Bound to You

Chapter 22

The sound of my phone woke me up my first week back at Yale. Luckily, I now had suite mates instead of roommates so there was no one else in my room that could send me dirty looks for getting phone calls at three in the morning.

Your face smiled at me from the screen, and I was grinning before I even hit ANSWER.

"Hi," I said, whispering across the line to you. "Why are you calling so late?"

You sighed. "Because I've only just left the hospital. There was a crisis, a man who just lost his wife. I stayed to help. But I wanted to hear your voice."

"Here it is," I said, trying to sound like I was fully awake.

"I'm sorry," you said immediately and I heard the sound of your car starting. "I woke you. Go back to sleep."

"No no no no no," I said, rolling onto my back and taking a deep breath to help wake me up. "I'm awake. Just keep talking. The sound of your voice always makes me feel good."

You chuckled. "What do you want me to say?"

My eyes popped open. "Tell me what you'd do to me if I was with you right now."

There was a pause, and I knew you knew what I meant. Finally, slowly, you said, "I suppose, if you were here, I'd pull my car over, lean across the seat, and kiss you."

My skin went warm. "Just kiss me?"

I could hear you let out a heavy breath. "I'd touch you." It was so quiet between my silent suite and neither of us speaking that I could hear your hands on the steering wheel, turning it, the leather condensing under your fingers. It made me hot. I slipped my hand under the blanket and down into my underwear.

"Where?" I asked breathless, and I heard you let out a shuddering breath.

"Lena," you groaned. "I can't do this."

"You can't touch me? Not even a little? I guess I'll just have to do it for you." As if you could see me, I slid my fingers along my wetness, imagining it was you.

You groaned again. "I'm driving, and I'm hard as a fucking rock, and I swear to God, I want to drive to New Haven right now."

"Tell me where you'd touch me." I wasn't going to relent. I wanted to hear you say the words. I wanted to hear your voice saying dirty things the way I'd always imagined. "Tell me."

You let out a little growl, and I swear I almost orgasmed from the sound alone. "I'd touch your breasts."

I gasped and pressed two fingers into myself. Oh God, I wasn't going to last. "Yeah?"

"I'd pull your top down and lick them, bite them, suck on your nipples."

"Oh God, John."

I heard a strange sound on your end, almost loud, and my fingers stopped. "What was that?"

"I've just pulled into my driveway. Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes," I gasped and imagined what you were doing, even as I could hear it: unbuckling your seatbelt, undoing your jeans, pulling out your cock. My body ached with the need to see it.

You gasped, moaned, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to watch you stroke yourself, wrap my hand around you, my mouth. I'd never done that for anyone before.

"Tell me what you'll do to me, John. Please. Oh God, please!"

"I'd pull you into my lap. I'd bite one of your nipples when you sunk down on me. I'd bury myself so deep inside you, you'd forget your own name."

"Fuck, yes. John, I'm close."

"I want to hear you come," you said, but it wasn't your words that finally pushed me over the edge. It was the sound I heard in the background, of skin against skin, and I imagined it. You, sitting in your driveway, your hand wrapped around your cock, jerking off to my voice, the image of me on top of you, fucking you.

I tried to be quiet when I came. I didn't want to wake my suite mates. When I was done, boneless, exhausted, I listened to you, still breathing hard on the other end of the line, still stroking so hard I could hear it.

So I helped you along.

"Come inside me," I whispered into the dark.

On the other end, you groaned loud and I closed my eyes and wished it was all true, that you were holding me while you came inside me, pumping so hard that I might even come again.

"I can't wait to do that with you at Thanksgiving," I said smiling up at the ceiling.

There was silence for a moment. "Actually, I won't see you at Thanksgiving."

My bliss faded. "Why not?"

"I'm going to spend the holidays in London with my mum. But I'll be back after New Year's. Promise."

"No New Year's kiss?" I asked, certain I could hear my own heart breaking.

"I'm sorry, Lena."

I sighed and tucked the phone between my head and my pillow, barely able to keep my eyes open. "It's okay. Tell your mom hi for me."

You chuckled. "I will. And I'll be here. You can call me any time."

I heard rustling and then you said, "Just maybe don't do this every time I call. My neighbors will call the cops if I'm constantly jerking off in my car at three in the morning."

I laughed and listened as you went inside, undressed, got ready for a hot shower.

"Call me tomorrow?" I asked, listening to the water run in the background.

"Yes. Good night, Lena."

"Good night, John."