Page 32 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

Feeling lighter than before and with a smile on my face, I hang up. The first glimmer of hope that I've felt in weeks surfaces. The distance is tough, and the media frenzy is even worse, but maybe, just maybe, everything will get easier, even if that seems crazy. For now, that hope is enough to keep me going.

Chapter 26

After a whirlwind 24 hours where I spend every possible moment horizontal with Ziggy, we are once again back to being in separate cities at every given moment. This time, though, it feels different. The distance seems heavier, the silence more pronounced. I start finding more reasons to talk to her than ever before. We start texting more often, and our messages shift from just scheduling our next hookup to talking about our days, sharing random thoughts, and even joking around. It’s strange how easily we fall into this new rhythm, and I find myself looking forward to her messages. It’s become about more than just our physical connection without even realizing it. There is something more, something deeper that I don’t want to acknowledge but am incapable of ignoring any longer.

My texts with Ziggy are increasingly more frustrating. She’s busy, too busy for my liking, and her assignments seem to keep her busier than ever before. But despite the irritation,there is an undeniable thrill in our stolen moments, even if they are just digital. Any free moments I have now seem to gravitate toward Ziggy and trying to make sure she has on as little clothing as possible.

It’s well past midnight when I pick up my phone, the familiar urge driving me to reach out to her. I type out a message, knowing she will probably be annoyed, but I don’t care. I need her.

:Can’t sleep.

You up?

A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with her reply.

Ziggy:What do you want,

Elliot? It’s late.

:You know exactly

what I want.

There is a pause, and then my phone rings. Her name lights up the screen. I answer immediately.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low.

“You know, you could just call at a normal hour,” she counters, her tone laced with exasperation.

“You can call me after midnight any day, Anatife,” I say, using my nickname for her. If she really knew what it meant, she’d be annoyed.

She sighs, but I can hear the hint of a smile in her voice. “What do you want, Elliot?”

“I want you to come for me,” I say bluntly. “Right now.”

“Are you serious?” she asks, but I hear her breath hitch, a telltale sign that she is affected by my words.

“Dead serious. You’re going to come for me,” I command, my voice firm. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good. Put the phone on speaker, and touch yourself for me. Let me hear you.”

There is a rustle of movement, and then her breathy moans fill my ears. “You’re such a control freak,” she mutters, but I can tell she is already giving in.

“Maybe. But you love it,” I say, my hand drifting down to the heavy cock straining against the fabric of my sweats. “Does thinking about me make you wet?”

“Yes,” she replies, her voice full of frustrated desire.

“Good girl. Now ride your fingers, and don’t you dare come until I say so,” I command.

Her whimpers grow louder, and I can picture her sprawled out on her bed, her body writhing in pleasure. The thought of her touching herself to my commands is almost too much to bear.

“Elliot,” she gasps. “Please...”

“Not yet,” I say, my own breathing becoming ragged. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Her husky moans turn desperate. “Please, Elliot. I need to come.”

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