Short Stories/Romance Concepts

excerpt (nsfw)

This is an excerpt from a personal project I'm working on, but I'm more than happy to share more if you take a liking to it!

Elliot Walker is a British French professor who has recently fallen for his 19-year-old student, the American Jocelyn Davis. There are references to previous moments in their story, so I'll explain them really quickly. Earlier that day, Lynn accidentally submitted a piece of paper with a sketch of him in the margin. Earlier that week, she admitted that his use of the endearment mon cher had caused her to... stay up late with her toys for a few nights.

Enjoy!

I tap on Lynn's contact at the top of my screen and hover my finger over the telephone icon. Shutting my eyes tightly, I press it and hold the cell to my ear.

one ring.
two.
three.

"Hi," she says quietly, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Hi." My other hand has been resting still over the bulge in my boxers, and at her voice, I can feel it twitch beneath my palm.

"What's up?" she asks, so innocently I almost feel bad for getting so aroused.

"I got tired of texting. I'd rather hear your voice," I sigh, rolling over in my bed.

Lynn must have heard the rustling as it triggers a yawn. "Mmh. Me too. Can't think of a better thing to hear before I go to sleep."

Her sleepy flirting hits me harder than I could have expected. I can feel my heartbeat in my cock. "I'm already nodding off," I lie. I'm wide awake, and my right hand is itching to slip into my waistband.

"Mmh," she groans again. It makes me needy. "How was work?"

The small talk catches me slightly off guard. "I mean, you were there?"

"I know, but, like, tell me about your day."

"Uhm... the Latin department head almost hit me with his car this morning. Other than that, the only interesting thing was your drawing."

She chuckles in a tired sort of way. "God, that's so embarrassing."

"Why?"

"I don't like you -yawn- knowing how much I think about you," she sighs, shuffling around in her covers. I can't help but laugh a little, and she groans yet again. "Shut up."

"You just-"

"I know!"

I laugh again. I rest the phone next to my head and close my eyes. "I think about you too, Lynn."

"When?" God, she asks intrusive questions.

"I think about you in the morning, when I wake up. When I go to work. When you're sitting right in front of me," I list, hoping it'll make her open up to admitting when she thinks about me. "Late at night."

"Mmh." She's smiling again. "What do you do when you think about me late at night?"

"You're naughty." I can't ignore my erection anymore.

"Answer the question, Eli."

"I... stroke myself." I cringe when the words sloppily fall out of my mouth, and even more so at the lingering silence that follows. I expect Lynn to ask what I think about or tell me she does the same (wishful thinking), but she shocks me again.

"How often?"

It leaves me speechless for a moment as I realize I'm actually embarrassed to admit it. "Uhm..." The words won't leave my lips.