🔥STEAMY ALERT—there is a slightly (okay MORE than slightly) sexy scene towards the end, you've been warned!🔥

♫ You and me doing things
People shouldn't ever know, no ♪
(Phoebe Ryan—Aspirin)

Coralie pried her sticky eyelids apart at the sound of her phone ringing. It wasn't her usual ringtone of "Love is Madness" by Thirty Seconds to Mars—it was the ding-dong associated with a call coming from Facebook.

Groggily, and without thinking, she grabbed the device and pressed the green button, unsure who was on the other end. Her grandma sometimes butt-dialed her, and she knew Bella didn't care about time-zones and called whenever she wanted to.

"Hello?" She rubbed her eyes and glanced at her old-school alarm clock, flashing seven am.

Really?

"Cora?" The voice that came through startled her into a sitting position. Her back became stiff and her eyes were wide open as if she'd never slept. "Did I wake you?" It was Ryan—he was driving, his phone settled on the dashboard. "I can barely see you."

The words blast from the past scrawled across his vibrant yellow t-shirt, and a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses sat atop his short chestnut curls. He peered into the camera, squinting to better see her, but her room was dark.

Scrambling out of bed, hugging a cushion to her chest—her tank top was very low-cut and very near exposing her boobs—she gasped.

"RyRy?" She turned the camera away from herself and opened her mouth to let out a silent screech. She ruffled her messy mane and dabbed beneath her eyes—since she always had lingering mascara from the night before—and cleared her throat before bringing the screen back. "Hi!"

"I'm so sorry," he said with a half-smirk, cocking his head at the sight of her. "I forgot you were in America for a second there. What time is it?"

She yawned and stretched as she opened the blinds. A slither of early morning sunlight streaked in, and she covered her face.

"It's seven."

"Oh my," Ryan's tone deepened, "I'm so sorry, seriously. Do you want me to call later? I... Cora, I had to see you again. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "You're fine. I don't mind waking early for you." She glimpsed herself in her dresser mirror; her untidy, unplucked eyebrows darted upwards. One strap of her slinky top traveled down her shoulder, and she shrugged it up. "Oh fuck, I'm not presentable right now, am I?"

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Ryan grinning as he spun the wheel. "Are you kidding? You're perfect. The ideal woman. Catching you by surprise as you wake up... that's absolutely incredible. I'm lucky."

She grabbed a wad of her tangled hair and yanked it up. "Lucky to see this crap? No way." She glared at her small image at the bottom of the screen. "And my eyes? Jeez, I look high or something. And have you seen those blotches on my skin? It's like I—"

"—you're radiant, Cora, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I've seen you au naturel before, in our youth, remember?" He tore his gaze from her to focus on the road, but not before she caught the twinkle in his eyes and the subtle blush waking over his cheeks. "That was when I fell for you. In those vulnerable moments, when you showed yourself to me. You're still the same now and I love it."

Filled with a confidence she wasn't used to, she flopped onto the bed and propped the phone against her pillow. The girl gaping at her from the lower part of her screen beamed so brightly she lit up the room.

Seeing him, even after an interminable shift and getting home at two a.m., charged her with so much warmth she no longer cared that she'd barely gotten any sleep. A lot of her tossing and turning had to do with him; with all his words rumbling about in her skull and repeating over and over in her dreams. Visions of his bright smile and his toned body; the sound of his annoyingly arousing accent in that deliciously hot voice.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "So you said you couldn't stop thinking of me?"

***

"I thought of you a thousand times today."

Ryan's sweet sentences replayed in Coralie's mind. She skipped all over the apartment, feeling like a Disney princess about to break out in song.

She didn't complain about her chores, didn't get mad at Delilah's dirty wine glasses in the sink, didn't freak out when she received a mean comment on one of her compositions. Every negative emotion whooshed out of her and flew into the universe, far, far away.

He called her once more before his bedtime and messaged her until he fell asleep. He was floating, he'd said, infatuated with her as he had been years ago, as if his feelings had never left. She'd told him she agreed, that in fact hers had been dormant somewhere within and she'd never gotten rid of them.

They lamented over how much time it took them to come forward, threw the blame back and forth—though Coralie was adamant that the delay was mainly his fault—and took turns coming up with creative compliments that prompted them to turn red like shy teenagers.

But they weren't shy, not with each other, not anymore.

Ryan Bennett: I love how honest I can be with you. How non-judgmental you are. You haven't changed, and yet you're all grown-up and more wonderful than before.

Instead of writing songs, Coralie spent her afternoon re-reading their conversations, day-dreaming about seeing him again. She danced around the living room humming cheesy late nineties ballads.

During her shift that evening, patrons used to her morose moodiness or her snarky comebacks at their not-so-witty attempts at flirting were shocked at her behavior. She smirked, she twirled, she let drinks overflow, and handed out a few freebies, to Roger's dismay. But even he couldn't complain—she brought in so many tips that night, by being bubbly and friendly and courteous, that he took her aside towards the end of the evening and questioned her.

"Did you get laid? Or score a record deal or something?" He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard and leaned against the back-room's door.

His bluntness never bothered her—he was like an uncle to her, if not a father figure at times.

"No, I'm staying celibate, remember?" Coralie couldn't mask her grin and pretended to ring up a patron that already had a tab set up. "I just... reconnected with an old friend who had some pleasant things to say to me. And it put me in a good mood."

"Right, well tell this friend," Roger rolled his eyes as he air-quoted, "to talk to you every day, yeah? I'm used to your not-so-cheery disposition and it's never bothered me, but this new attitude is wonderful for business."

As he meandered to the other side of the bar, Coralie scoffed. "Sure, don't be happy for my personal well-being or anything!" But she didn't grimace; she only continued to smile at the idea of Ryan and his adorable self and his encouragements and the sexiness of his voice.

Will he call again tomorrow?

She crossed her fingers and scurried over to the next patron, her head in the clouds.

***

Ryan did call the next day. And the next. And the next.

He called every day for two weeks, whether it be for ten minutes or two hours. On his way to work, on his way home, while running errands, while cooking dinner, while watching a soccer game—that Coralie watched with him, thanks to her Hulu-Live subscription—and as he went to bed.

They caught up on life, discussed their similar political views, reminded each other of their dorky moments as teenagers. They mocked each other's favorite TV-shows and exchanged the names of their favorite bands and asked about each other's mutual friends.

And they stared at each other so much, smirking, giggling, biting lips, fumbling with words. Coralie felt like she was seventeen again, and Ryan swore to her he hadn't felt like this in a long time.

A week into their discussions, as Coralie reheated her meal-prepped lunch and Ryan ate his late-night snack, she glimpsed him with more seriousness than she had in a while.

"Hey," she waited for him to gaze at her, "so... where is your wife? Where are your girls? You've had so much freedom lately, I guess I'm wondering... are you guys okay?"

"We're fine." He lifted his shoulders as he stuffed a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. "They're on vacation, at my in-laws. I've been traveling a lot too, don't forget." He left the spoon against his mouth and his eyes creased. "I haven't seen them in weeks and I miss them."

Coralie tried not to wince, but couldn't help it. He had a family, a beautiful one at that. His wife, Gemma, was a knock-out. She had legs for days and a body that showed no trace of her ever being pregnant in her life.

And his daughters were gorgeous blue-eyed beauties that would break hearts when they grew up.

Shouldn't this bother me? Shouldn't I stop him?

"But I'm not ready to resume my regular rhythm." His voice took an uplifting tone that tightened every muscle in Coralie's abdomen. "You and I, this... thing we're doing, what we're experiencing... I'm not ready to come down from it yet."

She brought her knuckles to her lips. Heat flowed over her cheeks and her heart drummed so fast in her chest she could barely breathe.

"Me neither, RyRy." Every emotion from years past seemed to flutter across her face, across his face, tying them together. "I never want to come down."

A few days later, their conversations took a new turn; intriguing, questioning, steamy.

Ryan wondered about her sex-life, her adventures, her boundaries. He nudged her to be daring, to explore and describe those scenarios she'd told him about, where they'd meet up, have drinks, and then some. It wasn't unfamiliar territory for them—back in two-thousand-and-nine, they'd exchanged dirty pictures and hinted at a possible hook-up if he were to travel to her. But he never traveled, and they were so young at that time, with little to no experience under their belts.

"Now we're knowledgeable and sexy adults, Cora. We can be more creative, we can have more fun."

He told her of the hot dreams he'd about her in the past—causing her to blush so furiously she had to hide from the phone—and the ones he had now.

And after his admission, she confessed the different scenes she'd played out in her mind throughout the years. She felt so comfortable with him that she even revealed that though she never had trouble getting off with her prior partners, she often thought of him for solo-stimulation.

Wow, I actually said that?

That flipped another switch in their communication, clarifying that their feelings were not only deep in their hearts, but deep in their bodies, too. This was an unchartered field for them, especially for Coralie—desire.

As someone who had a slow if not nonexistent sex drive, she felt herself awakening in ways she hadn't in a long time, in her loose party days.

Ryan pushed her to her limits, asked her prodding questions that she didn't hesitate to answer; about what turned her on, what fantasies she'd never been able to explore, what her favorite position was.

With Jayden, she'd had to keep her past under wraps, as he was jealous and judgmental; but Ryan wanted to know about her escapades, wanted to find out what her naughtiest deed had been. He never hesitated to return the favor, to divulge his own favorite positions or activities.

One day, an hour before she had to be at the bar, Ryan got her severely hot and bothered with his scenario-imagining. He shared a vision he'd had of them in a fancy hotel room, stripping and teasing and toying with one another.

Unable to control herself, Coralie added on to his fantasy with her own ideas.

It didn't take long for her to understand that she had to do something about the tremors his sensual sentences were causing her. The insides of her thighs were sweaty and her lower abdomen tingled with a thrill she hadn't had in ages.

If she didn't satisfy the urge right away, she wouldn't survive her shift.

She never had any shyness about the fact that she often pleasured herself, and more so since she became single. And more than once, she'd done so while visualizing a meeting with Ryan. She'd admitted that to him, and he'd been flattered, intrigued.

Masturbation was a natural thing, after all, and it relaxed her more than a glass of wine or a bubble bath would. But how would Ryan react to her sudden need to do it now?

Should I hang up? Or let him watch?

Adrenaline coursed through her, and her excitement was too urgent to ignore.

"RyRy—I'm about to explode."

His reaction—a flush, a heavy sigh, a wink—gave her the answer she'd been secretly hoping for. "Oh yeah?" He removed his t-shirt, baring his jacked pectorals and that exquisite, flat stomach that Coralie had drooled over so much already. "Show me."

To see him bare-chested was a marvel on its own; but to hear him beg her for details worsened her craving.

"I don't usually do this," she said, setting the phone on her bedside table as she lounged on her mattress with a moan. "Ever. Well, okay... not since... my Myspace days. Once or twice."

"I don't either, but you..." He licked his lips as she caressed her stomach and lifted her blouse up to below her bra. He stroked himself, but the way his camera was angled, Coralie couldn't see. "Oh, Cora, shit. What are you doing to me?"

At the start of their steamy conversation, he'd hurried to his bedroom and dimmed the lights to set the mood. Coralie had spotted his hands wandering once or twice, which only aroused her more.

Now he stood up, repositioned the screen, and removed his jeans, slowly, teasing her.

"What are you doing to me?" Chewing on her tongue, she slipped her hand under the waistband of her leggings, then into her underwear. She trembled at what awaited her under the silky fabric. "I'm soaked, RyRy. I have no choice."

He grabbed at the massive bulge in his boxers, and tipped his head back and groaned. "Fuck." He then stared into the camera, passion flickering in his light eyes as he wetted his lips. "Right, well, what do you need from me?"

As she slid her fingers a little further into her undies, her breaths caught in her throat. "Show me," she said, barely able to articulate her thoughts. "Show me what you're doing, and I'll show you what I am doing."

It was bold—bolder than she'd ever dared—but she'd never needed anyone as much as she needed him. This wasn't a random session after two weeks of building tension with some stranger—it was twelve years of wondering, of fantasizing over someone she had profound feelings for.

Since she wouldn't be able to see him for several weeks—if he even showed up to meet with her—it was now or never.

With little to no hesitation, he lowered his boxers, unveiling the culprit behind the large bulge he'd been stroking. And it was a hefty cock the likes of which Coralie wasn't prepared for.

"Whoa," she said, keeping her fingers where they were but redressing herself to better gawk at the marvelous image on the screen. "You weren't kidding." He'd warned her in their earlier discussions that his penis size was above average; but this was beyond average.

He chuckled. "No, I wasn't." He turned sideways to better expose his girth. Coralie gasped, falling back against her cushions, her heart racing at the sight. "Are you ready for this?"

"No." She grunted. "But yes. Show me everything."

He returned to a face-forward position and seized his penis, handling it slowly, putting it on display for her.

Coralie gulped and sensed her temperature rising as he caressed it, a little faster. The length of it drove her insane, the smooth curve at its end; she imagined the feel, the taste, and lost all sense of self-control, fixed on his every stroke, mesmerized by every word he said to motivate her.

She writhed left and right, moving her fingers to a quick but steady rhythm, hitting all the spots as only she knew how to, while picturing him at the wheel, instead. Imagining his fingers in place of hers; his tongue.

His smoky tone coaxed her to keep going until she reached the edge of pleasure, the brink of satisfaction. Near the end, overcome with convulsions, she jammed a finger from her free hand into her mouth and licked it, sucked it, coercing Ryan to speed up his own movements.

"That... was... incredible," he said once they'd climaxed, and once they'd regained their breath and calmed down. "That thing you did with your finger in your mouth... incredible. You're incredible, Cora."

She was spent, flushed, and famished for more of him—but this session had done the trick, and she was grateful she'd given in and let this happen. Now, she'd survive her shift at the bar—or so, she hoped.

But the same phone-sex experience happened a few days later—and somehow more intense—making Coralie late for work, though no one seemed to care as she waltzed in with a positive attitude.

These exchanges were beginning to distract her. She was still chirpy and thriving as she served patrons, but also ditzy and out-of-it. She brought the wrong shots to the wrong customers, filled pitchers with the wrong beer, and got names and cards wrong too many times to count.

Roger noticed and said nothing, but Coralie was embarrassed beyond belief at the end of the night, when reviewing her mistakes.

Her song-writing suffered, too. But not because she couldn't write—because her songs were too positive. Her audience came to her for her angry, depressive, anti-love tunes; and suddenly she'd begun to compose melodies about infatuation, about lust, about love.

How could she writeanxiety-riddled songs when all she thought about was flying to London, jumpinginto Ryan's arms, and making sweet, sweet love to him?

♥♥♥