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Cary was effectively paying Shane to stay away from his sister.

He didn’t actually mind the job, although he didn’t like being around so many drugs after having spent the winter sobering up, more or less. But he enjoyed working on the rigs, keeping his mind busy and his body fit.

Laney kept telling him he looked like a body builder from all the heavy lifting, not that she got much opportunity to see him without a shirt these days. They were lucky to see each other in person once a week, and it was almost always chaperoned by Cary.

They spoke on the phone for hours every night. They talked, and laughed, and Laney read out loud to him. But the distance was eating at them both.

“God I wish we had air conditioning,” Laney complained into the phone, the whoomp whoomp whoomp of her ceiling fan in the background.

“Ugh, me too. And it’s not even July yet,” he said.

They giggled, and Shane stared up at his ceiling, wishing he could taste her sweat-soaked skin, run his fingers down her damp back.

“What are you wearing?” she asked him. Shane shifted on the bed, cradling the cordless against his ear with his shoulder.

“Um… pajamas,” he said, his pulse speeding up.

“Liar,” she breathed.

“Boxers,” he chuckled, looking down at his tight black Calvin Kleins.

“Mm…” she said, and he heard a shifting noise like she was getting more comfortable. He was silent, trying to ignore his hardening dick. “Are you going to ask me what I’m wearing?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed. This girl is going to kill me.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he choked out.

“You don’t think anything is a good idea,” Laney laughed. “I’m wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt…” Oh, okay… I can handle that… “…with no panties.”

His cock twitched, his pulse picking up to warp-speed. “Laney…” he warned.

“Should I take it off?” she taunted. “It’s just so damned hot in here…”

There was more rustling, and he knew she wasn’t playing around – she’d pulled off her shirt. Then he heard her breath in his ear.

“Tell me you’re hard, Shane…” she murmured.

He was annoyed. “You know I am, Laney…”

“Tell me you want me.”

“I always want you. I’ve wanted you from the minute I met you.”

“Tell me you want me to touch myself,” she whispered.

Shane’s brain seized, a fire burning in his belly, his free hand drifting unconsciously towards his cock. He caught himself and gripped his sheet, staring at his ceiling.

“I wish it was you,” she said, her voice husky in his ear, “I think about you every time I touch myself… but my fingers aren’t the same. I want them to be yours…”

“Laney, please…” he begged. He didn’t know whether he was begging her to stop or begging her to keep talking.

“I’m wet for you. All day. Every day. I think about your mouth on me in class, in the shower, in bed…”

Shane’s fingers unfisted from the sheets, sliding beneath the waist of his boxers. He gripped his raging hard-on with a groan, and he could almost hear Laney’s wicked smile.

“I think about being with you every minute , Shane,” she breathed. “I think about the way you move, the way you taste… I think about your fingers inside me…” Her breath hitched, and he knew she’d slipped her own fingers between her legs. “I think about that sound you make when you come… I want to hear you come again…”

He groaned louder this time.

“Yes, baby, that’s the one…” she whispered.

Shane stroked himself slowly once, twice, three times…

“I think about how badly I want to see you naked. How badly I want you to see me naked…” her breathing sped up “I think about your cock in my mouth… How I wish I’d tasted you when I had the chance…”

Shane shoved his boxers out of the way, modesty abandoned, and stroked himself in earnest.

“Tell me you’re touching yourself,” she said in a hot, breathy voice that almost didn’t sound like her. “Tell me your hand is wrapped around your cock…”

“It is,” he moaned.

“Tell me you wish it was me,” she demanded.

“Of course I wish it was you!” He was fisting himself hard, hips pumping, chest heaving. “Fuck, Laney, you’re all I think about, too… All I dream about…”

He was panting into the phone, and he felt a rivulet of sweat form on his forehead.

“Every time I see you, I picture your perfect lips wrapped around my cock… Every time I look at you, I think about my thumbs digging into that spot in your hips… how wet you get, and how I could just slide right into you…”

This was dangerous ground.

“I say your name every time I make myself come,” he panted. His voice was hard, and low, and his balls were tightening with the need to release. “I think about fucking you every second of the goddamn day… I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to come in your mouth, in your pussy…”

That did it for her. He heard her gasp, stifling a cry, a real, loud cry, the kind she used to make when she’d soak her panties and drench his hand, writhing on the bed, legs shaking…

“Fuck,” she sobbed into his ear, “oh my God, fuck, fuck…”

He came with a heavy grunt, hot spurts jetting onto his belly, as he listened to her fall apart on the other end of the line.

“I love you,” he murmured, her little mewling sounds slowing. “I love you so much…”

They stayed on the phone in silence for hours after that, just listening to each other breathe. He could tell when she’d fallen asleep, soft little snores echoing in the receiver, as he watched the sun come up outside.

Dangerous ground…

He didn’t care, anymore.