Page 107 of Rewrite Our Story

I bite my lip. Heat passes over my body. There are so many nights I’ve had to touch myself thinking of him. I can’t stop thinking about the possessive way he fucked me in the tack room. Or the way he loved me in the field of marigolds. Or the multiple times he claimed my body in the bedroom. All I want is to feel his touch again, to taste his lips, and finally start a forever with him.

CADE

Settle in, Goldie. There are so many things I’d do…

First, I’d pull your perfect body against mine. It’s been too goddamn long since I’ve felt you pressed against me.

MARE

I miss having your arms around me.

CADE

It’s been so long that I’d run my hands along your body, needing to memorize every perfect curve of you before I do anything else.

I walk to my bed, crawling over the pile of blankets on my mattress until I can get comfortable. When I look back at my phone, I see that Cade has sent another text.

CADE

I’m hard from the thought of even touching you. Fuck, I would barely be able to control myself if you were next to me.

Wetness pools between my thighs. I try to rub them together to get some friction and relief, but it isn’t enough.

MARE

Tell me more.

It feels naughty to be having this conversation with him, but it feels so right. I’ve always loved the filthy things that come out of Cade’s mouth. He’s always so quiet, so careful with his words and thoughts. But when he says something dirty, I can’t help but come apart.

CADE

Touch yourself.

And then I’ll tell you more.

MARE

I can’t…

CADE

Imagine it’s me.

If I were with you, I’d let my fingers trail right above the line of your panties. I’d tease you before touching you.

Tease yourself a little, then touch what belongs to me.

I close my eyes for a moment, wondering if I’m really going to do this. I’ve touched myself plenty of times in my life imagining Cade. But never have I had phone sex. Never have I texted all my dirty thoughts about him.

Turning to face the moonlight that drifts through my apartment window, I snap a photo of myself. I’m wearing a T-shirt—his T-shirt that still smells like him. You can see my nipples peeking through the faded white fabric. My cheeks are red in the photo. I send it anyway, wanting him to know exactly how I’m feeling.

MARE

I don’t know how to do this.

CADE

Pretend you’re doing research.

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