Chapter 16: The Long-Distance Tease
The hotel room absorbed sound, a carpeted, wallpapered tomb. Emery stood under the shower’s scalding jet until her skin turned lobster-red, as if she could boil away the memory of Logan’s hands, his watchful eyes, the specific, claiming heat he’d left inside her. It didn’t work. Her body felt like a crime scene, tender in places that recalled his exact measurements.
She wrapped herself in a stiff, white towel and padded into the room. The silence was a weight. Outside, the promised storm had arrived, hurling snow against the window with a soft, relentless hiss. It was the kind of night that swallowed people whole.
Her phone, charging on the nightstand, buzzed with a pulsing, familiar tone. A FaceTime request. Luke Alvez.
For a long moment, she considered letting it die. She was a collection of fresh bruises, both visible and not. But the thought of the silence continuing, of being alone with the ghost of a Minnesota stranger, was worse.
She accepted.
His face filled the screen, backlit by the warmer, softer light of what looked like a home office. His dark hair was rumpled, a day’s stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes, usually so composed, held a flicker of immediate concern.
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice a welcome scratch of familiarity. “You look… flushed.”
“Hot shower,” she said, forcing a smile that felt tight on her face. “Trying to thaw out.”
“From your lake adventure?” He leaned back in his chair. “Tell me it involved a roaring fire and hot cocoa, not just you being stubborn on the ice.”
She shrugged, the towel slipping a little. She clutched it at her chest. “There was a fire. Eventually.”
He watched her, his tactical instincts reading the gaps in her story. “Everything okay, Em? You seem a million miles away.”
“I’m right here,” she said, but her voice was thin.
“Prove it,” he said, a slow, understanding smile playing on his lips. It was their old game. A request for presence, for a shared secret. It felt both hollow and desperately needed. “Lose the towel.”
A week ago, she would have laughed and dropped it without hesitation. Now, she felt a wave of irrational guilt, as if the touch of another man was a stain he’d see. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To be seen by someone who knew her, or a version of her.
“You first,” she deflected. “You’re in a suit. That’s not fair.”
He didn’t hesitate. He stood, the camera panning down as he undid his belt, the button and zip of his trousers. He shoved them down along with his boxer briefs, freeing his cock. It was half-hard, thickening as he gripped it, giving her a slow, deliberate stroke. “Satisfied?”
Her breath hitched. This was a language she understood. A transaction of sensation. “Better.”
“Your turn.”
She let her fingers relax. The towel dropped to the floor in a damp heap. The cold air of the room puckered her skin, her nipples tightening into hard peaks. She saw his eyes darken on the small screen, his jaw tightening.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. “Come closer to the lamp. Let me see that skin glow.”
She moved, sitting on the edge of the bed, the floral spread scratchy against her thighs. She propped the phone against the lamp base, giving him the full, unedited view. The mirror across the room caught her reflection—a pale, anonymous shape in the gloom.
“Touch yourself,” Luke said, his voice dropping into a husky register she knew well. He sat back down, his hand moving on himself with a firm, steady rhythm. “Show me what that hot shower didn’t fix.”
Her fingers trembled as she brought them to her chest, skimming over her collarbone, down to cup a breast. She pinched her nipple, rolling it, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain that grounded her. This was her body. Hers to command.
“Lower,” he instructed, his own breathing growing more audible. “Spread your legs. Let me see how wet you are for me.”
She obeyed, leaning back on one elbow, letting her knees fall apart. The exposure was clinical under the lamp light. She slid her fingers through her folds, already finding a slickness that had nothing to do with the shower. A slickness that felt like a betrayal.
“There,” he murmured. “Just like that. Use two fingers. Circle that pretty little clit for me.”
She did, a gasp escaping her as she made contact. The sensation was bright, almost too acute. She closed her eyes.
“Eyes open, Emery. Look at me.”
She forced her gaze back to the screen, to his intent face, his fist pumping his now fully erect cock. The distance was absurd. Cosmic.
“I wish I was there,” he growled. “I’d have you on your knees on that ugly carpet. I’d fuck your mouth until you choked, then I’d flip you over and eat your pussy from behind until you came screaming into the bedspread.”
His dirty talk was a script, a familiar, exciting script. But tonight, the words bounced off her. She imagined a different voice, lower, less polished, saying You’re so fucking wet for me already against her skin, not through a speaker.
“Are you thinking about it?” Luke asked, his pace increasing. “Thinking about my tongue on you? Inside you?”
“Yes,” she lied, moaning to sell it. She worked her fingers faster, driving herself toward the release that felt like a necessary expulsion, a system reboot.
“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice tight. “Come right now. I want to watch you fall apart.”
She summoned the climax like a hired performer. Her back arched, a cry tore from her throat that was more anguish than ecstasy, and the waves crashed through her, leaving her shuddering and empty on the other side. On the screen, Luke groaned, his body tensing as his own release spilled over his fist, his features contorted in pleasure.
For a minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the storm outside.
He cleaned himself up with a tissue, his expression softening into post-coital warmth. “God, I miss you,” he said, his voice full of genuine affection.
She felt like filth. “I miss you too, Luke.”
“This case is a nightmare. Paperwork and jurisdictional crap. I’d give anything to be snowed in with you right now.”
“That makes one of us,” she said, and then quickly corrected, “I mean, being snowed in sounds perfect. This town is just getting to me.”
He studied her. “You sure you’re okay? You seem… sad.”
“Just tired,” she said, pulling the bedspread over her legs, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. “The cold wears you out.”
“Get some sleep. Dream of me.” He blew her a kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The screen went black.
The silence rushed back in, louder than before. The performance was over. The connection, however real for him, had been a phantom limb for her. She stared at her reflection in the foggy mirror—a blurry woman in a borrowed room.
She got up, walked to the window. The world was a swirling, white void. The flakes stuck to the glass, magnified for a second before melting into tracks that looked like tears.
Logan had been right. The feeling was already gone. The digital climax had been a phantom pulse, leaving her more numb than before. Luke’s love was a steady, warm light from a distant star, but she was trapped in a blizzard, needing a fire she could feel on her skin, even if it burned her.
She turned from the window. On the dresser, next to her plane ticket stub, lay the local paper she’d picked up in the lobby. A circled ad for a roadside bar, ‘The Howling Wolf,’ promised live music and ‘Minnesota’s Coarsest Whiskey.’
She traced the newsprint with a damp finger. The ashes weren’t just glowing. They were begging for fuel.
She dressed in the darkest clothes she had: black jeans, a charcoal sweater. She didn’t look in the mirror. She just grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into her boots, and stepped out into the howling, obliterating night. The path wouldn’t get rough. It was the only path left.