Trading Tides Read Online Free PDF Page A

lip. "Sometimes... not just once."
    "And you did it... here in bed?"  
    I nodded.
    "Where else?"
    I was getting better about blushing, but the nervous, delighted feeling in my chest was still there, almost like the first time he'd interrogated me like this. His voice was always calm and collected, and sometimes, it went a little raspier and then I knew he wanted me badly. When he questioned me, though, he acquired a hint of an officious tone that went right through me, tingled in confusing places.
    "In... in the shower." I swallowed down a lump in my throat. "And... at my desk, um. At work once... in the bathroom, but I didn't come there, I was too nervous. I just needed... I just needed..."
    "What did you need, pet?"
    "You," I breathed and cringed. "Sir."  
    It was the truest answer I could give, but I still wasn't sure I was supposed to say things like this. It seemed too close, too needy a thing to feel for someone I'd known for about a month, had kissed only twice. Was it normal that someone like that could live in my head twenty-four-seven already? "And... I don't know, touch? Relief... just for a moment."
    He nodded, and didn't press. A tenderness washed over his features and this time, my fingers made it all the way to the bottom of the screen before I could reign them in again.
    "And did you do as I told you?"
    "Yes, Sir." The two words were like a tiny explosion, a popped balloon. He smiled, but didn't speak again. By now, I knew to interpret his silence as a command to go on, to elaborate and I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "I kept you in my mind, Sir. Every time. I made my hand become your hand, I imagined your voice. I... called your name when I came."
    "That's my good girl."
    I beamed, glowing under his praise.
    "What was I like in your head?"
    "It changes." I bit my lip, my gaze wandering to the window as I thought about my answer. He never rushed me. I think he understood that sometimes I needed to think before I could speak.  
    The snow had grown thicker over the last twenty minutes, thicker and softer, fluttering past my window. It was late in the season for snow, mid March, but the snow didn't seem to care. I swallowed again to moisten my throat, then looked back at the camera.  
    "Sometimes I think of you as you are now, like you're there on the phone talking me through it. You tell me what to do; my hand is just, you know, your tool. But sometimes, especially when I can't... um... touch myself immediately, like on the tube or in a meeting or doing the dishes, I imagine being with you. Sometimes I just replay what already happened. Sometimes, it's all new. I think about..."
    My glottis closed there, and I had to force myself to go on when the silence stretched. "I think about when it hurt."
    "Did you like that?"
    Another nod, and I gasped for air.  
    "Yeah. I... I liked that. I mean, liked it because you... I liked it because of you." It was another one of those answers that the logical, analytical part of my brain wasn't satisfied with. It didn't make sense, that wasn't the right way to explain it at all, but I didn't have the words to translate my feelings; they resisted clear-cut explanations that would rob them of their mystery.  
    "Try harder," he whispered as though he'd read my mind, or more likely my face. I tended to scrunch up my nose when I thought about something; he'd told me that before—whispered it tenderly just before I fell asleep.
    "I... I tried, you know, doing it to myself." This time I did blush. My clit tingled at the flash of humiliation, and I still don't know why it was so much easier to confess that I had my hands between my legs every free minute, than to admit to trying to spank myself with a hairbrush.
    "And?"
    "It... wasn't the same." I shook my head; my ear rubbed against the pillow. "It was... hollow. When you do it, there are so many dimensions and layers to the sensation and I don't know, it made everything go quiet in my head. But when I did it, it was