Page 10 of Sweet

“Mantis.” He pauses. “What do you call me?”

“PP.”

“Like piss?” He’s laughing now, and it’s genuine.

“I was thinking more like slang for penis.”

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

He’s trying and horribly failing to stifle his laughter. “When I tell you my name, you must remember this moment.”

“Oh, when?”

“Yes, when.” He takes a deep sigh. “You won’t have to tell me yours, though. Only if you want.”

“I like those terms.” Then I let out the most pleased sigh I can possibly muster. “And I like talking to you.”

“Me, too. And um… I think I would like to call you at night again.” He gets quiet, but when I don’t fill the silence for him, he carries on. “Just to say goodnight, like this.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Goodnight.”

“Night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

And the call ends. Well, this is going along at a nice pace. Me being me, I want to drag it out as long as possible, but that’s not very smart. Nothing good lasts forever. Too bad. After I close the app, I start another internet search. I don’t actually have to be upearly. I can spend all night on this if I want. And I do. Figuring out who he is before he tells me adds a certain thrill. And hewilltell me—sooner or later.

He winds up calling me every night that week, and he always asks first. So sweet. Also, probably horny. The whispery voice of a late-night phone call really seems to turn his crank, even if we only talk about our day and wish each other goodnight. Well, for now. I know that won’t last forever and I don’t want it to, but this is a game where most of my moves will be none at all. Pursuing the object of my desire offers limited satisfaction, since what I want most is tobepursued.

After he gets home from work, he messages to ask me if he can call later. Of course, I say yes. My phone rings while I’m in bed and I am so ready for this. Showtime.

“Hi.” He sounds a bit breathier than usual. Hmm.

“Hey.” Low, barely above a whisper. He likes the feigned intimacy, almost as if we’re lying in bed together. “What have you been doing?”

“Long day,” he sighs. “I have to be up early for work tomorrow, but I still wanted to get a chance to call.”

“I’m glad you did. I like our little routine.” Which is true. “I like thinking about…” And I purposely stop there.

“About?” He believes my hesitancy.

“About what it would be like to be there. Just to see you while you’re sleepy and in bed, all done with the day and relaxing. Makes my night better.”

“Do… you really want to? See me?”

“You could send me a picture of your hand and I’d be thinking about holding it.”

He chuckles but the sounds of him rustling around come across the phone. “Check your messages.”

The shift in his voice takes me off guard. He normally speaks with the same gentle tone: warm yet masculine and always casual. I’m not sure I’d call this authoritative but… a step in that direction. Well, then. I pull the phone away from my ear and… fucking jackpot. Tattoos. Not some random body that could belong to any guy anywhere. Better yet, not so many that the designs blend into each other, but enough to make him extremely distinctive. I save that to my phone so damn fast because I know I’m going to obsess over every pixel later in my search for an identifying feature.

After the initial burst of excitement, I spend another moment taking in the rest of the image. Shot from about the neck down. Decent body. Not that I really care either way. A toned chest, but with the slightest tummy pouch. Clearly in bed, with his dark sheets across his lap and… I see cock. Not full-on and out there. Only the tiniest bit peeking out from behind the sheet on him. Enough to know what I’m looking at while still appearing unintentional.

If it were me, I would’ve done it on purpose. With him, my gut says no. Yet, I’m still too busy processing the change in his demeanor to say for certain. Something that can still somehow manage to take me by surprise makes my cock twitch.

“Send me something back.” His voice has the same quality as before, but this time I hear the actual difference. He’s dropped the sweetness. An inflection I’ve heard so many times in so many good boys. Hell, I’ve done it too, depending on the guy I’m trying to pull.

“You don’t want to see me hard,” I softly chuckle. Not so much because I believe it, but because he wants to hear me thinking that way. He wants the rush he’ll get when I ask if we really should, and he’ll have himself believinghe’sthe one swayingme.

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