Page 47 of Phantom

I’m so full, and he expects me to write when all I want to do is fuck him. God, I can barely concentrate, even as he speaks in that deep, gravel voice of his.

I need to move, but he won’t let me. And the filthy words pouring from his lips.

He’s. Driving. Me. WILD.

I told Ronaldo that I had never touched myself before, and at the time, that was true. But since then, I’ve done it many times. Sometimes even right next to my husband while he sleeps. I’d reach down into my undergarments and feel how wet I was.

Softly, as to not rouse the man next to me, I rubbed my clit. Thinking of those days where Ronaldo would call me his little whore and fuck me. Whether it was my mouth or my cunt. Or the times he would lick my pussy so thoroughly, I could keep him fed for a week.

It was so hard to stay quiet. Especially when I made myself come, whispering Ronaldo’s name.

It felt so good, but I was always left aching to be filled. My cunt, my mouth, and my ass felt so empty, so incomplete without him.

I never got to finish, he tore the journal out of my hands and crumpled the pages. It was worth it.

I found out it is his thirty-seventh birthday today, yet he was the one gifting me. I felt terrible at first. Of all days, I did nothing for him except make him beg and climb onto his face.

It definitely will not be the last time.