"Damn it. I can't seem to get it up and working," Tom said, "Oh, God. I'm sorry, darling. This has never happened before."
"It's fine, love," I answered, " We can just talk."
"I don't want to just talk. I want to see you," he complained into the phone.
It was hard on both of us when Tom was on location. Dating an actor presented a few challenges: long stretches of time spent apart, fans - male and female - throwing themselves at him, threateningly gorgeous co-stars. We were leaning how to make it work.
For now, Tom was intent on getting Skype to work.
"Damn. It won't load. What time is it there?" Tom asked.
"Eleven p.m."
"Shit. You've got work tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course."
"And I have to be on set in," he paused, checking his watch, I was certain, "seven hours. Fuck. Why won't this work?"
"It's fine," I repeated, "We'll talk. The wifi signal might be stronger tomorrow."
Tom sighed. I heard the rustling and creaking sounds of him getting situated in his bed. I was in my own already.
I heard him sigh. "So what are you wearing?"
I laughed, "Slow down, cowboy. Let's get caught up first."
"Alright," he said, "how was your day?"
"Good, and your day?
"Great. What are you wearing?"
"Tom, behave yourself."
"Ah, playing hard to get, I see. I do enjoy that game."
I could hear the mischievous smile in his voice. His already appealing accent took on a seductive timbre. He was intent on his goals tonight.
"How was filming today?" I asked.
"Fine," more jostling sounds came from his end.
"Tom?"
"Ehehehe. Sorry. Just taking off my shirt."
He let out a soft grunt.
"You alright, love?"
"Yes, of course. Long day, I suppose, and missing you terribly."
I smiled, "Well I'm here now, and all your's."
"Mmmm. What a tempting thought," he spoke with that low, sensual tone again, I felt his voice vibrate all the way to my core.
"Are you trying to get me into bed, Mr, Hiddleston?"
"Aren't you already in bed?" he asked.
"Yes."
"So it's working, then," he quipped.
I laughed lightly, trailing my fingers up my bare thigh, "I'm afraid I'm not much of a challenge."
He exhaled audibly, almost a moan, "You are exactly the right amount of a challenge. So...."
"So..." I sighed.
"Are you going to answer my original question? Or should I fill in the details with my imagination?"
"What question is that, love?"
"What .. in the hell .. are you wearing?" he pleaded, his tone quiet yet gravelly. I was instantly reminded of his mouth next to my ear, his lips gliding along the column of my neck, his hands busy unfastening whatever clothing that was acting as an unnecessary barrier between our naked bodies.
