Page 18 of Frog Hog

“That wasn’t quite a yes or no. Do you want to tell me something? I know we haven’t talked about our pasts.” Divorce. Divorce. Divorce. The dirty d word that has the potential to tell me everything I never wanted to know.

He laughs. And it makes me uneasy. You know how some people laugh to cover a lie? This reeks of a cover up cackle. “You didn’t answer me,” I edge, trying to keep my voice casual.

He shakes his head, sobering from his chuckling. “There’s nothing I need to tell you.” After a long pregnant pause, he says, “Will you take your sweatshirt off now?”

The things Ishouldsay run through my mind, but my hands are quicker. I prop the phone up on the desk and lift the soft, thick hem and pull it over my head. I’m wearing a dark purple thong and nothing else. My head is cut off on the camera, so just my body is on display. Hutch whoops in delight. “I didn’t think you’d be game. This video call was officially the best idea I’ve had all day long.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I reply. “Although, saving your own life by way of parachute may have been the best idea you’ve had today. If we’re being honest.” I’m glad he can’t see my face now—the fierce unsettling feeling has probably taken over my features. I run my hands down the length of my body, grazing the sides of my waist and my thighs. Tucking my thumbs into the strings of my panties I tease them down a touch, but roll them back up quickly.

I watch his face while as I move—sway to some indiscernible beat inside my head. His gaze is intent—eyes narrowed, his lips slightly parted. Turning sideways I lift my arms over my head and continue the soft, sensuous moves. When I’ve turned toward the back wall and my ass is on full display for Hutch, I bend over, slide my panties down to my knees and spread my legs.

Peeking over my shoulder I watch his features change as he gets the full pink stink all up in his face. “I’m not sure what I’ve ever done to deserve this, but thank you, God.” He looks up to the ceiling and then back at me.

“You’re welcome,” I tease, keeping my face out of his view. Hutch groans, a sexually frustrated roar and props his own phone up on a pillow. I’m graced with a full shot of his body. He’s fucking naked. Bare assed on the creamy beige duvet. “You were expecting to have video chat sex, you dog!” I tease.

He clears his throat, but wraps a large hand around his dick. Everything below my waist clenches with desire. “I’m always naked in hotel rooms. Why dirty clothes? I’m in for the night. I’m by myself, and I’m going to bed early. After I jack off looking at you, of course.”

I widen my eyes. “You’re going to sleep naked without me?”

He laughs. I straighten, but keep my ass facing my cell phone. “That’s what you’re concerned about?” he barks.

“What? Should I comment on the fact you’re jacking off to the sight of me? Seems kind of common place, don’t you think?” I smirk, even though he can’t see me. “You prude,” I finish. Now, I’m taunting him—poking the bear with a long stick. I know exactly what needs to happen for Hutch to switch over into his sex-beast mode. The dominant provoked, the sexual aggressor popping in to say ‘hi.’ Unfortunately, I can’t benefit from that side of his personality in person today.

“Bend over and show me your pussy. Spread your ass cheeks. I want to see everything.” This is my chance to control the sexual situation. I haven’t held this much control yet, and I like it. I also sort of don’t want to be in this situation right now. “Now,” Hutch commands, reminding me that while I’m over here contemplating my plan of attack, he’s on the other side of the United States, waiting for me to give him a goddamn show.

“Like this,” I ask, shimmying to one side and then the other. I don’t stop until my panties are down by my ankles. I flick the lacy material off and the purple skank trappers land on top of one of my computer monitors. The idea hits me like a drunk husband, wearing a wife beater, in a rural town in Georgia. “I know what you need.”

Hutch starts working his cock good and fast. I hear the skin sliding against his palm. His breaths come quicker and I love that sound. It’s my personal brand of aphrodisiac I’d choose every single time. “What do I need? Touch yourself,” he grinds out in between clenched teeth.

I bend a little more to put my palms on my thighs and then I twerk. Not the kind of twerk you see in rap videos, either. I’m talking white girl twerking. The kind that happens behind closed doors when you ask your best friend if it’s good enough to show the boyfriend. They tell you ‘no’ and then you practice in the mirror trying to pop your ass.

I keep my gaze focused on the back window, because I know if I’ll see his face I’ll laugh and I want him to think I’m being serious. Jerking my ass to the best of my ability, I try to get it to defy gravity with quick thrusts, but it stays where it’s supposed to, or at least I think it does.

“Are you okay?” Hutch asks, his voice muffled by the speaker of my cell phone. “I mean, I’m not sure how to ask about your well-being right now without offending you.” The silence from his end is what alerts me to the fact he’s stopped jerking off.

Miley has nothing on me right now. “You like that?” I ask, while simultaneously shaking my ass to make it move in something that resembles a twerk.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” he says. I stifle a laugh.

Turning, I look at him, hands on my hips, out of breath. Trying to twerk should be a cardio class at the gym. I bet I’d burn more calories than assaulting the stair climber. I kneel in front of my desk, so my face is on full display. “What? I’m not good at twerking?”

Hutch clears his throat, and adjusts the camera so his cock is out of view and it’s aimed on his face. “You have other things you’re more skilled at,” he states.

I blow a stray hair out of my face. “Twerking to me is what lying is to you,” I deadpan.

The awkward smile drops from his face. “I’m not lying to you. Surely you didn’t need to go that far to prove a point. Especially because I’ll end up with blue balls.”

I nod. “I did have to go that far. How horribly awkward was that for you? For me?”

Hutch chuckles, and closes his eyes. “What do you want, Valen? Cut to the chase.”

I swallow, and lift my chin. “I want an Honest War.”

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