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Dalton: My hand is on my cock.

I stop breathing. For a second, I can only stare. Then my fingers move again, faster this time.

Me: Tell me.

Dalton: I’m hard because you asked for my mouth.

My eyes close.

Dalton: Because I know how you taste.

I bite down on the blanket.

Dalton: Because I remember how sensitive you were. How fast you came the first time. How you looked angry about it.

Me: I wasn’t angry.

Dalton: You were overwhelmed.

Me: Yes.

Dalton: I liked that too.

My hips shift against my hand. The pressure builds quickly, embarrassingly quickly, and I know it’s the pregnancy, the hormones, the stress, him, all of it tangled together until my body doesn’t care what’s sensible.

Me: I’m close.

Dalton: Already?

Me: Shut up.

Dalton: No.

I laugh silently, breathless and furious and turned on enough that my eyes sting.

Dalton: Keep going.

Me: I am.

Dalton: Think about my hand over your mouth.

My fingers slip harder over my clit.

Dalton: Keeping you quiet.

Oh God.

Dalton: My cock inside you while you try not to wake anyone.

I come. Hard and silent, curled under Simone’s blanket, thighs shaking, one hand pressed between my legs and the other clamped over my mouth so no sound escapes. For a few seconds there’s nothing but the pulse of it, hot and bright and humiliatingly perfect.

My phone buzzes.

Dalton: Maggie.

I laugh weakly into my palm.

Me: I’m here.