17. Sam

After saying goodnight to Greg, I walk into the apartment, expecting Tilly to be up waiting, but she's nowhere to be seen. The door to our bedroom is locked again. Looks like it's the couch for me, as usual. Most nights, we trade-off between the small twin bed and the couch. On rare occasions, I join her in the bed. There's nothing risqué about it. Unless snuggling your best friend like a little sister is something to gossip about. So instead of bothering her, I peel off my dress, trying not to dwell on how stunning Greg looked tonight in his slacks and white button-down. But then, my phone chirps from the coffee table, breaking into my thoughts.

Picking it up, I'm greeted by a photo of Greg lounging on his couch, shirtless, his abs and stomach teasingly on display. ‘Thinking of you,' the message reads. Frustrated, I toss my phone aside, trying not to picture his body in vivid detail—the way his torso narrows into that irresistible V, that hint of body hair leading down to... I shake my head, closing my eyes, almost feeling the texture of his skin under my fingertips.

Why didn't I go home with him again? Something about taking things slow?

But then, my phone chirps again. I can't help it; I roll over and grab it. This time, it's just his abs and the edge of his briefs. He's flexing, clearly trying to show off. With an over-the-top eye roll, my face shifts into a smile, thinking he's got to try harder than that to impress me. Lying on my belly, I prop the phone above and snap a picture back, making sure I look as tempting as possible. There's a secret trick that all women know, and I'm not above using it. I push my elbows together to guarantee my assets are on full display.

The response is almost immediate—a photo of Greg, his hands pushing down his briefs, the outline of him hard and unmistakable. My body reacts instantly, warmth spreading from between my legs. For a moment, the idea of running straight to his place crosses my mind—he's clearly up in more ways than one. But I've made promises to myself, and I don't break those.

Though I remind myself with a mischievous grin, those promises never covered not thinking about Greg or even flirting with him. Touching him is off-limits, but what about touching myself? That's definitely not out of bounds. Energized by the thought, I grab my phone once more, my hand daringly sliding towards the waistband of my underwear. The moment the picture is sent, my phone rings, his name flashing on the screen.

"If you're trying to get me to come over, it won't work." But even as I say it, my own fingers slide down further.

"I don't need you here," he says in a breathy whisper. "I can get you to come without ever touching you." The smooth resonance of his voice makes my throat tighten. An involuntary moan escapes, and he chuckles. "See?"

"Shut up," I say, but my eyes close.

"Why'd you answer if you don't want me to talk?" I don't answer because he already knows what I want. Teasing is part of his game I'm starting to learn. "Sam?" His voice hits that register that makes my insides swarm with butterflies.

"Mmm?" My eyes are still closed.

"If I was there, I know right where I'd touch you," he says. Oh, I know where he'd touch me, too. In our limited time together, he knew how to work my body like seaweed in the current. Ebbing and flowing with me as if he were born just to pleasure me.

"Where?" I ask.

"I'd put those beautiful tits in my mouth," he says. Like a jolt straight through my body, my nipples perk up. "Then I'd swirl and lick and bite until you're nice and wet."

My other hand palms my breast, squeezing like I know he would. "Are you wet, Sam?" The only response I can manage is a moan, but my legs fall apart just enough to allow my fingers to touch where I most need it. Gently, I start swirling my index finger, biting my lip to keep from making any sound. Though Tilly's door is locked, meaning she wants to be alone, there is still a small chance she might emerge and find me so scandalously engaged.

"Sam…" he says, his voice clipped like forming my name is sinful. I can practically see the way his smooth lips would work with his delicious throat to work out the sound. My already wet center pulsed, and my movements turned rougher.

Though it's hard, I find my voice. "I want to taste you."

"Taste what?"

"Your cock, Greg. God, I want it." He growls into the phone. The seductive lure of his voice made it impossible to resist the urge building deep in my belly.

"Are you close, baby? Come for me, Sam." Tingling spread through my body, starting at the base of my spine and shooting to my clit.

As quietly as I can manage, I groan out, "Yes, Greg. Yes." My body is tensing everywhere, toes curling as I rub furiously. All I want to do is yell out or maybe spring to his apartment, but I keep my voice contained as I thrust inside myself. It's like white lightning curling through me, and my head tilts back. Greg says something over the line, but I can't make it out. All I know is his muffled groans grow closer together until he moans out a sound like a lion. All my body relaxes at once, but I draw a few more lazy circles with my finger before pulling my hand away.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. If he's as satisfied as me, he's probably trying to catch his breath.

"Greg?" I whisper. Through the phone, I can hear him panting like he's just finished a marathon, and a slow grin spreads across my face. Yeah, I did that to him. Or rather, we did it to each other. And he was right; he didn't even need to touch me.

"You know I've never done that before. It was kinda fun," he says, a chuckle vibrating through the line.

"Better in real life," I murmur back, but he just laughs.

"You went home, my dear."

I frown, puzzled. "Did I? I'm having a hard time remembering why."

"Because we're taking this slow, Sam. Because you're worth the wait." His sincerity seeps through, making my already warm cheeks burn hotter.

Rolling onto my belly, I kick my legs back and forth in the air, feeling like a schoolgirl sneaking a call with a secret boyfriend. When I think about it, the situation isn't entirely different. Though we've had our fun, I don't want to hang up. "Okay then. Tell me your favorite surf story."

He pauses, lost in thought. "Oh, let's see... It'd have to be the time I skipped school on a Friday and drove down to Mexico with two buddies. Just a bunch of surf bums. My uncle thought I ran away to join the Peace Corp or something."

I can hear the smile in his voice and nibble on my lip. Even without sex, I truly regret not going home with him. Seeing his happy face while he regales me with a story from his youth feels like everything that's missing from my sheltered life.

"Peace Corp? Weren't you a cop?"

His laugh crackles through the line. "Not at eighteen. Truth be told, that dream came much later." There's a muffled sound on the phone as if he's switching to his other ear. "We had beers and a campfire right there on the beach. It was perfect. Just us and the waves. But that's also when I got stung on my ass."

Laughing, I slap a hand to my forehead. "But there's no lifeguards there!"

"Trust me, I know. My whole ass was on fire and my buddies had to carry me back to the hotel. Spent the second night soaking my sore tush in the bathtub under the hottest water I could manage."

Being a surfer means thrill but also danger. Everyone thinks that sharks are constantly looking for their next human snack, but the real everyday risk is stingrays and broken legs from jumping off a board in the shallows. "I've never been stung. Does that make me a kook?"

"It's a rite of passage, Sam! No, this won't do; we need to get you stung and fast."

I shake my head, switching the phone to my other ear. "Just call me a kook ‘cause I'm not interested in that."

"Kooky-Sam. I like that. Can I find you tomorrow for a surf?"

"Nope. We're taking things slow, remember?"

He lets out a sigh and I can perfectly picture the way his brow furrows when he's upset. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

After we say our goodbyes, I let the phone drop to the floor, laughing to myself. I'm completely smitten. He has this way of talking, always finding the right thing to say to make me laugh or feel at ease. No one has ever tempted me with a risqué picture or a voice like sweet, sweet chocolate over the phone. Greg's turning into something I can't quite describe, but I'm quickly growing addicted to. Getting up, I tiptoe to the bathroom to clean up, his delicious abs and beautiful voice still on my mind.