54. Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Four

Toby

T hree days in a row, the line connects, but no automatic recording plays.

No demands to leave a message. No robot voice greeting me.

"Hey, Mama," I say into the phone with a smirk and a tingling palm.

Silence .

"I know you've been answering me." My grin grows, my dick filling.

More silence.

"I could stay on this phone all damn night. Just stop hanging up on me when I come."

She thinks she muffles the snort, but I hear it.

I've heard it all.

All the way to my balls.

"What would you do if I waited 'til later to rub one off for you?" No response . "Or didn't touch my cock at all?"

I tsk into the mic. "My pristine little Ms. Prune is a voyeur, isn't she?"

I growl into the phone, and Anna squeaks out a tiny sound in response.

My heart pinches. My dick thickens.

"Get horizontal, Anna," I rasp, and a heat blooms behind my ribs. "I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue through this phone."

A whimper, small and almost non-existent, feeds over the line and my dick throbs.

I don't bother tampering my fast breaths as I tug down the waistband of my shorts. There's something that's just so fucking hot about hearing Anna try so hard not to react to me. To this.

To us.

It's inexorable.

We're inescapable.

"You and me, Mama," I breathe into the phone and fist my hard-as-steel dick. "There's no stopping this."

Her tiny gasp nestles its way into my ear and my eyes roll back.

"Now shove those fingers in that cunt and let me hear how juicy it is."

For a moment, it's quiet. So quiet that I pull the device from my head to make sure she didn't hang up on me.

Sure enough, the screen lights up, her name and a picture I found online of her illuminating my face.

Still there.

And that's when I hear it.

The sound of flesh on slicked flesh, and I groan.

" Fuuuuck , Mama …" My balls draw up. "That's me. My dick sliding in and out of that wet cunt."

Anna can shove her face in a pillow, or bite down on her shirt all she wants. Do whatever she thinks stifles the sounds coming from her.

I hear every fucking bit of it.

I stroke my dick, matching the noise.

"Taking you. Fucking you. That's me inside you, Anna." I grip my swollen head to tame the orgasm threatening me too soon. "Making you feel so, so good."

My neck arches back, the muscles taut as chills rack over my skin. "Making you mine ."

Anna makes a sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a moan and I know she's close.

"Spread those legs, Anna," I choke out, my dick's pulse beating against my palm. "Let me come in that cunt and make it mine. Only mine."

There's no mistaking the dampened mewl on her end on the line, no mistaking the way my words do exactly what she needs.

What no one else has done for her.

I gasp out. "Squeeze those fingers with that tight cunt like the dirty girl I know you are."

I'm leaking. So close to busting all over my fist that goosebumps rise over most of my body.

"Toby," she sobs for me in that perfect orgasming cry, and I lose it.

All over my stomach, my chest.

"Tell me you're mine, Anna." I'm dragging ragged breaths in and pushing the negative voices out. "Tell me you'll stay."

The quiet descends upon me once again.

She's going to say no .

Yet, there's five little words that are strong enough to ruin lives and start wars that sit on the tip of my tongue.

"Anna," I breathe out, the weight settling into this silence getting heavier with each second that passes without a response.

I want to tell her.

But there's another four words I've yet to say, ones that stick in my throat like the betrayal that they are.

I lied to you.

She may never forgive me for what I did at the cabin. She may never trust a word I say ever again. May never be able to see past what I've done.

That is what has an ache blossoming in my chest, one that grows with each day that I reach out to her and don't say the words.

I pretend, for her sake, because I want the connection only she can give. I don't want her to stop. To lose her.

I don't want her to hate me.

But is this any better?

"I just wish I could see you," I whisper, the thoughts spoken aloud for her. "Trace the patterns of your freckles with my eyes when you're not paying attention. Feel the strands of your hair slip through my fingers."

Biting my lip, I snatch up the tee I left beside me on the bed and swipe away the mess.

"Hear your voice ... tell me how ridiculous I'm being." There's a faint chuckle that escapes me, but it comes out thick. "Tell me I'm an idiot. Fling that attitude in my direction, shoot fire from your eyes, even though they're as green as precious gemstones. The way they light up …"

I shake my head.

For the rest of what I have to say, I need to be in front of her for. Need to see that light in her eyes flare at me in person for the things I've done.

And for that, I'd be willing to wait a lifetime.

A lifetime of groveling and making up. Building. Learning. Trusting.

A lifetime, nonetheless.

"Two weeks, Mama," I say into the phone, my voice a graveled murmur. "One hour. Fifty-two minutes."