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My fingers move in careful circles, finding the wetness waiting for him, and a tiny gasp slips free before I can stop it. If anyone heard me, I’d die.

Another notification appears but my thumb keeps moving with gentle strokes.

Bane: Tell me what you’re doing.

I catch my lower lip between my teeth before I answer.

Emma: Thinking about your mouth on me.

The words don’t feel like enough, so I send another.

Emma: Thinking about how you’d pin me down and make me beg for it.

His reply comes back without hesitation.

Bane: I would.

My legs vibrate as I picture him wherever he is, touching himself with the same memories driving me toward the edge, and the image is filthy enough to leave me aching even harder.

I tip my head back, close my eyes, and let my thighs fall farther apart, surrendering to the fantasy taking hold.

Emma: I’m touching myself for you.

His answer flashes onto the screen.

Bane: Let me hear.

I stare at the message, my heart pounding against my ribs, then reach for the microphone button, wondering whether I’ll regret this when the sun comes up.

The thought barely lasts because the need inside me keeps building until it drowns everything else, and I press record before I can lose my nerve.

“Bane,” I whisper as I sink two fingers inside myself and circle hard and fast, “I want you to fuck me.”

I send the recording before I can change my mind and clap my hand over my mouth. The burning hot bliss is so fierce it almost hurts. When I finally open my eyes, a reply is already waiting in a bubble at the top of the screen.

Bane: Fuck, Emma. You’re going to kill me.

The words pull a picture into my head so vividly I can almost see him sprawled across his bed with the sheets twisted around his legs, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, his thumb dragging over the tip as he listens to the recording of my breathless, broken voice.

I want the picture to be real.

I want my hand around him instead of his own, and I want to know I’m the reason he’s falling apart the same way I am.

My hand keeps moving even though every touch pushes me closer to the edge, and I hear myself recording another voice memo, a soft whimper slipping into a wordless plea for him to ruin me and come with me.

Another notification lights up my screen, this time a video. I open it with shaking fingers, prop my phone against my thigh, and spread my knees wider beneath the covers because I don’t want to miss a single angle.

The image blurs, then comes into focus, revealing Bane’s hand wrapped around himself, his cock thick, flushed, and leaking into his fist.

He’s already breathing hard, and beneath every ragged breath I hear the recording of my own words playing through his phone. “Bane, I want you to fuck me.”

The broken sentence repeats again and again, and every repetition makes his grip tighten, his thumb stroking the slit with ruthless precision. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, exposing the long line of his throat as the muscles in his arm begin to tremble.

I know he’s close, and my own hand moves faster, desperate to chase him there, as though I can pull his orgasm from the screen through the tiny pixels between us.

The video ends before I get to see the rest.

I swallow and type my reply.