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“Fuck.” My hand tightens under the screen. “You naked under there?”

She nods slowly. “Just me and your pillow.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “Pull it down for me. Let me see what’s mine.”

Her gaze locks on mine, and then—slowly, torturously—she lowers the sheet.

And I lose it.

Every breath feels like fire in my lungs.

I ache for her. Physically. Viscerally. My cock is straining, leaking in my boxers, my whole body tensed like I’m about to go to war for her. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, throat dry. “God, Laney… You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bites her lip, her nipples pebbling in the cool air, her chest rising and falling a little faster now.

“Touch yourself for me,” I say, voice dropping into something darker. Possessive. “Nice and slow. Let me watch.”

She moves one hand down, her breath catching, and I nearly come undone just watching her.

Because it’s not just lust.

It’s need.

It’s knowing no one else gets to see her like this. That she’s mine.

And I intend to show her exactly what that means.

She lets the sheet fall, slow and deliberate, baring herself to me completely.

And I swear the world stops spinning.

The breath I pull in feels like it sticks in my throat. My muscles coil, tight and electric. My hand grips the phone, the other clenching the sheet at my side like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

Laney—my Laney—is naked in our bed, looking at me like she aches in all the places I do. Her hair’s a mess, her lips parted, her skin glowing in that low amber bedside light, and allI want to do is crawl through the screen and touch her, kiss her, worship her.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur, voice thick, jaw clenched. “So goddamn perfect, baby.”

Her voice is soft, but heavy with need. “You too.”

I let the phone rest against my pillow, angled just right so I can still see her, every curve, every flicker of emotion crossing her face. My hand drifts low, over the ridges of my abs, down to where I’m already hard beneath the sheet.

She watches me, eyes hungry.

I press my hand to myself over my boxers, just enough friction to make me groan. “You do this to me,” I whisper. “You just have to look at me like that and I lose my mind.”

Laney’s hand traces up her side, slow and teasing, fingers circling the peak of her breast. Her breath hitches. I feel it in my bones.

“You’ve got me,” she says, voice tremulous and sweet and full of so much want, it undoes me. “Even from all the way over there.”

“I want to touch you so bad,” I murmur. “Kiss down your body. Make you come on my mouth, slow and deep.”

She whimpers, and I see her shift, thighs parting just slightly beneath the sheet.

I slide my hand into my boxers, grip firm and hot against my skin, and thrust upward slightly, biting back a moan.

“You touching yourself?” I ask, my voice wrecked.

She nods, breath catching, eyes hazy with lust and love.