How dare he be so beautiful, so charming, so relaxed.
Calm down, Stella. That’s one thing you might try to do right now if you plan on getting any sleep.
Sighing audibly and nearly trembling with the lustful thoughts swirling around my head, I reach for my bedside table drawer. I place my hand on the pull and stop. Wait. Do I think he…opened this drawer? Wait, no, I asked him and he said no. Surely he was telling the truth. I suck in a breath, pull open the drawer, snatch my vibrator and shut the drawer before I even register whether anything in there has been moved.
If he touched anything in there, I don’t want to know.
When I fire it up and let the vibrations slowly do their thing, I close my eyes and touch my nipples. Massaging each of them into hard little peaks, I find myself moaning in need. And as the pleasure between my legs and rushing through my body grows, I flat out moan his name, not even trying to stop myself anymore from fantasizing about all the things my body wants from him.
“Luke!”
I gasp, fully flushed at the way his name feels on my lips. God, I want to kiss him. Claim him. Wrap my legs around him and squeeze until he begs me for mercy.
Imagining him exploring my heat with his hands, my fingers dip between my folds and play with my clit. My other hand works the vibrator in circles, increasing the waves of pleasure until my whole body feels like it’s radiating heat.
When the orgasm barrels through me, a wild noise escapes my throat that no lady has ever allowed herself to make for anybody in her bed. It’s a loud primal grunt, followed by a long moan as my body twitches in a powerful release. As the surges of relief taper off, something between a laugh and a sob escapes me and I say his name again.
This is dangerous territory, isn’t it? Calling out his name and then whispering it in the afterglow is a sure way to find myself emotionally attached to a person who is most assuredly unavailable.
My vibrator cast aside, I roll over and fall asleep under the heaviest of blankets, purposely creating for myself the illusion that he’s there with me, cradling me to sleep in a giant hug.
Oh boy, am I in trouble.
Chapter Seven
Luke
I can’t believe what’s happening right now.
Let’s review the night’s events, shall we? I arrived home about an hour ago, showered and tried my best to get Stella out of my head. It seemed, though, that I couldn’t. I could still smell her on me. Just from being in her house and touching all her things all day long, she got to me. I laid down on my bed naked and gripped my aching cock. I was going to go slow, but then my phone rang. For a second I thought I was going to have to hit decline, but then I saw it was her. I answered but all I could hear was her breathing. And maybe the phone call was actually a mistake. Maybe I should have shouted out to let her know she’d called me, or hang up to save her embarrassment. But what if she did it on purpose?
Fast forward to the present moment, and I’m sucked in to what I’m hearing.
Soon, her breathing changes. Her voice hitches. Fabric rustles… sheets, maybe?
Holy shit, is she having sex?
Hang up now.
But then I hear the thing that makes me not want to hang up.
My name.
She’s saying my name.
Now it could be that she’s simply having sex with another dude named Luke. But I know that’s not true.
I hear the buzzing.
Shit. She’s playing with herself and saying my name.
Is…is that how she ended up calling me?
How is that possible?
I should hang up now. This is too much.
But instead of hanging up, I play along.
I rub myself up and down. I have to. I’m too hard and achy and my cock responds like a trained animal to the sound of her voice…to the thought that she’s thinking of me while she’s playing.
Oh my god.
I pump and I pump until my eyes roll back in my head and the tightness signals in my lower back that I’m about to nut. I let go as I hear her yell, grunt. Shit, she makes noises like a cavewoman, and I cannot get enough of it.
She’s unbelievable.
I bite my lip and voice my release into my pillow, and then hang up the phone before she realizes what happened.
Chapter Eight
Stella
Five minutes.
That’s how long of a phone call I apparently made to Luke last night.
I don’t remember doing that. It must have been a butt dial.
Then I do the math in my head. I called him…right in the middle of…vibe time?!
Did I accidentally call him when I moaned his name? Is that what happened?
Shit.
A full body, white hot panic hits me like one of those massive dust storms you see in the desert.
Oh no. What do I do?
First, I spring into action and deactivate all the devices in the house. That is it. I’m never using voice commands for anything ever again. My mind races as my feet scamper around the house and my lips whisper prayers to whatever gods and goddesses may or may not exist that Luke didn’t hear me—oh god!—coming.
And then, the doorbell rings.
I peek through the guest bathroom window that looks down onto the front door. Oh god.
Tightening my robe and smoothing my hair, I go to the door, simply deciding to pretend nothing happened.
I beam at him. “Luke! Did you forget something?”
“Stella.”
There’s that soft voice again. Low and soft and making my lips feel parched, and my other lips quiver.
Best to play dumb.
“Can I help you with something? I’ve got to go to work.”
His body weight subtly shifting back and forth there on my front porch tells me he’s torn. Just like me. I’m torn between wanting him to go away as quickly as possible so we can both pretend the accidental phone call never happened, and inviting him in to allow me to jump his bones with wild abandon.
“I, uh…about last night,” he starts.
“Mhmm?” I ask with an air of exaggerated cluelessness that I hope he’s buying into.
“I was hoping you’d give me a chance.”
Swallowing down the anxiety and willing myself not to blush, I say, “What do you mean?”
He answers, “I mean another chance. To help you organize your house. I saw the review you posted and I feel weird about the way we left things. And I really want to help you.”
We stare at each other for a moment, then I bow my head and step aside to let him in. “Help yourself to a yogurt from the fridge if you haven’t eaten breakfast yet. There’s also instant coffee around here somewhere.”
He declines the food, mentioning that he does intermittent fasting and usually skips breakfast. “But I know you’ve got a moka pot in here; no way I’m letting you drink instant coffee on my watch when I can use one of those to make you the real thing..”
I nod, remembering that, of course, he already knows his way around my kitchen appliances. “It was my mom’s moka pot. I don’t know how to use it. But, you’re welcome to it.”
Luke nods solemnly, like he seems to understand what it means that I’m letting him use something that belonged to my parents. It warms my heart to see it.
I watch him move about the kitchen, making me coffee. He really looks at home in my kitchen, in my house. That’s because he is at home, silly.