Chapter 13: The Phone Call
Millie woke to the unfamiliar weight of a limb across her waist and the stale, intimate scent of sex and sleep. A warm puff of breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck. For a disorienting second, she didn’t know where she was. Then she felt the hard line of Josh’s body curled around hers, his cock, soft now, nestled against the cleft of her ass. Memory returned in a liquid rush: the choice, the light, the claiming.
Golden morning light cut through the slats of the blinds, painting hot stripes across the rumpled duvet, the discarded physics textbook, a pile of his laundry on a chair. The air was still and close, carrying the musk of their bodies and, faintly, the ghost of Zoe’s perfume from where she’d hugged Josh goodbye last night.
A profound, unfamiliar peace settled in Millie’s bones. She let her eyes drift closed again.
Then, downstairs, the distinct sound of a key in the lock. The front door swung open and slammed shut with familiar, unsubtle force.
Zoe was home.
Josh stirred behind her, his arm tightening instinctively. Millie’s body went rigid. Her phone, charging on his nightstand, began to buzz, vibrating against the wood with an angry, insistent hum. The screen lit up, illuminating a dust mote dancing in the beam of light. ZOE CALLING…
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. She made to move, to silence it, but Josh’s hand clamped over hers, pinning it to the mattress. His voice was a sleep-roughened murmur in her ear. “Answer it.”
“What?” she whispered, her throat tight.
“Answer it. Or she’ll just come up.” His logic was terrifyingly simple. He reached over her, his chest pressing against her back, and grabbed the phone. He pressed the answer button and put it on speaker before placing it on the pillow beside her head.
“Millie? Hello?” Zoe’s voice, bright and loud, filled the intimate space of the bedroom. It felt like a violation.
Josh’s hand slid from her wrist, down over her hip, possessive and calm. His other arm remained curled under her, his hand splayed wide on her stomach, holding her firmly against him.
“Zoe? Hi,” Millie managed, forcing a groggy lightness into her tone. She cleared her throat. “You’re back early.”
“Ugh, tell me about it. Jake bailed, said he had a family thing. Probably full of shit. You okay? You sound weird.”
Josh’s hand on her stomach dipped lower, his fingertips brushing through her pubic hair. Millie sucked in a quiet breath. “No, I’m good. Just woke up.” It was the truth, in a way.
“At my place? Did you crash on the couch? I thought I saw your shoes by the door.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. The couch.” The lie tasted like ash.
As Zoe launched into a detailed, irritated recap of her failed date, Josh moved. Slowly, deliberately, he hooked his leg over hers, spreading her thighs wider beneath the sheet. The friction of the cotton against her sensitized skin was maddening. He was hard again, his erection a firm, insistent pressure against the small of her back.
“So anyway, I’m starving,” Zoe was saying. “You want to come over? I could make pancakes. Or we could go to that diner on Elm.”
Josh’s hand left her stomach. She felt him reach between his own legs, heard the soft, wet sound of him stroking himself once, twice. Then he guided himself, the broad, slick head of his cock probing at her entrance from behind. She was still loose and wet from the night, from him, and he pushed inside with one slow, inexorable, deep thrust.
Millie’s entire body stiffened. A gasp caught in her throat, transforming into a choked cough. She pressed her face into the pillow.
“You alright? You’re coughing,” Zoe said.
“Just—just dry throat,” Millie rasped, as Josh sheathed himself to the root inside her, a fullness so complete it stole the air from her lungs. He held himself there, buried, letting her adjust to the renewed invasion while her friend’s voice prattled in her ear.
“Gotcha. So, diner? Their hash browns are basically crack.”
Josh began to move. Not frantic, but devastatingly deliberate. He drew back almost all the way, then pushed forward again, a deep, grinding roll of his hips that rubbed his pubic bone perfectly against her clit. Every nerve ending lit up. Millie bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.
“Diner’s… fine,” she managed, her voice strained. “Whatever you want.”
“Cool. I’ll shower. Be at mine in like, forty?”
Josh’s pace remained agonizingly steady. Each thrust was a deep, solid piston stroke that seemed to reach her womb. His hand snaked around from her stomach, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and needy. He circled it with a firm, knowing pressure.
“Yeah. Sure. Forty minutes.” The words were barely a whisper. Pleasure coiled, hot and tight, low in her belly. Her inner muscles fluttered, gripping his length. She was traitorously close already, the taboo of the situation amplifying every sensation.
Josh lowered his head, his lips against her ear. His whisper was a dark, filthy counterpoint to his sister’s cheerful planning. “You’re so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock while you lie to her.” He punctuated the words with a sharper thrust. “Your pretty little cunt loves this. Loves being full of me while you play good girl.”
His fingers worked her clit faster. The dual assault was too much. The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her, silent and catastrophic. Her body arched against him, her cunt clenching and convulsing around his shaft in rhythmic, desperate pulses. A silent scream tore through her, her mouth wide open against the pillowcase.
The violent contractions of her climax pushed him over the edge. With a guttural groan he muffled against her shoulder, he slammed into her one final time, seating himself impossibly deep. She felt the hot, liquid pulse of his release flooding her, jet after jet, filling the space he’d carved out inside her. It was a claiming, a branding. He shuddered through it, his hips making tiny, involuntary jerks against her ass.
Through the roaring in her ears, she heard Zoe’s voice. “…so I’ll see you then? Millie?”
Josh was still inside her, softening, both of them dripping and joined. His hand, slick from her, came up and clamped gently over her mouth, a final, possessive shush. He nodded toward the phone.
Millie dragged air into her lungs. “Sorry,” she breathed out, her voice shaky but clearer now, the crisis past. “Zoned out for a sec. Yeah. See you in forty.”
They said goodbye. The call ended. The room was suddenly, profoundly silent, save for their ragged breathing.
For a long moment, neither moved. Then Josh slowly withdrew from her body. A hot trickle of their combined release followed, soaking the sheet beneath her. The reality of it, the crude evidence, was undeniable.
He didn’t get up. He pulled her back against him, his arm a steel band around her midsection. He nuzzled the sweat-damp hair at her temple. His voice was quiet, stripped of its earlier taunting edge. “You played it cool.”
She didn’t answer. The guilt was a cold stone in her gut, but it was smothered by the warmer, more terrifying sensation of his body wrapped around hers. Of being full of him. Of getting away with it.
“She can’t know,” Millie whispered, finally. It wasn’t a question.
His lips brushed her skin. “She won’t.” The promise felt like a threat, and a comfort. “Not unless you want her to.”
He shifted, turning her onto her back to look at her. His eyes scanned her face, reading the conflict there. He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, tasting of sleep and salt. When he pulled back, his thumb traced her lower lip. “Go take your shower. I’ll wash these sheets.”
It was practicality, but it felt like an act of conspiracy. She nodded, slipping out from under his arm and the soiled sheets. The cool air hit her naked skin. She felt exposed, marked. She gathered her clothes from the living room floor, a silent shadow in the morning light.
As she passed the bathroom, she heard the washing machine in the adjacent closet click and hum to life. The sound was mundane. Domestic. It felt like the loudest lie she’d ever told.