“Hello,” I growled while trying to conceal a moan of frustration. My orgasm was evading me for some reason. Sometime later, I would be embarrassed at my audacity to touch myself while on the phone, but not now.
“This is Bainbridge County Jail,” the automated voice greeted me.
My fingers caressed my pussy faster before I could fully understand what was happening.
“You have a collect call from…”
My legs spread wider of their own accord as far as my jeans would allow as the slow build-up suddenly burst forward at light speed, and then I heard his rough voice growl…
The sense of urgency and frustration and need all exploded on a silent scream.
“Do you accept?”
“Yes!” I screamed in ecstasy from the well-needed release. I didn’t hear the silence on the other line. All I could hear was the ringing of my ears as the image of him faded away, and the imagined feeling of him touching me left with it.
After a minute of lying there, catching my breath, I realized I dropped the phone next to my head. Mortified, I picked it up, my finger hovering over the end button, but something told me not to. The very last time I heard his voice, it sounded very real and very close. But that had to be my imagination. He was in jail. He was…
“This is Bainbridge County Jail…”
…on the phone.
“H—Hello,” I spoke hesitantly. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him.
“Were you touching yourself?” His cold voice was like a blast of frigid air, yet my body heated up as if it were set on fire.
I struggled to talk from the shock and mortification.
His mocking tone and the cocky grin I knew he would be wearing replaced my embarrassment with anger.
“No,” I laughed mockingly. “I had help.” I pulled my mouth away from the phone and said to the empty room, “Thanks, baby. You were great.”
The low growl was music to my ears.
“It’s good for you that I have a sense of humor, or I might be inclined to break out of here,” he threatened.
“Is there a reason for your call?”
“I didn’t want you to forget me.”
“Too late. I’m past you and your sick sense of humor.” A knowing blush spread over my skin as I straightened up my pants.
“Is that why you were just touching yourself?”
“You forget… I’ve made you come, and I’ve heard you lie. I know both sounds very well. Were you thinking about me?’
“What?” I shrieked and almost dropped the phone.
“Were. You. Thinking. About. Me. When you touched your pussy?”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. He couldn’t see me, but he could hear me. “You do have a sense of humor.”
“My, my, aren’t we brave?”
“I’m getting the feeling this conversation is over so I’m hanging up now. Nice talking to you.”
“It was my voice that made you come, wasn’t it? As hard as you tried and as much as you gave, you just couldn’t find that push…”
“Flatter myself? I wouldn’t dare, but you flatter me. Do you know what it does to me to know you were touching yourself because of me? It makes me hot, Lake, and it makes me hard.”
“Well, you aren’t bad looking so I’m pretty sure there are plenty of men in there who are willing to keep you company,” I snapped. In truth, I wanted to hide the nervous lust in my voice from thinking about him hot and hard.
The line was silent for a heartbeat before he asked, “So, you’re back?”
I knew what he meant without having to ask. “I shouldn’t be.”
“So what changed?”
“Because you’re going to prison?”
His dry laugh washed over me as if there wasn’t a phone and a jail separating us. “I’m not going to prison, baby.”
“I’m not your baby,” I argued petulantly.
“You were the last time I had my cock inside you.”
“You’re going to prison,” I repeated.
“Why are you so sure about that?”
“Because you killed them, Keiran.” I stood up to pace the room, trying to get my bearings. You aren’t afraid of him. You aren’t afraid of him. “You’re sick.”
“That may be, but I didn’t kill them.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Why do you care? They wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if it had been you who were burned alive.”
“I don’t think I should be talking to you,” I said instead. He was right, and I hated it, but it didn’t make it okay that they were tortured and killed.
“Why is that?”
“Because I turned you in?” I laughed humorlessly. “Because I’m testifying against you?”
“No you’re not.”
“Oh?” My pacing abruptly ended as I came to a halt in the middle of my bedroom.
“You won’t,” he smugly repeated, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Why are you so sure?”
“How else would you feel me between your thighs again if I’m locked away?”