Lizzie

Lizzie

Lizzie calls me, early on Sunday morning. And when I say early, I mean six o'clock, which on a Sunday is twice as early. I'm in our flat in London; she's in Bahrain, for work. It's the first time we've really been apart.

Three-quarters asleep, I pick up and grunt before the adrenaline kicks in.

"Hi. It's me."

"Are you okay?" After all, it has to be an emergency, right​?

"Just missing you."

Now don't get me wrong, I love my girlfriend. We've been together almost a year and every morning I wake up and wonder how I got so lucky. (Okay, maybe not this morning.) On the second date she stayed over and never really left -- hence our flat, not just mine any more. She's petite and Scottish and a proper redhead, with that gorgeous creamy skin some redheads have that burns to a crisp five minutes after it's exposed to sunlight. First thing in the suitcase when she packed for Bahrain was some industrial-strength sun-cream. She's sexy and smart and sparky and incredible in bed. But she sometimes does random shit like phoning at six on a Sunday morning.

"You do know what time it is here, don't you?"

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Amazingly, yes."

"I hope you're alone."

We have this running gag that every time I'm out of her sight I'm with another girl. This morning it's wearing a little thin. "Right again."

"Me too." Has she been drinking? I'm not sure if alcohol is even legal in Bahrain, and it's only -- what is it? - eight in the morning over there. But she's not making much sense.

"You know I always sleep naked," she goes on, and now my sleep-fuddled brain starts to get a clue. After all, three nights ago she was doing so in this very bed. Those are warm memories.

"I remember." And I do. I remember our sweet sleepy farewell fuck in the middle of the night, knowing her cab to Heathrow is booked for some unholy hour and neither of us caring. I remember the one before it, which we thought was going to be our farewell fuck, on top of the clothes she'd piled onto the bed to pack. It was fast and messy but Christ it was hot. I'm hard just thinking about it.

My ear picks out a sound from the static. If you didn't know Lizzie the way I do, you'd probably miss it. Something between a breath and a full-on sigh.

"Are you touching yourself?" I ask.

"Yes." Another breath-sigh. "I miss you so much."

"Me too."

"Don't stop." Technically I'm not actually doing anything to her, but I'm not about to split hairs.

"Never."

"I hope you're joining in."

"Damn straight I am." She may have started before me, but I'm doing my best to catch up with her.

"Dreamed about you last night," she murmurs, in a voice that could raise the dead.

"Nice dream?"

"Sexy dream. Woke up all wet."

If she didn't have my full attention before, she does now. "Go on."

"You climbed in through the bedroom window." A soft little gasp. "You tied me up."

This has been hinted at before. Note to self: buy some rope. "Then what?"

"Then -- aah -- then you fucked me. So fucking hard. So deep. I can still feel you inside me."

"Fuck. That's hot."

"Play with my tits," she pleads. Lizzie has fantastic tits: not the biggest, but beautifully-formed and wonderfully sensitive. I once made her come just by messing around with them. (Hell, what a night that was.) Her nipples get incredibly hard when she's turned on. I bet they're like that right now.

"I'm kissing the left one," I tell her. "Running my teeth over it. Now I'm sucking on it. Hard. Now the other side."

"Shit..."

"Now I'm biting it."

She's whimpering. I can tell she's getting close. God knows I'm not too far behind her.

In my mind's eye I focus on her face. Lizzie's O-face is something to behold. It's like she's never come before, like you've taken her somewhere new and secret and astonishing. When I see that face, I feel like a god.

"I'm gonna come for you," she squeaks. She's so on the edge now, I can feel it.

"Do it!"

"Fuck!" She comes, right in my ear, the best sound in the world.

All I hear for a little while is panting as she cools down again. I'm breathing pretty hard myself by this stage.

"Wow," she says, still a little breathless. I can hear the smile in her voice: that sweet contented smile I know so well. I'd give anything to see that smile. "That was fucking amazing."

I'm so turned on now that I can't even speak. She can still tell, though.

"Your turn," she says. "Come for me. Come all over me."

That does it: that image, her soft willing body covered in my seed, that lovely cat-got-the-cream smile.

"Liz!" I come like a geyser, all over the bedsheet. Some of it even ends up on the pillow. Jesus.

"Fuck me," I say, when I can speak again. "You're something else."

"I love you," she whispers, and cuts the connection.

That's my girl.