Her phone beeped, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the picture he’d sent and started to shake. Oh my God. James was shirtless, wearing only those goddamn jeans she couldn’t seem to get enough of. And they were unbuttoned—a clear invitation if she ever saw one. An invitation she desperately wanted to accept. “Damn, James. Somebody taught you how to selfie.”
“Maybe I’m a natural.” His voice was little more than a growl. “You started this, lovely. Tell me what’s next.”
The strange mix of command and handing her the reins got her head back in the game. She walked over to her bed and climbed onto it, trying to ignore the trembling in her legs. She could be in charge. She wanted to be. “I’m lying on my bed.”
“What color are the sheets?”
The question seemed to carry far more import than it should. “White.”
“They don’t suit you. Red is your color. Go on.” He sounded so damn imperial, as if he actually knew her. He didn’t. No one did, really. She wore so many masks, sometimes she worried she’d forget the woman at the center of them all.
But this time he was right. She would have chosen red for herself.
Carrigan put the thought away and focused on the now. “You talk too much.”
“My mistake.” He didn’t sound the least bit sorry. Good. She wasn’t, either. “How do you want it, lovely? Rough, I’d bet. You’re not fucking breakable, and I think you love to be reminded of that fact.” Something rustled on his end of the line. “Close your eyes.”
She obeyed without thinking, and then instantly snapped them open. “I thought I was in charge.”
“You let me know if I get something wrong.” His laugh told her how unlikely he found the possibility. “Close your eyes.”
“Fine. Fine.” Shutting out the sight of her room narrowed her world down to his voice in her ear, and it was all too easy to imagine him here with her, a single breath away from touching her. Any second now he’d reach out and haul her against him.
“I’d drag you to the edge of that bed and spread those sweet thighs. Spread your thighs, lovely.” Once again, she obeyed without thought. James hissed out a breath. “I like the picture you’d make, those amazing breasts straining against that pathetic excuse of a tank top, and those tiny panties. I want to rip the fucking things off. But not yet.”
She was picturing it, too. Picturing him standing over her, with that look in his blue eyes—the look that made her feel possessed…owned. Like he’d never get enough of her and he never wanted to. He’d looked at her the same way on that night four months ago, when he’d been buried inside her. She shivered at the thought, her breath catching in her throat, her nipples pebbling.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that. But a pussy like yours…it’s meant to be worshipped. You’d take me to my knees, ready to do damn near anything to hear that sweet little whimper you make when you come. Touch yourself, lovely. Slowly. Trace a single finger over that goddamn lace. Are you wet for me?”
Her panties were soaked. Carrigan moaned as she traced her clit through the wet fabric. “James, God, I’m so wet.” She hesitated, desire dragging words from her mouth she had no intention of letting free. “For you. I’m wet for you.”
“And needy. I hear it in your voice.” It was in his voice, too.
They were poised on the edge of something she had the sudden fear she couldn’t take back. It was silly—they were miles away from each other, connected only by a phone call. She had control. And if she could feel it slipping through her fingers…well, James never had to know. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Lovely, I’m so hard, it won’t take much to get me there.”
She slipped her hand into her panties, stroking herself. “I’m close, James.” Every time she said his name, he made a sound that was almost pained. She liked it. She liked it a lot. “Come with me.”
“Circle your clit, just how you like it.” He cursed long and hard, but she heard a zipper being dragged down.
She obeyed, moaning, the sounds of his desire only stroking hers higher. “You’re close.”
Another curse. “Come for me, lovely. I want to hear that whimper.”
She pressed down on her clit as her body spasmed, that horribly weak and needy sound coming out of her mouth despite her best effort to keep it inside. She stroked herself twice more, unable to resist the delicious aftershocks of pleasure, and then dragged her hand out of her panties. “Shit.”