“Who said I needed to?”
“What?”
“Spread your legs, babe.”
“What?” I repeated in a breathy rasp.
“Spread your legs,” he said, slow and deliberate.
My brain short-circuited. Was I going to do this? I’d gone on a date with someone else. Granted, it was never going to go anywhere else. There would never be a second date. But I’d sworn off Hollin Abbey after the concert. Except, God, it was so hard. I wanted more of what he was offering. My brain kept shutting off and only listening to what was pulsing between my legs.
“Now,” Hollin said.
It was a command. There was no question in his voice. No room for disagreement. I could try, but, fuck, I didn’t want to.
So, I slowly spread my legs under the covers.
“Piper?” His voice returned to a gentle coaxing. “Did you do it?”
I closed my eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
“Good. That’s a good girl.”
I huffed at the words. The ones that I’d loved so much after we had sex last weekend. And now, here I was…wanting to hear them all over again.
“Imagine my hands are running down your body, over your tits, down your stomach.”
I put Hollin on speaker and did as he’d said. I touched myself where he’d told me to touch, and with his voice in my ears and my eyes closed, I could almost feel his hands on me and not mine.
“Slip into your panties,” he said, “and tell me how wet you are for me.”
A groan escaped my lips as I ran a finger through my slicked wetness. “So wet.”
He grunted, and for a second, I imagined him in his own bed at home, his giant cock out of his jeans, his fist wrapped around it. The fierce pumping as he worked himself up to meet the sound of my moans.
The thought turned me on even more. I’d replayed what we’d done a lot, but I hadn’t considered him jacking off to the memory of me bent over for him.
“Tell me how you get off when you’re alone,” he told me.
“I…” A flush hit my cheeks. “I work my clit in slow circles.”
“Yes,” he said as I did exactly what I’d told him.
“I slip a finger in and out of my pussy to build up the pleasure.”
“Do it. Imagine my fingers thrusting into you.”
My head tipped back as I used my own fingers to draw me closer to climax. “I think about you holding me down.”
A thud on the other side of the line. “Fuck, Piper.”
He sounded breathless. As if we were in the same room, breathing the same heated air, drinking down the same euphoric energy. Everything in me wanted to release for him, wanted to feel his fingers inside of me, his mouth on my clit, his hand braced against me.
“What do you think about?” I asked boldly.
“You begging me not to take you slow.”
I moaned at the words as everything drew in sharper.
“Me slamming my cock deep into your pretty pink pussy.”
I picked up speed to match his filthy words. If I didn’t have his voice in my ear, I would have pulled out my vibrator and fucking finished it already. I would have wanted the sweet release. But with his gravelly voice and the soft smacking sound of him working his cock, I couldn’t help but want to drag it out. To feel like he was actually there, holding off my orgasm until he said I could have it.
“Your handprint on my ass?” I asked in a half-gasp.
“Fuck yes, babe. Fuck,” he said. “I don’t want you to be able to walk for days after I’ve finished with you.”
I worked faster and faster. Something peaked inside of me, and everything was hazy. My orgasm came harder and faster than I’d expected it. I couldn’t even stall it out. It was a tidal wave. Everything in me contracting and releasing all at once.
I moaned out my orgasm as I came undone.
“Oh fuck, fuck,” he said. “Did you just come?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
And then I heard him grunt on the other line as he came undone. We weren’t in the same room. We were miles apart. And yet it was like having him emptying himself inside of me all over again.
“That was…wow,” he finally said. “I came hard.”
“Me too,” I whispered, slow and sleepy. I crashed back on the bed, curling into a ball. Sleep crept up on me out of nowhere. I hadn’t even been tired before.
“You sound tired,” he said.
“Mmm.”
“Did I fuck all the anger out of you again?”
I merely swatted at him as if he were there and not on the other end of the phone. “Shush you.”
He laughed softly. “Good. You’re my good girl. Now, get some sleep. Dream about me.”
I didn’t even have it in me to contradict him. I was definitely going to dream about what had just happened.
Part III
I Hate You, I Love You
18
Piper
Hollin was a problem. I hadn’t heard from him since our phone sexcapade, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. In fact, I couldn’t stop dreaming about him. As if his last command had lingered long past that first night. Hung on by a thread strung between us that I didn’t understand in the slightest.
I’d done everything that I could to not think about him. I’d gone for a run with Blaire, who’d looked at me like I was nuts since I hated running. I’d worked myself to the bone. I’d even volunteered to handle the weekly booth at the Lubbock Farmers Market.
Sinclair Cellars had a permanent booth at the market. Usually, we rotated who was in charge of it. We each took a weekend and blocked it out on the calendar. But when one of our workers, Eliza, had tried to get out of going so that she could see her boyfriend in Amarillo, I’d jumped at the chance to do anything but sit around and obsess all Saturday morning.
Eliza had promised to take one of my shifts to repay me. My dad had asked me if I was feeling well. I’d ducked my head and acted like everything was fine. I couldn’t explain anyway.
So, that was how I was standing in the brisk April morning weather with a Sinclair Cellars jacket tight around my shoulders, waiting for the sun to break through the unusual morning clouds. Lubbock had sunshine ninety percent of the year, and I never looked forward to the weird gloomy weather in the spring.
The best part of working the booth though was seeing all my friends and regulars of the winery. We brought six of our most popular wines—three red and three white—and gave out samples all day. People stopped by for tasting and to purchase wine and Sinclair Cellar apparel. Today, of all days, Peter had agreed to show up to help me.
“You never work the booth,” I accused.
My twin brother rolled his eyes. “I do, too.”
“When?”
“When Dad makes me work it with him.”
I snorted. “Naturally. So, why are you here today?”
“Dad made me work it with you.”
“Of course he did.”
“Hey, haven’t you missed me?” He hip-checked me as he pulled out another bottle of our merlot, uncorking it like a pro.