For A Good Time, Call... (13 page)

“Yes.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Do
you want it soft or hard?” he asked.

“Hard.”
I wanted him inside me rough enough to fucking break the bed. To
break through the goddamn wall. To fall through the floor.

“Good.
Take two fingers,” he said, pausing, waiting for me to get
ready. “and when I said 'now' I want to to shove those fingers
all the way into your pussy. Okay?”

“Okay,”
I said, my fingers poised at my entrance. Waiting. And waiting. He
was stubbornly silent on the other end of the phone for long enough
to have my hips gyrating off the bed, abandoning all pretense of not
being a ball of need.

“Now,”
he finally said and I pushed my fingers deep inside, feeling my
insides grab at me as I thought about his cock. On the other end of
the phone, Hunter let out a harsh gasp as he started to stroke his
cock. “Don't stop, baby. Think of me fucking you hard and fast.
Don't stop.”

I
didn't need any more encouragement than that. My whole body felt like
it was focused on the clawing need inside me. The rush toward
oblivion. The desire to get there as quickly as possible. My legs
pulled together and my hips thrust upward, the palm of my hand
rubbing against my clit as I pushed my fingers harder and faster. I
was loud. So loud that he didn't even need the phone to hear me, but
I kept it to my ear, needing to hear his breathing. “Are you
getting close?” he asked.

“Yes,”
I answered. So close. “Are you?”

As
if answering my question, I heard his head slam into the wall. “Fuck
baby. I need to hear you come for me. Come for me, Fee. Now baby.”

My
fingers plunged forward once more, my hand pressing against my
sensitive clit and I was falling. Falling over the cliff as fireworks
went off somewhere deep inside me. “Hunter!” I cried out,
loud. Loud enough to wake the neighbors three floors below.

“Oh,
fuck, Fee,” he strangled out and his breath caught. “Fuck,”
he ground out as he came. It was the sexiest thing I think I had ever
heard.

I
laid there for a long time, curling up closer to the headboard,
wanting to be closer to him. I wanted him there. Right then. Wrapped
up with me, encircled around me. But I couldn't have that. So I
needed to settle for what I did have. The sound of his breathing on
the other end of the phone getting slower, steadier. The pillow I
bunched up and laid my head across, my hand touching the headboard as
if the wall wasn't there.

“That
was a lot hotter than I expected,” he said suddenly in my ear.
I smiled, turning my face into the pillow. This was the closest to
real intimacy I had ever had with a person. It felt natural. Right.
But at the same time, scary and awkward. “Fee?”

“I'm
here.”

“It's
not usually like that, is it?” he asked after a minute.

It
was cryptic. But I knew what he meant. And a million times... no. It
was never like that. “No,” I said. “Haven't you
ever...”

“Called
a phone sex line?” he asked, sounding amused.

“No,”
I answered quickly. “No. I meant... had phone sex.”

“Nope,”
he said, surprising me.

“You're
really good at it.”

“Awe
made ya feel good, did I?” he asked and I could swear I heard
the smirk through the phone.

“Don't
tease,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I'm serious.”

“I'm
serious too. You cried out my name loud enough for the entire east
coast to hear you.”

“Hunter...”
I warned.

“Yeah,”
he said, laughing. “like that. But higher. More breathy. And a
lot louder.”

“Oh
my god, shut up!” I said, rolling onto my back, smiling at the
ceiling.

This
was the appeal to people. To the opposite sex. To please each other
and then lay there afterward and tease and joke with each other.

“Just
being honest,” he said, trying to sound innocent.

“You're
not exactly quiet when you come either,” I said, rolling my
eyes and he chuckled. “But seriously... you give good phone,”
I said, slipping out of the dreamy romantic feel of the aftermath.
Slipping a little more back into myself. “Want a job?”

“Listening
to dudes jacking off...”

“I'm
sure there are plenty of bored housewives who would like to hear you
as they tap the clit their husbands have never been able to find in
all the years of their marriage.”

“Baby,
I could never make horse noises and slap myself with...”

“A
ruler,” I supplied.

“A
ruler,” he laughed. “Yeah... no.”

“But
that's men,” I said, shrugging. “Women aren't usually
like that. They like the dirty talk and the sweet words. They want
the fantasy.”

“And
men?”

“Men
want the kink. The dirty secret wish they're afraid to tell their
spouses about.”

“That's
actually kind of sad,” Hunter said and I could hear him getting
up and moving around his apartment.

“You
wouldn't believe how many calls pretty much start with an orgasm and
end with sobbing. Either they feel guilty or they feel ashamed of how
filthy their minds are.”

“What's
your favorite kind of call?”

“I
don't know,” I said, moving to hang my feet off the side of the
bed. “I guess the doms. It's nice to not have to do all the
talking.”

“And
your least favorite?”

“The
guys who like being humiliated,” I said, deciding it was the
most honest answer I could think of. Though the animal guys were a
buzzkill too.

“Why's
that?”

“I
dunno... how many times can you tell someone their pencil dick is
pathetic, you know?”

“Are
those the guys who usually end up crying?”

“No,
actually... you'd be surprised. The submissive men, in real life, are
usually very powerful people. Judges. CEOs. That kind of thing. The
doms are generally the weak little milksops you find working behind
the counter at the computer repair stores.”

“Well
yeah,” Hunter agreed. “they cant get laid if they don't
command it.”

“What
are you doing?” I asked hearing a clicking.

“Oh,”
he said, sounding surprised. “You know what? You would probably
like this. Why don't you get dressed,” he suggested. “and
in real clothes. Not in one of those skimpy clubbing dresses you
like.”

“Hey,”
I grumbled, walking over to my closet.

“Not
that those aren't hot,” he conceded. “but put on
something less... binding. Then get that pretty little ass over
here.”

He
hung up and I looked dumbly down at my phone. According to the
counter, we were on the phone for the better part of an hour. I
pulled on a loose white t-shirt and a pair of gray leggings. Which
would definitely classify as binding, but he was just going to have
to deal. Most of my wardrobe was tight.

Blame
the floor-length sack dresses I had to wear until I was eighteen.

I
felt nervous as I dressed, a fluid sensation in my belly. I walked
into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and scrubbing my face. I pulled
my hair into a braid. Then undid it. Then tied it up in a messy knot
and decided that that was going to have to do. I put on a coat of
mascara and some chapstick, slipped into the only pair of flats I
owned, and checked my reflection.

There
was a difference. Around my eyes. Around my mouth. Less of a downturn
to my lips. My eyes less squinted. I looked younger than I usually
did.

Maybe
even, dare I say it? Happy. I looked almost, just barely, happy.

I
knew that was dangerous. I had never even been close to happy, but I
knew it was a shaky ground to stand on. Especially when the happiness
is tied to another person. Because, well, I wasn't exactly a prize
and soon enough Hunter would see that. He would see that and he would
move on to someone with less damage. And I would be left to find the
ground giving way underneath me.

I
would be all the more miserable once I got a taste of happiness and
had it ripped away.

But
that was a problem for future Fiona to deal with. Right then, there,
in that moment, I was going to let myself feel the happy. I wasn't
going to sabotage it. I was going to suck out all the joy I could. I
was going to let it sink into my own bones. To sustain me through the
famine.

And
the famine would come.

But
for right now, I was going to be happy and go see what my gorgeous
neighbor with the best phone sex voice in the history of all mankind
had in store for me.

Fourteen

I
heard her knocking on my door half an hour later. I was glad for a
little time alone. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was a
little more affected by that damn call than I had expected to be. I
thought it was just a clever way to get her more comfortable with me
so maybe we could move forward with a more physical relationship.

I
didn't know what her problem was with sex, but judging by the way she
shoved me away, it wasn't small. The way she had nonchalantly blew
off being attacked outside of our building had given me the awful
idea that maybe that was it. Maybe she was raped. Not wanting sex
would be a normal response to that. As would wanting control...
especially over men. Which, in turn, also explained the phone sex
business.

As
horrible as it was to think that was what happened, it made the most
sense. Especially since she definitely had a healthy sex drive. And
she liked being talked dirty to. Jesus Christ, that moaning...

I
shook my head, cleaning off my new dining table, feeling myself start
to get hard again at the memory.

I
never considered myself a phone sex kind of guy. That seemed to be
for pervs and losers. Or husbands and wives when one of them was out
of town. It didn't seem like something a guy who could definitely go
out and find a girl to take home would do. But with Fiona, it had
been less awkward than I had expected. Actually, it felt like the
most natural thing in the world.

She
was different with me than she was with her other guys. Her usual
callers. With them she was loud, obnoxiously loud. And filthy. Holy
fuck did she have a dirty mouth. But with me she had seemed shy and
uncertain. Maybe because she wasn't wearing her work mask. She wasn't
pretending to be anyone. She was just herself. And while I would
certainly like to get her to use that filthy mouth with me sometime,
I wanted it to be her. Not phone sex operator Fiona.

I
walked around putting things away. I was still working on a lot of
projects, but my apartment was a lot different from the last time she
had seen it. The walls had been painted a warm burnt orange color. I
had made a small round black dining room set, black coffee table, and
bought a black leather couch. It was a bit... man cave-y, but I liked
it. It felt homey. Her cactus was sitting in the center of the coffee
table.

I
walked down the hall, going into my bedroom. I hadn't gotten to this
room yet. The walls were bare, an ugly faded white. My bed took up
most of the floor space, a giant king sized bed in a child's sized
room. But a man needed a good bed. I went into my small closet and
grabbed a gray t-shirt.

Then
I heard her door close. I walked out toward the living room,
expecting her knock. But there was nothing for a long time and I
could just picture her outside the door, arm raised, trying to get
the courage to knock. It was at least a full minute before she
finally did.

“Hey,
Dan,” she said when I opened the door, smiling a little. “You
know... Vermont looks a lot like New York.”

“Fucking
overpopulation,” I said, looking down at her, impossibly sexy
in a t-shirt and leggings. How was that possible?

“Soo...”
she said after the silence drug on for a minute. “Are you
inviting me in...”

I
moved out of the doorway and she walked in, looking around. “You
did a lot of work already,” she said, running her hand over the
dining room table. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah,”
I said, feeling the smallest twinge of insecurity which was
completely ridiculous.

“Wow,”
she said, looking around, her eyes falling on the cactus and a small
smile toyed at her lips. “I really like this color. It's...
cozy.” She turned to me, her big green eyes finding mine. “Is
this what you wanted to show me?”

“No,”
I said, shaking my head and moving toward the hallway closet. I
reached in, grabbing the two metal cases and bringing them to where
she was standing next to my dining room table.

“What's
in there?” she asked, eyeing the boxes.

“My
guns,” I said.

“Your...
guns?” she asked, taking a small step backward, her eyes going
wide.

“Oh,”
I said, smiling. It was easy to forget sometimes that the word meant
something else. “not those kinds of guns,” I said,
clicking open the cases and pulling the trays out. “Tattoo
guns,” I clarified.