The room is filled with steam as I lie back in the deep bath. I’m so aroused, I might orgasm when the phone rings… and right on cue, it does.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Are you in the bath?” he asks seductively.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Are your legs open?”
Just get straight to the point, why don’t you? My eyes close. I’ve never had anyone talk to me like this before. It’s insane.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Run your fingertips down over your stomach.” I can tell he’s already aroused too.
“Did you call to talk dirty to me, Mr Spencer?” I tease.
“Shut up and fucking do it.”
“Is that filthy mouth of yours always so bossy?”
“Angel, you have no idea.”
I smile and I dust my fingers down over my stomach.
“Tell me what you feel?” he asks.
Oh God…
“My skin.”
“Is it soft?”
“Yes.”
“Lower.” He exhales.
I drop my fingers between my open legs.
“Circle your four fingertips over your clitoris.”
I shudder, because just hearing him say that heats my blood. No man has ever spoken to me like this. I do as he asks, and I close my eyes to let the pleasure take over.
“Imagine it’s me who’s doing it. My open lips are on your neck.”
My head falls back.
“Talk to me,” he whispers through ragged breaths. “I want to hear your voice when you’re aroused.”
My fingers get to work, and I moan softly, my legs parting wider, seeking his invisible touch.
“Hmm, fuck yeah.” He hisses.
I smile at the arousal in his voice.
“Are you going to come for me, angel? Because I’ve been coming for you for two weeks.”
“Hmm.” I smile, my eyes still closed.
“I’ve had to imagine I was with you during sex or I couldn’t come.”
What?
My eyes snap open. “You imagined you were having sex with me when you were inside another woman?” I snap.
“Oh… shit… I mean…”
“You’ve had sex with someone else since we met?”
“Ah…” He hesitates as he tries to get himself out of this. “So… so did you, Charlotte,” he stammers. “Did you imagine it was me?”
My blood begins to boil. “No, Spencer. I did not.”
“You should have. I’m way better in bed than him.”
I get out of the bath in an instant. The water sloshes all over the floor. “No, what you are is an idiot!” I snap.
“I know. Wait. What are you doing?”
“Ending this call.”
“Don’t hang up on me,” he pleads.
“Go and do what you’ve been doing with the others.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagining having sex with me is as close as you’re ever going to get. You big, stupid jerk.”
I hang up, wrap myself in a towel, and then I storm out of the bathroom.
The man is a first-class idiot.
* * *
I watch my phone dance across my side table while I lie in bed.
It’s late on Thursday night now, and Spencer has been calling me non-stop since our disastrous call on Tuesday.
I don’t want to answer. I mean, what is there to say?
While I’ve been pining over here for him, he’s been out screwing around, imagining my face when he was with someone else.
I’m shocked and appalled, but if I’m being totally honest, a little relieved that he had to imagine me to climax. That’s God punishing him for being such an asshole.
And why does he have to be so damn honest all the time?
It’s infuriating.
Beth thinks I should speak to him, and that in his eyes, I have double standards because he thinks I slept with someone else, too. She thinks I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe I am.
But maybe I’m just not cut out for casual dating, and this was just the gentle reminder I needed. He had me naked in the bath touching myself, for Christ’s sake. Talk about being putty in his hands.
The phone stops vibrating, and I stare at the ceiling, a sad, dejected feeling sweeping through me. I feel like I’m back to square one with him-below square one, because now I know he’s having sex with other women.
Maybe I should have answered his call and had it out with him. Perhaps it would make me feel better?
I exhale heavily and pick up my phone to start scrolling through Instagram when the phone starts to vibrate in my hand again.
I stare at it for a moment.
Screw it. “Hi,” I answer.
“Are you fucking serious?” he snaps.
I stay silent, unsure what to say.
“Okay, firstly… don’t you dare hang up on me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Secondly, yes, I am well aware that telling you I imagined you during sex was probably the stupidest thing to ever come out of my mouth.”
“Who was she?”
He hesitates.
“I want to know who she was.”
“Her name is Sheridan, and she’s an old friend. She lives in America.”
I get a vision of a beautiful woman with my Spencer, and jealousy twists in my stomach.
“You know her well?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I don’t know if I want to know the answer to this question, but I ask anyway. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”
“Do we have to talk about this?” he asks.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you want me to listen to what you have to say.”
“Ten years.”
My eyes widen and my stomach drops.
“It’s never happened before,” he says softly.
“What hasn’t?” I frown.
“I’ve never thought of someone else when I was with her.”
I stay silent, waiting for him to go on.
“I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“Do you think of other women often when you’re having sex?” I ask, confused.
“God, no. I’ve never done it, I just told you. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s constant, and it’s driving me fucking insane to be honest.”
I twist the quilt between my fingers. “So, Sheridan is your girlfriend who lives in another country?”
“No, she’s just a friend.”
“Who you have sex with?” I’m trying to understand the dynamics of their relationship.
“In the past, yes.”
“What about your future?”
“Charlotte, the only person on my mind at the moment is you. If I were with you and it bothered you, I wouldn’t be with anyone else.”
If it bothered me? What the hell?
“It would bother me, Spence, of course it would bother me. I don’t like to share.”
“Then you won’t.”
I get a lump in my throat, and I want to believe him.
Silence hangs between us.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m on a yacht, sailing around Ibiza.”
I smirk at the make-believe games he plays. “Yes.”
“And I’m working out a plan to come and kidnap this girl in London who I’m obsessed with.” His voice has dropped to his playful tone.
“What are you going to do with her once you have her?”
“What wouldn’t I do with her, if I had her.” He breathes out heavily.
I smile softly.
“I’m sorry I thought of you while I had sex with someone else,” he tells me. “It wasn’t fair.”
I frown, and for some stupid reason, my eyes fill with tears. No, it wasn’t.
“I won’t do it again, angel, I promise.”
I listen.
“Can I see you?” he asks.
“Erm.” I run through my schedule in my mind. “I have something on tomorrow and Saturday night,” I tell him.
“Sunday night?”
“We’ll see.” I sigh.
“Lottie.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever felt like you know someone better than you actually do?”
I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile. That’s exactly how I feel with him, and I don’t know where this attachment to him is coming from because it shouldn’t be there. I really don’t know him at all. After a pause, I reply, “Perhaps.”
“I’ll see you Sunday then?”
“Yes.” I find myself smiling like a fool.
“What am I going to do with myself ’til then?”
“Why don’t you have a bath and spread your legs.” I smirk.
“Already done that. My dick is chaffed from jerking off to thoughts of you.”
My mouth falls open. “Spencer Jones, you are the crassest man I have ever met.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And I’m not crass, I’m just honest.” I can tell he’s smiling.
“Goodbye, Spencer.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come over here and make up in person?”
“I’ll see you Sunday.” I smirk.
“That you will. I’m excited to see you.”
I don’t really want to say goodbye to him. Making up with him in person does seem like way more fun than this. We both stay silent and eventually I have to end the call.
“Goodbye, Spencer,” I eventually force out.
“Goodnight, angel. Dream of me.”
The line goes dead, and I smile goofily into the darkness.
I have no resistance to this man. None.