Wicked thoughts

On the phone he asks if I think about him when he's gone. I tell him the truth. Yes. When he's not here, I sit on my bed in nothing but my skin and let my mind go straight to his cock. I remember how it feels, thick and insistent, how he pulls my hair to push me deeper. My fingers drift down between my legs. I’m already wet. The memory of his tongue on mine and the way his hand slides inside me lights every nerve. I rub slow circles over my clit, then dip two fingers in, rocking my hips in time with the dirty pictures I paint for myself. Every time I do this, my whole body tightens and the sheets end up twisted beneath me, proof of just how wicked those thoughts really are.