I'm trembling with anticipation, so sensitive I can feel every one of the 600 threads per square inch of the sheet below. Jack likes me that way. He laughs a little as I wheedle, "Pleeeease, sweetheart." His index finger traces the boundaries of my slit, as if he were consulting a map.
"Oh, already so desperate, huh? No patience today?" His fingertip dips inside just a bit.
"Tease!" I moan, and he chuckles. "What's that, dollface? You want a little tease?" I don't even answer, just bite at the air and snap my head to one side. Then he rolls over and hops up off the bed, leaving me moaning piteously. Part of my response is theatrical. But only a very small part.
As he retrieves his cellphone and dials, I stick out my tongue and dramatically massage my breasts, each hard nipple caught between two fingers. Perhaps I can give him a show that will erode his self-discipline. But he merely shakes his finger at me, like a schoolmaster.
"Wow," he says, "I didn't even hear the phone ring.
"Yeah - I guess you were. Hah! Yeah, video conferencing."
He edges closer to the bed as he talks, running one hand over my side, from shoulder to hip.