triangle of hair before dipping lower.
“Are you stroking your cock for me, Phil?” I asked, my own voice thickening as my fingers found my slick folds. “Are you thinking about me?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m thinking about you.”
“I’m so wet for you,” I confessed, the words coming out as a raw, honest whisper. My fingers circled my clit, and I had to bite back a moan. “I’m sliding my hand down my belly, past my mound. I’m parting my lips… oh, yes… I’m so slick. I’m circling my clit with my fingertip, nice and slow, just like you’re stroking yourself.”
I could hear his breathing change, growing heavier, more ragged. It was a rhythm I knew well, a beautiful, accelerating tempo that mirrored my own building need.
“Your breathing is getting heavier,” I noted, my own voice strained with pleasure. “I love that sound. It makes me want to touch myself faster. I’m rubbing my clit now, back and forth. It feels so good, Phil. I wish you were here to feel how wet I am.”
“God, Lynnea,” he groaned, and the sound of him losing control was the most potent aphrodisiac. I slid two fingers inside myself, my back arching slightly.
“I know, baby. Just listen to me. I’m sliding a finger inside myself now. Just one. Oh, fuck. It’s not enough. I’m adding another. I’m fucking myself with my fingers while I rub my clit with my thumb. Can you hear that? The wet sounds?” I wasn’t just performing anymore. I was lost in it with him, my own hips rocking to meet the thrust of my hand. The wet sounds were real, my soft moans were real, the tightening coil in my belly was intensely, wonderfully real.
“I’m so close,” he gasped, his voice strained.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed, my own orgasm cresting. “I’m right there with you. My legs are shaking. I’m imagining it’s your cock inside me, filling me up. I’m going to come, Phil. I’m going to come with you. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he bit out.
“Now, Lynnea. Now!”
His hoarse cry of my name was all it took. I let go, a long, shuddering moan tearing from my throat as my orgasm washed over me, powerful and all-consuming. It wasn’t just for him; it was for me, too. That was the secret. It had to be for me, too.
We lay there in the aftermath, our panting breaths mingling over the line. It was an intimate, peaceful quiet that I cherished.
Finally, I spoke, my voice soft and sated. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and I could hear the lazy contentment in his voice. “Wow is right.”
“You sound so relaxed now,” I said warmly, a genuine sense of satisfaction settling over me. I loved this part—the afterglow. “I’m glad.”
“I am,” he said. “Thank you, Lynnea.”
“Anytime, Phil,” I replied, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. “You get some good sleep now.”
“You too,” he said.
I hung up the phone and lay back in my bed, the silk robe still open. The room wasn’t empty; it was filled with the echo of his pleasure, and my own. And that, I thought, was the perfect way to end a long day.
