“I’m public.”

“Yeah, you’re—” She stops as the pieces fall into place. I have never had a conversation about this stuff with a woman. None of them. “That’s why you like the public stuff? Because you’re an open book?”

I let her think about this for a few seconds. “Makes sense, though, right? I mean, look, I’ve been in the media since I was five and started doing commercials. Primetime sitcom series for six years, then the band when I was fourteen. I’ve been on display my whole life. What’s one more ass**le watching me during a private moment?”

“Is it an addiction? Have you ever had sex in private?”

I laugh. “Of course.”

“But you thought I like the public stuff too?”

“I know it excites you, Grace. I felt your pu**y and it was wet every single time. So why fight it? Why give me such pushback?”

“Because it makes me feel… dirty.”

“Aren’t you? Aren’t you the filthy blue bird? Isn’t that the public persona you’ve been cultivating for the past few years?”

Silence from her again.

“It’s not real to you, is it? All that Twitter stuff. It’s fake to you. Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend? You prefer the illusion?”

“That’s actually not why.”

But her tone is hostile, so maybe that’s not exactly why, but there is a reason why she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And it’s got something to do with this Twitter stuff. Somehow, some way, it’s related.

“I just don’t have time for one.”

“Right. But you have time to chat online every Saturday night for hours and hours? You know, for someone who is extremely self-righteous when it comes to my bad behavior, you sure do have some good excuses to justify yours. At any rate, dirty is just a word. Exhibitionist sex can just as easily make you feel sexy. But for some reason you choose something negative.”

“Are you going to stop the Twitter chat or not?”

Her abrupt subject change is a signal that she’s done with the personal stuff, and that’s OK with me. I’m about finished as well. With the personal stuff. I’m just getting started with the sexual stuff.

“I told you. Make me come with words, over the phone. And I’ll put a stop to the chatter.”

“Why can’t you just be nice and do it without the phone sex?”

“Because I want you, Grace. And this is a good way to get what I want.”

She’s quiet for so long I almost think she hung up. But then I hear a small breath of air and I know she’s about to give in. “Grace,” I whisper, breaking her silence on the other end and unzipping my pants at the same time. “I’ve got my hand on my cock, ready to go. Forget about Twitter and think only about me.” She takes a deep breath on the other end of the line and I know… I can just feel it. This will be epic. “Talk to me, Grace. If you were here, what would you do to get me off?”

Chapter Two

MrsInvisibleMan

I TAKE a deep breath.

“Grace?” he asks, a softer tone this time. His breath is heavier, like he’s relaxed. Like he’s jerking off, the cynical person inside me corrects. “I’m ready. I have my hand on my dick and you’re in front of me. What are you doing?”

I take another deep breath and then I swallow. Should I really do this?

“What’re you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m debating,” I tell him truthfully. “On whether or not I should cross this line with you.”

“So letting me f**k you in a tropical forest on Saint Thomas wasn’t crossing a line with me?”

“It was,” I interject. “But that’s different. That was a fantasy fling, this is reality. This is my life, Vaughn. I have a real life and those people on my Twitter feed are friends. You’re playing with my life. You’re…” I shake my head a little. I should not be having this conversation with him. I should not be letting him into my head at all. He’s a fun dream guy in the sex department, but as a real human being, Vaughn Asher is an ass**le. I don’t want to go any further in this demented relationship and giving in to his demands right now would be a monumental mistake.

“I’m what?” he asks.

“You’re using me.”

“I’m not using you. I think we both had fun on the island. We can both have fun right now.”

“You’re forcing me to have phone sex with you.”

“I’m not forcing you—Grace, please. If you don’t want to, just hang up and I’ll never call you again. How’s that?”

“But if I do that, you won’t make things right, will you?”

“Oh,” he says with a chuckle. “I get it. You want me to force you. You want me to take away your decision in this matter, because you want to do it, you just want to go on pretending you don’t.”

I’m silent. Because he’s right. I want it both ways. I want the excitement of what he’s asking—what he’s offering. But I don’t want to take responsibility for choosing to allow him to treat me this way.

And that’s worse, isn’t it? Because I’m lying to myself. The least I can do is be honest. So I swallow down that fear and take another deep breath to steady myself. “I’m staring at you from across the room.”

“Mmmm,” he growls through the phone. “Why so far away?”

“Because…” I bite my lip to stop a smile. “Because the length of your c**k has taken me by surprise. I never got a good look at it, and…” I stop to think. “And it’s very hard.”

“It is. It is so f**king hard right now. I wish you were here, in front of me.”

“What would you want me to do?”

“Only what you’re comfortable doing.”

Well, that makes me smile. “I’m walking over to you, slowly, so you can appreciate my body. I’m naked.” I giggle as soon as the words come out.

“As am I. How do I look?”

“God,” I say. “You look like a god.” A god I’d like to lick from top to bottom. But I don’t say that. I’ve written that. I’ve written worse, but I can’t say that out loud to him. I just can’t.