"That's it, baby," he continues, his tone almost soothing, despite the filth spilling from his lips. "Take my cock. Take all of it."
Baby.
My belly flutters, my heart soaring like a fool even though I know it's a runaway utterance. A thoughtless spi...
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Even though my legs currently feel like they have the fortitude of straws, they somehow manage to carry me off into my bedroom. I absently kick my boots off my feet as I put my hair up into a 'pineapple'; a practice that my night-time routine has dictated for the last decade or so of my life.
I change into my pajamas with far more effort than I think a person should require to change clothes. Twenty minutes later, I'm lying in my bed with freshly brushed teeth, an empty bladder, and the world's warmest blanket wrapped snuggly around me. I grab my phone from my purse once more, ready to plug it in to charge, and just as I'm about to, a thought occurs to me.
A thought I almost wish hadn't.
For a good five minutes, I stare at my phone as I contest with myself internally, looking at the screen as if it's the first time I'm laying eyes on it.
I don't want to do it, but at the same time, I want to. I can't seem to convince myself to just put the phone away and go to sleep. I realize I'm fighting a losing battle, and I know I've lost when I end up doing what I wish I had the strength not to.
I Google Dexter Frost.
It's not the first time I'm seeing his public profile online, but it is the first time I'm seeking it out on purpose.
The first time I learned of his existence, it had been by accident. I had just happened to stumble upon his name during my research on cancer when my mother had been sick all those years ago. I already know pretty much everything I need to know about him professionally.
And yet somehow, even though I hate to admit it, I find myself wanting to know more; to know things about him that a search engine probably won't tell me.
God, I really wish he didn't pique my curiosity so much. I wish he wasn't as handsome as he is.
I wish he wasn't married...
Woah, woah, woah! What am I thinking? Why in tarnation am I wishing he wasn't married? 'Cause I'd totally have a chance with him if he wasn't, right? Please. Give me a break.
I realize I need to take a step back...perhaps several steps, actually. I need to not get ahead of myself. I might have honestly imagined the whole boner thing, too. It could have very well been something else in his pocket. I didn't exactly look so I was only reacting based off what I felt.
And I mean, even if it was a boner, it was obviously for his wife. I mean, if I were a guy and had pictures of a woman as gorgeous as that on my desk, I'd probably be sporting a boner all day, too.
After I'm done scolding myself internally, a thumbnail of him catches the corner of my eye. I zoom in on the picture, and for a moment I think I forget how to breathe.
The image of his eyes hit me hard, their intensity as raw and vivid as they had been when I saw them in real life. The sight of their frosty blue color brings back the memory of him and the way he'd been looking at me in his office on Monday. I feel myself getting a bit overwhelmed at thinking about it, and I have to shut my eyes for a moment in an attempt to re-collect myself.
I open my eyes again and Dexter is still staring right at me, his gaze so intense it's almost as if he's prying; as if he's trying to look into my very soul. My breathing is becoming shallow and I abruptly feel something powerful slither down my spine. I'm not sure if it's from nervousness or excitement. Maybe a bit of both.
Before I even realize what I'm doing, my free hand is travelling down my belly and sliding beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms.
I push past my panties as well, my hand slipping under the polka dotted cotton briefs. My eyes never leave my phone screen, never leave the piercing stare of Dexter Frost.
An audible shudder leaves my body as my fingers lightly brush over my clit. Still looking into his eyes, I imagine it's his fingers touching me there. Before I know it, I'm pressing against my flesh insistently, rubbing circles around my now very slippery clit.
The lewd motion creates a stream of sensations that feel unbelievably good, and I can't stop the gasps that are escaping my lips; gasps that I realize are quickly turning into moans.
What I'm doing is wrong. I know that. But I can't bring myself to stop.
I'm rubbing faster, my hand moving over my sensitive flesh in a frenzy without my permission. I push my knees further up to give myself more access to my core, and as I do so, I feel just how drenched my panties are now.
The wet feeling only spurs me on, and I'm panting and moaning as I continue to imagine that the man on my phone screen is the one doing this to me.
I'm getting close, the ticklish sensations quickly turning into hot, prickly ones as the delicious pressure builds in my lower belly.
"Oh God," I moan, fighting the urge to throw my head back, clutching the phone tighter in my hand until my knuckles begin to hurt.
I'm gasping loudly now, panting hard for breath and for a release that I know will knock my socks right off and end with my pajama bottoms drenched as well.
"Oh yes," I cry, feeling the beginnings of my orgasm surface. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—"
All of a sudden, my phone buzzes loudly and vibrates in my hand, immediately stopping my chanting in its tracks and startling me beyond measure.
"Shit," I curse, a frown slithering its way onto my lips as my impending orgasm is stolen from me.
I look at the phone furiously and see that the screen has changed. The sexy image of Dexter has been replaced by a text message from Trixie.
im ok. how'd the hsptl visit go? call u 2morow.
I breathe out, partly in relief and partly in frustration.
"You really know how to pick your timing, Trixie," I mumble in slight disappointment.
It's probably a good thing she texted when she did, though. I know I have absolutely no business whatsoever fantasizing and masturbating to the image of a married man.
I don't even want to begin to imagine what my mother would think of me doing something like this.
I sigh, sinking back into bed and pulling the blanket tighter around me. I force myself to finally put the phone away before I get tempted to finish what I had started before Trixie's interruption.
I really need to not think about him in that way.
I switch the lights off and will myself to sleep, and even in the darkness, I can clearly see icy blue eyes that won't stop staring back at me.
***
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