Page 68 of Rituals & Rivalry

“What’s your favorite kink?” she asks.

At this point, I can barely catch my breath. She’s hitting me with confusing, horny blow after blow. “Are we—is that the kind of conversation we’re having?”

“It is. C’mon. Play along.”

I swallow thickly. “You go first.”

If anything, I’m trying to buy myself time. This conversation shouldn’t be so difficult, considering that we’ve already slept together, but there’s a difference between sleeping together and kinks. We didn’t have a chance to explore that.

Is this her way of saying she would want to?

“I like a lot of things,” she says factually. “Spanking. Choking.”

“Oh, gods⁠—”

“What?” She giggles. “Are you not into that?”

I’ll neither confirm nor deny, but I’m guessing our night together may give her some clues as to what I’d like to do. This might not be the best time to remind her of that—or maybe it is, but I’m not brave enough to.

“G-go on.”

“I guess the one I, like, haven’t had a chance to do yet…” Despite all her boldness, she hides her face behind a pillow. “I’ve always liked the idea of waking up with someone’s head between my legs.”

I close my eyes and hiss. My dick responds accordingly, hardening in my sweatpants. “That’s a fun one.”

I would die to have my head between her legs. Any time. All the time. Anything she asks for. Any time of day. I tasted her once, got as much as I could drink down in one night, but it wasn’t enough. I’ve been starving for her ever since, not letting myself taste anyone else for fear that it wouldn’t be as sweet as the memory she left me with.

“Your turn. Please, before I die of embarrassment.”

I rest a hand over my bulge. “I… would like to wake you up like that,” I say slowly, hoping to alleviate her shame. “Your soft breaths turning into little moans. I might like to wake you up with my dick. Spoon you. Slip it between your thighs. You’re not wearing pants, right?”

She lets out a soft whimper and nods.

Maybe I’m pushing this further than I was supposed to, but she doesn’t stop me, and I’m a runaway train.

“Is this what you really called me for?” I stare at her intently through the phone. “Do you need someone to talk you through it? I can do that.”

I can’t believe what I’m suggesting. If she hangs up and chews me out over text, I won’t blame her, but instead…

Her shoulder is moving. Just slightly. And when she speaks again, a single word, her voice is breathy. “Please. Can you, um…”

“Say it.”

“Put your glasses on?”

Oh. As far as her requests go, that one is pretty innocent. I chuckle and roll my eyes, my face warm as I reach for my glasses on my nightstand and slip them onto my face.

“Is your hand already between your legs, Aurora?” I ask lowly.

She nods and whimpers, moving the camera down so I can see where her hand disappears—beneath a baggy T-shirt, right between those thick thighs. Finally, I slip my hand into my boxers.

“Will you touch yourself with me?” she whispers. “Can I listen?”

“I—yeah. Of course, you can listen.”

I fully push my boxers down, my cock springing to life. It’s with mortification that I grab lube from my bedside table to wet my hand and stroke myself, my eyes closing.

The embarrassment disappears when she sets her camera down and shows me everything, lifting her shirt so I can see her generous breasts moving as she writhes against her hand. The dip of her hips. The stretch marks on her belly and hips.