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“How do you fail at masturbating?”
“It wasn’t working.”
“What? The toy?”
Someone kill me. Put me out of my misery and just smite me.
“No, the toy was working—I just couldn’t get myself—you know—there.”
Charlie snorts.
I die a little.
She apologizes, “Sorry.” I’m pretty sure she’s still laughing when she asks, “So, what’d he do?”
I sink into the teardrop swing and close my eyes. “He offered to help.”
“He did not?” she whisper-hisses.
“Yeah, he did.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said…well, he made me ask him to make me come.”
“Holy shit, girl. I need a man who hates me.” I can practically feel her shock through the phone. “What happened next?”
I slap a hand over my eyes. “He made me come.”
“How?”
“With—his—fingers and his mouth.” I get the words out in a rush, but I know she heard them because she gasps.
“He used his mouth?”
“Mhmm.”
“How was it?”
“Um—well, he made me come so—um—good?”
“You sound like you’re not sure.” She sounds unimpressed.
I huff, “Okay, it was amazing.”
“And what happened after?” She curses. “This is like pulling teeth, girl, come on.”
“He carried me to his bedroom and told me my ass was to be in his bed at night from now on.” I frown. “Or I think that’s what he said.”
“Holy shit.”
“Then he made me come again.”
“Definitely need a man who hates me,” Charlie mutters.
I sit up straight. “Will you stop with that?”
“What? This hate thing is hot as hell.”
