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If it wasn't for the fact that I craved to be in her position, I would have called her a fucking hypocrite. Envious? Me? Damn right I was.Dean's hips moved back and forth like a well-oiled piston engine, his prick nice and shiny from the love sap she was secreting, while the room, and my ears, were filled with her lurid demands."So, Mrs Mills likes the rough stuff, does she?" Dean’s voice was gruff and laboured. His chest heaved deeply and I could see Mum was a hard task master."Hmm, she would... if only the useless son of a bitch fucking her could get on with it!" she replied sarcastically. It had the desired effect."You fucking whore. I'll show you,” Dean bellowed and, after giving her a resounding slap on her arse, his fucking increased in ferocity."Ahhh, yesss, that's it. Don't stop. Uh-uhhh, I knew you had it in you, uuhhh, you fucking little shit. Now fuck me,” she ordered hoarsely. “Give me everything you've got.”Dean pounded Mum like a man possessed and, from my hiding place,. "What this dump? With its chrome appliances? And stellar view? Did I mention the satellite TV? No? Hmm, well, anyway, like I said, I dabble. I have sold a couple of books, I trade favors with those that have something I need and might not be able to pay for in the normal method and when things get really tight, I actually work for a living. I have a contract in London late next week in fact that will pay me enough to let me put my feet up and do nothing for the rest of the year if I really felt so inclined, but a friend has asked me to come to the Islands to winter with him and help figure out why his network has gone wonky, I believe that is the technical term he used, so I expect I will be able to feed myself for a couple of days yet." He was not sure if the look on her face was incredulity or simple disbelief. "So, go, strip, toss me out your shirt and we will take it from there, shall we?" She was still shaking her head as she walked into the bedroom, his t-shirt in her hand."So.
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‘Emma.’ The one word, spoken strongly, calmly, in your smooth-toned voice snapped me from my reverie. ‘Emma…I’m here.’ I giggled nervously trying to focus my brain, force myself to say something half-intelligent. It seemed that the playful wit on which I normally had such a grip was gone for the moment. ‘Indeed, you are,’ I said, immediately cursing my flippant response. You replied, ‘You’re biting your lip, baby. Stop, I’m here now.’ Again, you knew what to say, and I let go of my bottom lip, knowing it was already swollen from my unconscious habit of gnawing on it when nervous. I felt that familiar calm envelope me, that feeling you could elicit so easily. I merely listened to your breathing through the phone. ‘Camden? You’re coming up,’ I said simply, knowing we’d no longer need to lament about the three hour time difference or wonder if we’d be able to talk. A grin broke out on my face as the truth of the moment hit me. ‘Tell me the room number…please,’ you uttered, and I could.

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