"Prisha, you home?"

I toss my keys and purse on the entry table as I slip off my heeled booties. They thunk to the ground just as Prisha's voice reaches me. "Yeah, but I'm actually about to head out!"

We round the corner at the same time, nearly running into each other. Her dark hair is pulled back in a braid, the bright red streaks throughout it catching the harsh overhead light.

"Ooh, sorry! I hate this weird blind corner," she states with a clearing head shake. "Anyway, I'm staying at Cole's tonight, so you've got the place to yourself."

"Nice, have fun! Wait, it's late, you're just heading over there?" I gasp. "Did he text you a booty call? You minx."

Her cheeks flame up as she awkwardly wiggles past me. "What! No, I was— Ok, yeah, kinda." She giggles. "To be fair, he said earlier that I might be able to come over, he just confirmed it a little bit ago."

She shuffles around, trying to slide on her sneakers. When she's done she stands up straight, fluffs her bangs, and fixes her septum ring in our little entry mirror. "Ok, how do I look?"

"Hot, but like a casual-hot. Like a 'we've been together for six months and I'm totally myself around you but I'm also still trying to impress you a little so maybe you'll suck my clit later' type of hot."

"Right. Very specific. But perfect."

I'll be honest, maybe I was projecting just a little bit there. The teeniest, tiniest part of me wonders what it would be like to get to that point in a relationship.

She nods a little before reaching for the door. Just as she's pulling it open she exclaims, "Oh! After dance practice this afternoon you mentioned you were meeting with someone tonight! How'd your date go?"

I have to literally shoo her out the door. "It was, uh, good. Don't worry 'bout me in this lonely apartment! Bye, bitch!" I close the door. Somehow I manage to do it gently instead of slamming it the way I'm tempted to.

The instant I'm alone, I release the breath I've been holding and shuffle into the empty living room. Just the quiet background of the air blowing through our vents greets me, and I take a moment to let it envelop me before trudging forward to our little kitchen.

My date tonight was decidedly not a legitimate date. No food was involved. And now that I'm post-hookup, after only a cup of chicken salad for lunch, and settling into an empty apartment for the night, I am positively famished.

Our kitchen clock tick, tick, ticks obnoxiously in the background. I rummage around in the fridge, cursing Prisha's choice in clocks—the thing is fucking loud. And purely decorative, considering its lack of actual numbers to read from.

My grumbling stomach pulls another sigh from me. Food first, I decide. Then a shower, and then bed.

This comforter is the plushest, softest little slice of heaven.

The leftover lasagna was just as good as the first time, and my shower was hot and steamy enough to wash away the day. After double checking my front door was locked and that I didn't leave the oven on, I climbed into this wonderful cloud and closed my eyes.

Too bad I still can't fall asleep.

I generally enjoy my solitude; it's nice having the place to myself now and again. If I'm not staying at someone else's place and I'm here, then Prisha is usually here too, making some kind of noise in the next room over. Plus Quinn crashes here often enough, or I there, that it's rare to be 100-percent alone.

I nearly jump out of my skin when a heavy thud comes from the upstairs neighbors. The usually mundane noise is suddenly quite jarring when there's nothing and no one else to buffer it, lost in my thoughts instead. Maybe I should've just stayed at Claire's because that was the original plan after all.

Now that I think about it, I should probably update Quinn that I'm back home instead. We've been able to see each other's phone locations since high school and I'd rather not worry him if he happens to see that I'm not where I said I'd be. Even if it's at my own place, he could think I left it behind or something.

Some people (see: Reese) have voiced their concerns (see: mansplained) to me about it. Particularly, how they think it screams "controlling, invasive, and unnecessary", to which I promptly responded with my middle finger. Seriously, how is ensuring my safety unnecessary? And talk about hypocritical... controlling, really?

Honestly though, Quinn having my location has definitely come in handy in the past, when I was sober enough to text him to pick me up, but drunk enough to not tell him where. Luckily, we haven't needed it for anything recently; I've learned to drink a little more responsibly, and been better about just telling him my plans beforehand. I'm 95% sure he still checks it here and there for peace of mind, or maybe out of habit. And perhaps I should find that a tiny bit invasive, but I don't. It's comforting, for both of us.

I swipe my phone off the nightstand next to me and pull up my recent messages, blinking at the blinding screen. His contact name, Quince Charming, is in bold letters right at the top. I snicker at the memory of when he changed it to that as a joke. I purposely didn't change it back just to mess with him, purely because I know he assumed that I would. I thrive on doing the unexpected.

He was so tired this morning. And after his soccer game this afternoon, I imagine he's probably dead asleep by now, but I should at least leave a message anyway.

I click on his name and, a spur of the moment later, I'm calling him instead of texting.

I listen to the dial tone a few times, and after a few more rings I'm shaking my head at myself and my audacity. I don't even know why I did that, it not like I—

"Hey, Rose."

"..."

"Aurora? You ok?"

"...Hi, yes! I'm sorry, I was surprised. I thought you'd be asleep by now, I didn't actually think you'd answer. Also, did you really just call me 'Aurora'?"

"I mean, it is your name. I know you're not the biggest fan of others knowing it, but it's only us, and I happen to think your full name is quite pretty, ok? And I took a nice long nap earlier, so now I'm up reading, even though I told myself I should go to bed five chapters ago."

"Bookworm."

"Indeed. It's a real problem. If you thought I was asleep, why'd you even call? Did you miss my voice that much?"

"Maybe. You do have a sexy voice."

I wasn't lying. The deep chuckle resonating through the phone is nearly toe-curling in the dead of night.

"You surprised me too, actually. Aren't you at Claire's tonight?"

"Mhm, yeah I was. I wanted to let you know I'm back home. I was going to just text you but... here we are. Maybe I really did miss your voice or something. Prisha went to her boyfriend's place so I'm here by myself and the place feels weirdly empty. Now I can't fall asleep."

"Ah. Yes, well, as someone who currently lives by myself, I'm unfortunately acquainted with feeling a little alone sometimes. That's why I stay at your place half the time." A few beats later he adds, "Want me to come over?"

I actually think on that for a good few seconds. "Tempting. But not practical."

"I'm rarely practical when it comes to you. You know I will."

"Exactly. It's too late to make you drive that far. And we both work tomorrow." He makes a disagreeable noise and I snuggle deeper into my covers again before playfully admitting, "It's fine, I'll just cuddle your pillow and sniff your shirt that I may or may not be wearing."

He snorts into the phone before replying, "Part of me hopes you're kidding, but the other part of me knows your not. You're not usually an outright cuddler, but there's a reason I swap out my shirts for fresh ones for you. Unlike your pile of clothes here, I'm not accidentally leaving them."

"Ha! I knew you secretly liked me wearing them, despite giving me shit about it all the time." I pull the phone away from my ear a smidge to whisper down at myself, "I thank you for your sacrifice, Q's shirt."

"Yeah, yeah. Weirdo. Anyways, I'm afraid to ask considering you're already back home, but how'd tonight go?"

"Ehh. It was alright."

"That's it, just 'alright'? It didn't rock your socks off or shiver your timbers?"

"And you were calling me weird."

"You've been over there a few times, right? You said you had fun last time, if I recall correctly."

"Yeah, I mean it really wasn't any different, but maybe that's why? She's... quite feisty. Super nice upfront and a total freak-in-the-sheets type. Which is fun, usually. I just wasn't feeling it, and no matter how much I tried to hint at slowing things down, she wanted to hit it and quit it—which to be fair is normally all I want too. I think she lasted maybe ten minutes, so I might've totally faked an orgasm because I didn't want her to feel bad. Should I have communicated better with her? Probably. But did I try and she didn't listen? Also yes."

"Hmm. So you were blue-balled."

"I was blue-balled," I agree, nodding my head even though I know it does no good. "Is there a vagina version of that? Blue-vulva'ed doesn't sound right. Blue-beaned?"

"Sure. So you've been blue-beaned, and now you're hangry and can't sleep."

"I just ate though."

"Horny and angry."

"Ah. Yeah, that tracks."

"And you decided to call me in lieu of calling on your trusty rabbit that you love to rave about?"

"I— Ugh. I know. I considered it, I really did. First of all, I think I forgot to charge it. Regardless, I just don't think it's exactly what I want right now, I guess. Even thinking about it isn't turning me on at all and that's, like, unheard of for me."

My nearly pitch-black room is playing tricks on me and letting my imagination run wild. I don't even have to close my eyes for his rough chuckle to sound like it could really be right up against my ear, the phone nearly forgotten in my hand.

"Then what do you want, Rose?"

The question catches me off-guard and sets off a deep ache beneath my ribs, threatening to rob me of my breath. It occurs to me then, that nobody has ever asked me that before—regarding this or anything else. It feels...intimate, and a little embarrassing to voice. In fact, if it were anyone else, I'm sure I'd give some noncommittal answer, much like I did to Prisha earlier when she asked how it went.

Tucked away in my safe and cozy bed, however, with Quinn's hypnotizing scent and familiar timbre persuading me, I find myself wanting to tell him.

I start to explain slowly, needing to gather my thoughts before I can actually say them. "Every now and then I want something sensual, not just sexual. To take it slow and really savor things. But it's not just about the pace, I want... to feel wanted, you know? It's hard for me to describe, because I don't know if I even fully understand my own needs all the time, but sometimes I want more than pure sex or a meaningless fuck—"

"You want to make love."

I pause. My mouth opens to continue, but the words shrivel on my tongue the moment he utters his. None of the foulest curse words in my arsenal even come close to how foreign and dirty "make love" suddenly sounds.

"And by definition," he explains, "that's nearly impossible to do without someone who knows and cares about you. Or, at the very least, is innately familiar with the concept and willing to try it with you, although that's not nearly as fulfilling as the real deal."

"Yeah... pretty much. Yeah."

He hums into the quiet, considering. "It's beginning to make a lot more sense now, why you called me."

"Can't I just want to talk to you?" While that's true, I think we both know it's not the entire truth. It doesn't hurt to try though.

"Of course you can, but in this case, I think the true reason matters. At least it does if we want to solve anything so you can fall asleep before dawn."

"Enlighten me, then. Since you seem to have me all figured out."

"Well, that's precisely it, Rose. I do know and care about you. Fucking might be your specialty but making love is mine, so I know all about what it is that you want."

"Oh? And what would that be?" I don't even bother to hide my piqued interest at this point.

"You want passion. To feel and not just touch. To be worshipped and pleasured, and to reciprocate in kind not just because you should, but because you want them to feel good too. Does that sound about right?"

His voice has grown low and thick like sweet honey. In all the years I've known him, I thought I'd heard every tone and cadence he could carry, but this is all new. I would've remembered this and the way it makes my skin flush.

"Mmhm. I think I'd like that, a lot actually. What else?" I challenge him.

"You'd want to fuck of course, but you're well enough versed in that. It would have to wait anyway because first, you'd want foreplay."

"Would I? Maybe I'm more of a 'straight-to-the-action' type."

"Sometimes, sure. Not for this, though. For this, you'd want to be drawn into it slowly. To savor every little moment and let it fill you with anticipation."

"I do like some good foreplay, on occasion," I admit mindlessly. So much so, that I'm drawing my bottom lip through my teeth just at the thought.

"You'd want them to set you on fire with kisses in all of your sweet spots. Along your jaw and down your neck. Maybe you'd want them to whisper dirty promises in your ear." His voice goes soft and quiet, like a little promise of his own.

My hand fists in the comforter, pulling it down because it's beginning to stifle me. I'm almost too distracted lifting my chin and baring my neck to hear him ask, "Is it working?"

"Is... Is what working?"

"Talking to me like this, it's turning you on, isn't it?"

Fucking hell, yes it is. I could lie—but why should I? He obviously knows what he's doing and he turned down this road all on his own. If he wants to play this game, then I'll gladly play too.

"Quince... you know you don't have to do this, right?"

He pauses for a long moment. My heart pounds, suddenly worried he might actually take me up on the out I'm offering. I wouldn't blame him. Finally, "I'm quite aware. I have no qualms about hanging up on you if I wasn't, but I'm ok with this if you are."

"Alright. By all means then. A little dirty talk is right up my alley."

"I figured you might say as much. I'm going to assume that's a 'yes' to my question? You're sounding awfully breathy over there," he teases me with another midnight laugh.

"And you're sounding awfully gravely over there. Maybe I'm not the only one it's working on, hmm?" I can't help but clap back.

There's a slight pause before he digresses with a click of his tongue, "Fair enough. I'll admit my boxers are feeling a bit tighter all of the sudden, but I'm sure that knowledge works to your benefit too."

I nearly groan at the image of him laying there, probably shirtless so his abs are on display. That mouthwatering V cutting down to his short boxer briefs straining to hold him in. Maybe the lighting is just right to see a perfect outline of his shaft off to the side or— I need to get ahold of myself. He's still waiting for a response.

"Guilty as charged. I fucking love knowing when guys are hard. Females have the benefit of not being so obvious, but sometimes I wish we were, it's hella hot for us visual folks. Peaked nipples in a shirt ain't got nothing on an erect dick in briefs. Especially when it's a nice dick."

"Well, speaking for us audible folks, thanks."

"Figured I'd stroke your ego since I can't stroke your c—"

"Although, I can't say I'd agree." I smirk to myself at his interruption. "Hard nipples are sexy too... Especially in my shirt."

Fabric bunches under my palm as it travels over my stomach and breast. I have to stifle a gasp when it rubs over a hard bud. "That they are. Awfully sensitive too."

"Yeah? I bet teasing them would drive you wild right now. Pinched over the fabric while feeling the scrape of teeth on your collarbone. You'd probably like that mix of light pain between the pleasure. Keeps you guessing and tuned in."

I manage to agree between staggered breaths. Maybe it's just my brain fogging over, but his voice seems to have grown even heavier and silkier, effortlessly guiding my fingers like a marionette to his suggestions.

"Eventually though, you'd want their hand under your shirt and cupping your breast, lightly kneading it. And when they're done with your neck, you'd want those lips and teeth right over those sensitive buds instead, playing with them until—"

When my thumb and forefinger clamp down on a bare nipple, I can't stop the gasp this time. My heart pounds heavily in my ears, echoing through my limbs and down to my core. It aches something fierce, beckoning to be paid attention to. With my phone sandwiched against the pillow, I slide my other hand slowly down the plane of my stomach.

"Rose, was that a moan?" The teasing in his voice is decadent.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"I would, in fact."

His admission has my hand sliding down further to the lace of my underwear. "Did that tiny little sound set your cock to twitching?"

"Hearing you moan in my ear? Yes. The better question, my dear, is why you're making noises in the first place? You wouldn't happen to be touching yourself, would you? Imagining it's someone else, perhaps? You'd better not be jumping too far ahead."

Caught red-handed, I pause just as the tips of my fingers are about to plunge under the scarce material. "Who, me? I would never."

"Yes, you would. Enjoy the journey, Miss Impatient. The anticipation might be torture, but that's half the fun. If you wanted it over so quickly you wouldn't have needed to call me in the first place. No, you want that pressure built up. You want them to take their time running their hands over you and teasing your whole body and mind; finding those unique places that make you burn with need. Maybe a caress down to the back of your knee or a kiss on your belly button."

The pads of my fingers dig into my hip as I squirm at those invisible sensations. I can imagine that wet kiss on my stomach, chin lightly tickling the hairs of my mound below it through the lace there. "I think I'd enjoy a firm squeeze of my ass cheek right about now."

"Oh, I'm sure," he nearly growls in response. "Both cheeks for good measure. Then, finally, a thumb would tease down the inside of your thigh. Only then would you want it over your panties, exactly where you crave. Down that soft center, where you're probably soaked right through them."

A sharp intake of breath later, I'm fighting a losing battle to a real moan. Hand between my legs, I brush along that tempting spot. Somehow I manage to resist immediately moving the drenched fabric aside, instead trying my best to keep my strokes sweeping and slow.

On the other end of the line, a rich tone echoes back from deep in his throat. It soaks into my senses and leaves a chill racing down my spine.

"You have no idea how much I love that sound," he grits out.

"If it caused anything like yours did to me, then I think I just might." I grin wickedly into the dark, riding a shiver out. "Have you put that smutty book away and pulled your cock out to play yet?"

"Oh, the book's been away for a while now. At least my 'smutty' books have desensitized me to your blunt language. 'Cock' is such a filthy word."

"Filthy words for filthy times. We can't all have your beautifully descriptive way with words. And while yours work wonders for me, don't lie and say mine aren't just as effective. You'd probably like my blunt and dirty mouth in more ways than one."

Silence stretches for a long moment, in which I worry I may have crossed a line, but then he fills my ear again with a hum. "Maybe so. I do quite enjoy that mouth of yours. I may tease you about it, but I have no reservations with being honest about what I like and want."

"Touché. Sometimes you know me better than I know myself. Plus, I think you like walking me through this." That stupid little grin only leaves my face when I draw my lower lip between my teeth. A finger has started a slow circle around my hardened clit.

"I do. And so do you, if I'm not mistaken. You're probably right on the cusp of giving in. Waiting for me to give you permission to slide beneath the fabric and touch yourself with no barrier, like you've been so very tempted to do. And I... well, I'm just lazily stroking myself, waiting to hear your reaction to that—"

"Fuck," I groan as my fingers finally slide through my wet folds. That electric bundle of nerves sends shockwaves through me when rubbed just right. "Now that's an image right there."

"—because I'm pretty sure I could get off just listening to you."

"Really?" I pant, sucking air through my teeth. "You weren't thinking about someone palming you over your trunks until your leaking head is nearly popping out of the waistband? Slowly pulling them down under their gaze, then sliding a hand all the way along your length to massage your balls for a time? Because I was."

His hum this time is short and deep in his chest, distracted almost, which pleases me even more. "Well, I am now. Shit, fine, you get a reward for that. How many fingers do you want in you, Rose?"

Giddiness sweeps me, my muscles clenching tight. "Hmm, usually? Two. Your meaty fingers? ...Fuck it, still two."

"Wrong. Only one."

"Bastard." I tuck my ring finger back away. "Why'd you even ask? You just wanted to hear me say it, didn't you— OH, shit." My middle plunges in and I'm internally cursing his name, wishing this didn't feel so exceptionally amazing with only that single digit. My body is so fucking ready. He's drawn this out and kept me on the edge for so long that the sensations are tenfold. And if I'm already clenching around one, then...

"Two?" I'm practically begging.

"Two."

Pure fucking bliss. My hips rotate up to meet my hand as my back arches. They roll in tandem with my finger's motions, sliding in and out of me. My palm's heel rubs lightly on my clit again and my vision blurs. I teeter on an invisible brink as a pleasant pressure builds in my core.

"That's it, sweetheart. Don't hold back. I can hear you panting but I want to hear you hit that high, you're so close. How quick do you want those fingers? Slow and steady? Quick and pounding?"

"Fast. Right now, fast." I gasp—it's hard to talk right now. "And how do you like to fuck your hand? One solid base to tip stroke, or concentrated on one area? Would I need to use two hands on you, I wonder?"

"I'm more of a—," he moans, interrupted by some motion I desperately wish I could see. "Anything. Shit, I think I'd like anything you did. You have that dirty mouth too, don't forget."

"Anything, really? I could see that. And, yes—yes—" My heel rubs against my clit in a grinding motion, and I can barely think straight. "I think... I know exactly what would get you off with it."

"Oh?"

"Well, this is lovemaking, right? Both sensual and sexual. So what if I whispered 'I love you' in your ear while we're both right on the fucking edge?"

"Ah, seven hells. You know I... melt for that shit." He's doing his best to keep an even tone, but it's not working one bit. And I'm glad for it, 'cause hearing him struggle like this is a drug, pulling me under with him. "I'd tell you I love you more, and that I want to feel you come around my fingers while I curl them inside you."

I can't even fucking breathe as my muscles clamp down hard around me. I barely have time to hum before a shock rips right through me, and then I'm moaning a curse.

"Yes, Rose. God, you're gonna make me— Fuck!" Between his strained voice and the blood rushing my ears, I barely even hear him. I'm on cloud nine, floating along the waves of pleasure wracking through me. Quinn's deep growl echoes my lighter one and has me picturing the way he fists himself to elicit those delicious sounds. Does his come seep down his fingers or spurt onto his bare stomach?

We should've FaceTimed.

The lead up was so dragged out, and now that my climax is peaking, it clings and rolls, prolonged by the constant pressure I keep on my clit and his heavy breaths in the background as he slows down from his own release.

"Holy shit. That was... I don't even know. I still can't think straight," he says quietly to himself.

Still caught in euphoria, it feels like I'm having an out-of-body experience. My head is pressed back into my pillow and I think one of my feet might be twitching. His voice barely reaches me through a fog.

I manage to hum an agreement as my muscles finally relent and I collapse in a sweaty, numb heap.

"Quince?" I pant once I've managed to catch my breath enough.

"Rose."

"Thanks. I needed that."

I close my eyes at his rough chuckle, letting it go to my head. Combined with the late hour catching up to me and my post-orgasm flush, I don't resist the sleepiness pulling at me.

"My pleasure. Seriously." After a shuffle, he breathes a deep sigh, and I suspect he may be succumbing to his own tiredness. "I've actually never had phone sex before, but fuck, I didn't realize what I was missing. That was better than porn. Maybe it was just you. I don't know."

I try to respond, the words form in my mind, it was amazing, you were amazing. But my lips don't move, I'm too far gone, my autonomy disintegrated.

"Rose?" He whispers this time. Then a few, long seconds later, "Did you fall asleep on me?"

Another lazy huff has my heart warming. "You really did, didn't you? Usually, I'd be upset that I put you to sleep, but in this case, I guess I did my job well... Goodnight, sleep tight. I really do love you so much, I hope you know that."