Chapter 4 - Make Me Feel Better

Annie

I stare at his reply, wishing the man on the other end of my phone could somehow reach through the screen and pull me into his arms. Instead, I’m sitting on an enormous bed in a mansion that doesn’t feel remotely like home, trying not to cry over something an arrogant asshole said at dinner.

Three little dots appear, disappear, and appear again.

Carson: Feel good, huh?

I smile despite myself.

Me: Don’t make me spell it out.

Carson: Just making sure I understand what my girl is asking for.

Me: You’re enjoying this way too much.

Carson: Sweetheart, are you asking me to walk you through making yourself feel better?

Heat creeps into my cheeks.

We’ve flirted plenty over the past six months. We’ve had conversations that would make my mother clutch her pearls, assuming she actually owned any pearls that weren’t attached to a judgmental expression. But there’s something different about being alone in my bedroom, knowing Carson is waiting for me to answer.

Me: Maybe.

Carson: That’s not a yes.

I bite my lip, appreciating that he doesn’t simply assume.

Me: Yes. I want you to.

Carson: Then get comfortable, beautiful. You deserve to relax tonight.

I glance around the enormous bedroom. The curtains are drawn, the door is closed, and nobody has any reason to bother me. Still, I find myself checking the lock before climbing beneath the comforter. I leave my dress on for now, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of myself.

My phone vibrates.

Carson: All settled?

Me: Yes.

Carson: Good. First, I want you to forget about whatever ruined your evening. You can deal with it tomorrow. Right now, I just want you thinking about us.

I settle against the pillows, letting his words sink in. It’s ridiculous how easily he can change my mood. Ten minutes ago, I was ready to throw myself into the ocean. Now I’m smiling at my phone like an idiot, pulse already picking up.

Me: That’s easy. You’re my favorite thing to think about.

Carson: Careful. You’re going to give me an ego.

Me: Pretty sure you already have one.

Carson: And yet you love me.

Me: Questionable judgment on my part.

His next message arrives a moment later.

Carson: Close your eyes for a second. Imagine I’m there with you. No interruptions, no stress. Just the two of us.

I do as he asks.

I’ve imagined meeting Carson so many times that I practically have an entire collection of possible first kisses stored in my head. Sometimes we’re at the airport. Sometimes he surprises me at a restaurant.

Once, I dreamed he showed up at my apartment carrying flowers and kissed me before either of us said hello.

I haven’t told him about that one.

Carson: What are you imagining?

Me: You kissing me.

Carson: Where?

I laugh softly.

Me: My mouth, obviously.

Carson: Smartass.

Me: You love it.

Carson: More than you know. Now open your eyes and read this carefully. I want you to take off whatever you’re wearing on top. Slowly. Pretend I’m watching.

My face burns. I glance toward the locked door again, then tug the dress over my head and drop it on the floor. My bra is plain black cotton. Nothing fancy. I hesitate.

Me: Done. Bra still on.

Carson: Leave it for now. Run your hands over your stomach. Soft. Just feel yourself. Tell me how it feels.

I slide my palms under the covers, over the soft curve of my lower stomach, the faint stretch marks I usually try not to think about. The touch is light, almost hesitant.

Me: Soft. Warm. A little nervous.

Carson: Good girl. Now cup yourself through the bra and squeeze. I want you to imagine my hands there instead. Big hands. Rough palms.

A shaky breath leaves me. I do it. I feel heavy in my own hands, spilling slightly over the cups. When I brush my thumbs over the way he described, they tighten immediately, a sharp little spark shooting straight between my legs.

Me: They’re hard.

Carson: Fuck. I can picture that. Pinch them for me. Gentle at first, then a little harder. Tell me if you like it.

I pinch. The sensation makes my thighs press together. I do it again, rolling the stiff peaks between my fingers, and a soft sound escapes before I can stop it.

Me: I like it. A lot.

Carson: Then keep going. Take the bra off. I want you bare. Play with them while you read this. Pinch, squeeze, tug. Don’t stop until you’re squirming.

I unhook the bra and shove it aside. I’m sensitive. I follow his instructions, one hand working each side, and the ache between my legs turns insistent. Wetness gathers. I can feel it.

Me: I’m squirming.

Carson: Good. Now slide one hand down. Over your stomach, over those thick thighs I can’t stop thinking about. Spread your legs. Touch yourself over your panties. Just the outside. Tell me how wet you are.

My breath catches. I push the comforter down a little so I can move, then do exactly what he says. The cotton of my panties is already damp. When I press my fingers against the seam, the heat is unmistakable.

Me: Very wet. The panties are soaked.

Carson: Christ. Rub yourself through them. Slow circles. Imagine it’s my fingers. Imagine I’m kneeling between your legs, watching that wet spot grow while I tell you how fucking pretty you look like this.

I rub. The friction is perfect and not enough at the same time. My hips lift into my own hand. A low whimper slips out.

Me: It feels good. I’m rocking against my hand.

Carson: That’s it, baby. Keep going. Now push the panties aside. I want your fingers in direct contact. Spread yourself open with two fingers and run your middle finger up. Don’t go inside yet. Just feel how wet you are for me.

I shove the panties to one side. Cool air hits my slick skin. I spread myself the way he said and drag one finger from my entrance all the way up. I’m drenched. The touch makes my whole body jerk.

Me: So wet. Oh my god.

Carson: Touch yourself. Light circles. Tell me what it feels like when you do.

I circle. Soft at first, then a little firmer when the pressure builds. Pleasure coils tight and hot. My other hand returns to my chest, pinching harder now.

Me: Sensitive. Swollen. It feels like lightning every time I go around it.

Carson: Perfect. Keep those circles going. Now slip one finger inside yourself. Just one. Go slow. Imagine it’s me pushing into you for the first time. Tell me how tight you are.

My finger slides in easily. I’m so wet there’s almost no resistance, but I’m still tight around it. The stretch is small and electric. I pump slowly, exactly as instructed, and my clit throbs under the pad of my other thumb.

Me: Tight. Hot. I can feel myself clenching around my finger.

Carson: Add a second. Stretch yourself open for me. I want you thinking about me doing that. Thick and hard, filling you up, watching those pretty thighs shake.

I do as he says. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room. My hips roll, chasing the feeling. Heat spreads through my belly, my thighs, my chest.

Me: Two fingers. It feels so good I’m shaking.

Carson: That’s my girl. Faster. Don’t stop. I want you right on the edge. Imagine my mouth on you while I pound into you. Imagine me growling in your ear that you’re mine, that this perfect curvy body is mine, that I can’t wait to bury my face between your thighs and taste how wet you get for me.

The image hits hard. I speed up, fingers driving deeper, thumb relentless on my clit. My free hand squeezes my breast hard enough to leave marks. Breath comes in short pants. The tension winds so tight I can barely type with one thumb.

Me: Close. So close.

Carson: Let go. Now. I want to hear about it.

The command snaps something. Pleasure crashes through me in a sharp, rolling wave. A broken moan fills the room before I can muffle it against the pillow. It goes on longer than I expect, little aftershocks making my whole body twitch.

When it finally eases, I’m panting, sticky, boneless.

I type with shaky hands.

Me: I did. Hard. Oh my god.

Carson: Fuck. You have no idea what that does to me. Are you okay?

Me: Better than okay. Still tingling.

Carson: Good. Leave your fingers inside for a second. Feel how you pulse. That’s what I want to feel around me someday.

I do. The aftershocks make me clench around my own fingers. A fresh wave of heat rolls through me even though I’m spent.

Me: I can feel it.

Carson: Beautiful. Now pull them out and tell me how wet they are.

I withdraw my fingers slowly. They’re glistening. I stare at them for a second, cheeks on fire, then wipe them on the inside of my thigh.

Me: Extremely. I made a mess.

Carson: Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted. You did so well for me, sweetheart.

I set the phone against my chest for a moment and stare at the ceiling, smiling so hard my cheeks ache.

My body feels loose and warm in a way it hasn’t in days. The dinner, the insults, my mother’s voice—they’re still there, but quieter.