Page 84 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?

Shifting on my bed, that ever-present ache between my legs became impossible to ignore.

"Touch yourself for me," he said. "Just over your shorts. Tell me what it feels like."

"Tristan—"

"Baby. Please." His voice dropped, so intimate to my ear it was like he could see me, like he was right there beside me. "I still remember how wet you were for me that night, how I'd barely touched you but you were already soaked."

Oh, my word.

"I bet you're wet now too, aren't you?"

Pressing my fingertips to my center, I closed my eyes. He was right. I could feel it even through the layers. Wow.

"Yes," I whispered.

"So do it. If not for me, for yourself. Touch that pretty pussy for me, beautiful."

He had me so turned on, I was willing to overlook everything and simply do as he said, the most primitive part of my brain the only thing operating in my head.

There was a rustle on his end of the line, the kind of sound that made me imagine him shifting in his bed, hand slipping lower.

"Are you touching yourself?" I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

"Yeah," he rasped. "My cock's in my hand right now. So hard it hurts."

Something hot and sharp sliced through me at the image. Tristan—shirtless, sprawled in his bed, his hand wrapped around his cock—stroking it to the sound ofmyvoice.

That did it. I couldn't hold out any longer. What could it hurt? It was all part of the plan, right?

Sliding my hand inside the waistband of my flannel pajama pants, my fingers brushed the slickness there, a gasp slipping out of my mouth.

"Fuck me," Tristan groaned. "That sound. You made that same exact sound when I kissed your thighs, when I licked that sweet pussy of yours, that perfect clit."

My breath came out in a rush, no words forming in my mind.

Another shift, and then a low moan—raw, unfiltered. "God, you have no idea what you're doing to me, baby. I'm leaking already. All over my hand."

My legs clenched involuntarily. I could hear the slick sound of him stroking himself—slow, wet, agonizingly steady—and the low curse he muttered under his breath as I whimpered.

"Keep going," he said, his voice hoarse now. "Touch yourself. Imagine it's me. My tongue. My fingers. I'd start slow. One finger inside you... then two... while I suck on your clit just how you like it."

I whimpered again, already moving against my own hand, hips lifting, need spiraling higher and higher.

"I want you to imagine me in bed," he said, his voice now a growl, dark and unhinged. "Sheets pushed down, hand around my hard cock, stroking slow, because I want this to last. I want to comewithyou."

Biting my lip, I did my best to slow down. "I'm already so close," I whispered. Alarmingly close.

"Jesus." A rough inhale. "Draw it out. Let me hear it. Imagine what I'd do to you if I was there."

My free hand gripped the sheets.

"I'd spread those gorgeous legs," he went on, his voice strained. "Put your knees over my shoulders. And I wouldn't fuck you right away. No. First I'd take my time... tease that pretty pussy with my tongue until you begged."

"Tristan—"

"And when you were shaking and soaking wet for me, I'd finally slide inside. Slow. So damn slow. Inch by inch, until I bottomed out."

The whimper that left my mouth was practically a sob.