Page 86 of Champagne Fizz

“I— I— want my hands to be your hands right now,” I admit. “I want to feel how big you are. And then, I— I want to get on my knees and take you in my mouth.”

He growls, and I wonder if he’d make that sound if I slipped him between my lips? Or would it be even hotter? More wicked?

“Your mouth is sinful,” Simon confesses, “and we’ll get there. I promise.” His breaths are thick. “But Kendall, you know, I’m going to taste your pussy first, and when I find your clit—”

“On my—!”

My fingers trace over my wet seam, searching for that sensitive bud, and gasping. I imagine the wicked caress is his tongue sliding through my folds, his lips prying me open. “I’m— I’m—!”

I hear him groan loudly and it pushes me over the edge. My pussy trembles against my fingers and my inner muscles clamp.

“Simon! I’m—!”

I hear him touching himself as I start coming. I don’t muffle my cries as the intensity peaks. He’s softer, more guttural and raw—he’s coming with me—and it’s the sexiest thing in the world to hear him work through his pleasure.

“I can hear you coming!” I exclaim, wanting him to know I can’t get enough of the sounds he’s making.

“Just you wait till you can feel me inside you when I come.”

“Oh!”

I push my fingers inside my throbbing pussy—and I see scarlet. I see starbursts and heat blasts and sunshine.

Simon’s cock will be bigger, harder, and more full than my fingers. His cock will make me pass out—because it won’t just be my pussy swallowing his incredible thickness—it will be his hips thrusting, and our skin slapping against each other, and his mouth sucking on my tits. It will be—

“Simon! Simon!”

I gasp and writhe and pump against my hand until I can barely breathe.

“Oh Kendall, yes!” I hear him praise. “I wish I was watching what you’re doing to yourself right now!”

“I’m—” I can’t even tell him, I just keep thrusting my hips and feeling the friction against my fingers as the sensations turn me into a sparkler burning.

If he was here—watching.

If it washisfingers I was thrusting upon.

“Simon! Oh, I want you—! Oh God!”

I’m swearing.

I’m coming.

I’m out of control.

Simon listens as I pound through each wave. He listens and doesn’t say anything as I gasp and let go, slumping into the couch when I’m finished.

I can’t believe I just had phone sex with Simon.

I try to regain my breath, my brain, my sanity.

Not just phone sex—but wicked, naughty, hotter-than-Satan phone sex.

And holy hot dog, it’s empowering.

“This was— that was—” I gasp for air. “That was … swell,” I manage, exhausted.

“Swell?” Simon challenges. “Trust me, Kendall, nothing about that wasswell. Or if it is, then I’m not going to survivegood, orexceptional,orout of this world.”

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