Page 122 of Wicked Angel
“Okay, then. I will.” I agreed without even thinking about it, without considering the privacy aspect. As in, I was protective of mine.
Which was interesting on its own. I’d had other girls ask me for pictures. Like, a lot. I’d never sent one before.
I got up and went into my bedroom, laid back on my bed. I didn’t have to do anything to get ready for it. I sent her a photo, up close and personal of my rock hard cock, via text.
“There you go,” I told her, bringing the phone back up to my ear. When she was utterly silent, I confessed, “Believe it or not, I’ve never sent a photo of my dick to a woman before.”
“Why?” she breathed. “You’re not shy.” Presuming, again, that she knew way more about me than she did.
“Not really. But I’m private. And fairly famous.”
“So why would you send it to me but not anyone else?”
“Trust.”
After a moment, she said softly, “More. Please.”
A warm shiver ran through me at her words. “Okay. What do you want?”
“I… I want to listen to you. While you touch yourself.”
Shiiit. This was getting way too hot. Somehow, the knowledge that she was right next door but I couldn’t just go touch her—because she hadn’t said I could—just made it hotter. “You’re killing me…”
“Please.”
I groaned. Now she was begging?
Killing. Me.
“A visual would help.” I told her.
I really didn’t need a visual. But I’d take one if she was willing.
“Of what?”
“Your breasts.” Naked, clothed, playing with her nipples… Whatever she was willing to share, I’d leave that up to her.
She sent me back a pic of her naked breasts peeking out from under her top.My fucking yellow T-shirt.
Was that what she wore to bed?
The adrenaline rush shot straight to my groin. My cock flexed and I smoothed my palm along the shaft. My eyes dragged over the photo, my shirt against her naked skin, the fabric pushed up to show her perfect tits… the creamy-soft handfuls tipped with gorgeous pink nipples I could’ve sucked on all fucking night.
I ran my fingertips up and down my shaft, stroking, then squeezing the head, coaxing out a bead of pre-come.
“Are you…” she said shyly, “are you touching yourself?”
It took me a breathless minute to respond to that. “Yes. Do you like that?” My voice was weirdly gravelly but I tried to sound calm, totally cool, so she wouldn’t think I was judging her or anything. I wasn’t judging. I was losing my mind.
“Yes.” It was just a whisper, and in that one word, I heard the unspoken question.Is that okay?
I swallowed thickly. “You just want to listen?”
“Yeah.”
My pulse was thudding so hard through my entire body I wasn’t sure I should trust my ears. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
