STUFFED (The Slate Brothers 2)

“It’s my turn. Have you always played quarterback?”

He makes a dissatisfied noise deep in his throat. “Yes. Both my brothers do as well. It’s sort of a family tradition. There was never a chance we’d play any other position. What size bra do you wear, Astrid Tyler?”

I flush, a little embarrassed to tell him the size. “I’m only a B cup.” That’s being generous, to be honest.

“Only nothing. I like how small your body is,” Carson says with a groan that makes a matching sound escape my lips— a fact that isn’t lost on Carson. “Astrid, is this turning you on? Talking to me about your body?”

I take a breath and try to wind my way back to professionalism, but it’s useless. I’m hot and flushed and here in the dark, with Carson’s voice in my ear, I feel as far from professional as a person can get. “A little,” I lie, feeling more than a little embarrassed that my body is reacting like this, and that I’m admitting to it.

“Only a little? I can do better than that,” Carson says daringly, and I whimper. Carson makes a pleased humming sound in response, then says, “I need you to put your hand into your panties, Astrid, and tell me if you’re wet.”

I bite my lip. I can’t believe he just asked me that so confidently, so unabashedly. I also can’t believe that I’m already sliding my hand down my stomach, into the front of my panties. I’m not just wet— I’m soaked.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yes, you’re wet?” Carson asks. There’s that arrogance in his voice again, that self-assuredness that’s somehow both infuriating and incredibly sexy. Right now, it’s much more the latter.

“I’m very wet,” I whisper.

“Good,” Carson says, then breathes deeply, like he’s really thinking on what he’ll say next. “Did you have another question for me? For the interview?”

I shake my head, then remember he can’t see me, and gasp out, “No, nothing— I can’t right now.”

He sounds satisfied, then says, “Why don’t you take your fingers and touch your pussy for me? Just lightly. Slide your fingers up and down your slit, nice and gentle. How I’d do it if I was there right now.”

I’m heady and delirious at how dirty and wrong and hot his words are— no one’s spoken to me like this before. I’ve never even thought words like this before. And yet, I obey. I let my fingertips trail back and forth between my pussy lips, shivering and moaning lightly as I do. The sound of Carson’s breath on the phone urges me on, makes me wonder what his fingers would feel like on me, makes me wonder how it would feel to have him press my legs apart.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Now, put a finger in your pussy, Astrid.”

It’s not even a question, whether or not I’ll do this. I bite my lower lip and slide my pointer finger into my pussy, and can’t stop myself from wishing it was Carson’s finger penetrating me. That is was Carson’s cock penetrating me. The idea elates and scares me, and I begin to pump my finger in and out, moaning with each stroke.

“That’s right. You’ve made me hard. Very hard,” Carson says almost accusingly, and I grow louder at this, panting as I kick my blankets off, hot and sweating from his words and my own touch. I want to know what he looks like hard. I want to know what he feels like. Carson speaks again, “Take your fingers out of your pussy, Astrid. I want you to spread your pussy lips with one hand, and rub your clit with the other. You understand?”

“Yes,” I gasp, and immediately follow his instructions, propping my knees up so I can get better access. I’ve never masturbated like this before, so intently and forcefully. Certainly never with someone on the phone directing me. With the phone propped on my pillow, I lightly run my fingers across my clit. I’m already so aroused that it only takes the single touch for me to feel a rush of energy—

“You sound like you’re enjoying this,” Carson says. “Are you?”

“Mmhmm,” I say, barely able to form the sound as I rub at my clit again. Sensation rockets through me, light exploding behind my eyes.

“Are you going to come?” he presses.

“Yes,” I pant. I’m going to orgasm any second now, which is crazy because this feeling— this pull, this want, this heat— is already more powerful than any orgasm I’ve ever had. I shamelessly push my hips upward, allow myself to think about what I actually want: Carson Slate. For him to be touching me, for him to make me come like this, for him to overpower me and have me and—

“That’s right. Come for me, Astrid. And think of me fucking you while you do it,” Carson breathes.