Page 60 of By the Pint

Dima paused, like he was trying to listen out for my thoughts, or else trying to figure out why I’d moaned. “There’s a solid sheet of steel between the drywall.”

Perfect. My thoughts could be as dirty as I wanted. “Okay, well, I’m going to go now and do …that. Goodnight, Di—”

“Wait,” Dima huffed. My stomach flipped with nerves and adrenaline. “Don’t go. Stay there.” He waited a few seconds before adding, “I want to hear you.”

The “Oh gods,” that escaped my lips was a surprise to me. I rearranged the front of my slacks, aching with the need to touch myself, to relieve the agony and burning desperation. Could I really do this? With Dima, of all people, after he told me not to get flirty with him? I hesitated. “Say it again. Tell me what you want.” I needed to be sure I wasn’t about to take advantage of him. That I wasn’t going to be the one to spoil this agreement he made.

“I want to listen to the beautiful little noises you make, and your breath catching in that pretty little way it does when you’re not controlling it. I want to listen to you while you fuck your hand and think about me.”

Yep, that’ll do it. “Let me get my lube.” I crossed over to the bedside table where I’d, rather optimistically, unpacked my lube, and then I ran back to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver. I sat on the leather swivel chair and unbuckled my belt. The noise it made as it fell open sounded obscene in the vacuous silence of the suite.

“Fuck,” Dima said in a whisper. I pictured him in a room identical to this one. Sitting at his desk, idly running a hand over the swell at the front of his trousers. Maybe he already had his cock out, his hand wrapped around it.

We were really going to do this. Phone sex. I’d never had phone sex before. Why did it feel so deliciously naughty?

Slowly, I unzipped my fly and pushed my trousers and underpants down at the front. Cool air enveloped me. My cock was so full, it sat flush against my stomach. Something that hadn’t happened since I was in my twenties.

“Can I touch myself yet?” I asked, because I needed permission.

“In a moment. I want you to do something first.” It wasn’t a question, it was a softly spoken command, and it made every muscle in my body vibrate with anticipation.

“Anything,” I said, realising in that moment it was the truth. I would have given him anything he’d demanded.

“Is there an ice bucket in your room?”

Oh, gods.

I looked around, spotting the small, insulated champagne bucket at the edge of the wide mahogany desk.

“Submerge your hand,” Dima said, making the impossible feat of“give yourself frostbite”sound sexy. “For ten seconds. I don’t want you to lose feeling.”

I dunked my hand into the ice cubes and sucked in a breath. And I held it there until it started to tingle. The ice clinked as I withdrew.

“Good little moonflower,” he said, turning my insides to mush. Before, when he’d called me that, it’d always made me roll my eyes. Now, it made me roll my eyes in a different way. Up to the heavens, and bite down on my bottom lip. “Fill your palm with lube.”

I sandwiched the receiver between my ear and shoulder and squeezed a healthy blob of lube into my hand.

“Okay.” The word barely escaped as I waited for Dima to grant me permission. How long would he keep me waiting?

“Fuck, you are making me fucking wild.” I heard the sound of Dima’s zip being pulled down. I stifled my groan.

“Please,” I pleaded, staring down at my engorged cock. The need for friction was so overwhelming, tears were gathering in the corners of my eyelids.

“Touch yourself, Casey,” Dima said, his voice like sex-gravelled fire. “Wrap your fingers around that beautiful, fat cock. But go slow. We’re gonna make this last.”

I did as he said, gripping myself firmly, and biting back the sheer relief of the contact. The icy cool of my numbed fingers had me almost spilling that instant. An indecently loud whine left my lips. I was sure Dima would have heard it throughthe interconnecting wall. I obediently spread the lube over my length, slowly. So painfully, deliciously slowly.

“That’s what it would feel like to fuck me,” Dima said. A lid cracked open on his end of the line and a squelching sound emitted. I pictured him filling his own palm with lube.

My hand moved of its own volition. I wouldn’t have been able to stop if I tried. Long slow strokes. Deliberate, firm, drawn out. When my fingers met at the top, I squeezed the pre-cum off and dragged it down to mix with the lube. My hips began twitching upwards to meet my hand. Breaths already hitching. Throaty noises slipping out.

“That’s it. Let me hear you whine. Fuck, Casey,” Dima said between groans. And damn it if it wasn’t the hottest thing that this guy, ordinarily all smiles and snarky bonehead quips, became my mega vampire daddy.

I never relinquished control. Always topped. The pace was mine to set. I knew how close the other person was, or not. If the stretch was just right or too much. I could deny them their release, or make them break too soon… But with Dima … Fuck, it was so freeing to hand over everything to him. Every ounce of control.

“Are you touching yourself?” I asked. I needed to picture it properly.

“No,” he said, the word sounding strained. “Technically, I’m not.” He laughed then. “Telekinetic, remember. You’ll have to use your imagination. Can’t even send you a photo.”

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