Page 85 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?

"I'd stay buried there," he rasped. "Just to feel your walls clench around me. I bet you're tight right now, aren't you?"

"Yes," I gasped. I was spiraling. So close. Every nerve ending tingled. "God, yes. Please..."

"I'm picturing your tits. The way they bounced. The way you sucked your own nipple. My God. Remember that?"

I whimpered, my fingers moving faster against my throbbing clit. "Yes."

"Say it again."

"Yes," I moaned. "I remember. I remember everything."

"You were so fucking tight. I had to hold myself back from coming the second I slid into you."

Another sound—this one more desperate. I imagined his hand fisting, muscles straining, the head of his cock glistening, pulsing. Just like it had that night.

"I remember the way you tasted," he said, his breaths coming fast. "I can still feel you from the inside. I've thought about it every fucking night since."

Desperate, I was panting now, my body coiled so tight it hurt.

"Stroke harder, baby," he commanded. "Just how you did it before. Do it with me."

I did. Oh, God, I did. Circles, harder, increasing the pressure, hips lifting off the bed.

"That's it, baby. Keep going. I want to hear you come."

His breathing sped up, ragged and filthy in my ear.

"I want to be there so badly," he groaned. "I want to see your face when you come for me."

Breathless, my hand worked in tight, frantic circles.

"You're going to make me come just listening to you," he growled. "I'm so close. I can feel it building. Fuck, I wish I was inside you. I wish I could feel you clench around me while I explode."

How was he able to talk right now? I could barely even breathe, let alone form coherent sentences and speak them.

"I'm so fucking close. My balls are so tight—I just... fuck, I want you under me again." His voice was pure gravel now. "I wouldn't stop until you were shaking. Until you came so hard you forgot your own name."

My head thrashed against the pillow, the building climax too much to bear. "Tristan, I—I—"

"Let go," he growled. "I want to come with you. I want to hear you fall apart."

That was all it took.

The orgasm rolled through me like a storm, sudden and overwhelming, stealing my breath, my voice, my verymind. I arched against the sheets, muscles clenching, toes curling, moaning as the pressure snapped and the pleasure crashed over me.

On the other end of the line, I heard him groan—long, deep, drawn out. "Fuck.Fuck."

His voice cracked, his breath came in harsh gasps, and I knew. I knew he was coming too, spilling over his hand, shaking apart just like me.

I collapsed against the mattress, breath ragged, heart racing.

Silence pulsed between us for a moment—hot and heavy and full. Like something huge had just happened. Something real.

I could hear him breathing, just as out of breath as I was. And for a moment, I imagined him on his bed, naked, aftershocks still pulsing through him. Just like me.

"Goddamn," he said finally. "You should see the mess you made of me on my stomach."

I covered my face with my hand, still trying to catch my breath.