WORTHY, Part 2 (The Worthy Series) Read online

  As it was, I didn’t even have any desire to touch myself. That was the last thing on my mind.

  One night, I had been asleep for perhaps a handful of fitful minutes when I heard a little bubbling blip from my iPad. Sure I was dreaming, I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to force myself back into slumber. But that strange noise sounded again, and I knew it was useless. There wouldn’t be any more sleep tonight, and I’d be a zombie again once the sun came up, staggering around and feeling miserable until I slipped into sleep in some inopportune place. The last time had been sitting at the dining room table, and Amelia had been the one to stumble open me, sneering as I jolted up and left a small puddle of drool pooling on the surface.

  I stretched and snagged the iPad from the bedside table. Maybe I could entertain myself with one of the books on it, even if I had felt pretty listless reading lately. Not even my classwork was holding my attention anymore, even as I tried to sign up for more and more classes, if only for things to do.

  Sliding the cover open, I squinted at the sudden brightness of the device’s screen. It blipped again, and I realized that it was Skype. I was getting a call via Skype.

  No. It was Jonathan. Jonathan was using Skype to contact me. My husband was finally reaching out. Finally.

  My fingers trembled so hard in my excitement that I nearly ended the call instead of answering it. Muttering curses, I finally pressed the correct button, my heart pounding with adrenaline.

  “Jon?” I asked. “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby,” he said. The screen remained dark, and I frowned, frustrated.

  “I can’t see you.”

  “Oh, hang on.” There was the sound of fumbling, and I was left staring at my own video feed, my face scowling and thrown in shadow.

  “Here we are,” Jonathan said, and his face filled both the screen of the iPad and my heart. It was daylight, wherever he was, and the sun made his dark hair gleam. His face looked tan and healthy. I immediately sat up in bed and turned on the lamp on the bedside table so I didn’t look like such a ghoul.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said, tears brimming in my eyes.

  “I don’t have words for how happy I am,” Jonathan said, his wide grin like a balm on my heart. “What time is it there? Is it late?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t care, Jonathan. You can call me whenever you like. I’ll always talk to you. How is everything?”

  He gave a long exhale and ran a hand through his hair. I only wished I could touch him, sweep my own fingers through those strands.

  “It’s a lot,” he said. “It’s a lot of things. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, baby. Some days I don’t even know what country I’m waking up in.”

  “You’re exhausted,” I said, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes for the first time. I’d been so happy to see his face that at first, I hadn’t realized anything was wrong with it. “You need more rest, Jonathan. You need to take care of yourself.”

  “Taking care of this is going to take care of ourselves,” he said, his eyes piercing. “I’m doing this for us, Michelle. For our family.”

  “You know that I would be happy just to be with you,” I told him. “Don’t feel like you have to do this. You know that I would be just as happy to be with you again at the cottage. I have money, Jonathan. I do. We can live just fine without all this.”

  “I can do this,” he said, his eyes raw and emotional. “I know I can do this. If I fail, I will never forgive myself. My family is counting on me…”

  “Your family just wants you happy,” I said. I didn’t know that. I knew that Collier probably wanted Jonathan to succeed the most, and God only knew what Amelia wanted beyond me out of the Whartons’ lives. “I want you happy, Jonathan. I feel like you’re overexerting yourself. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I do have to do this,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

  That statement hurt, but I tried not to let him know it. All I understood was that he left me to fulfill something that he thought he had to do. His absence was affecting me more than I cared to admit, but I didn’t want the first time we’d talked in so long to become a stupid fight.

  “I do understand,” I said calmly. “You want to prove to everyone that you’re just as capable to do this job as the man who had it before you.”

  “Which is ridiculous, considering I am that man still,” Jonathan said, a line of frustration bisecting his forehead.

  “We agree on that,” I said, nodding. “I just don’t like to see you stressed out like this. I wish I could be there with you. I wish there was something I could do to try to take some of this burden off of you.”

  “Just seeing your face is enough,” he said, smiling. His hand reached out, and I realized he was touching the screen of his computer. “I love you, baby.”

  “And I love you,” I said. “Let’s not talk about work anymore. You deserve a little break from it. Tell me about all the amazing things you’ve seen.”

  Jonathan launched into a description of the wonders of the Eiffel Tower and other landmarks he’d seen during his travels. I couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous at all the corners of the world he was seeing. I was becoming very intimate with the knowledge of the corners of his ceiling, since I spent so much time staring at them while I was trying to go to sleep each night. That was the extent of my recent traveling.

  “Michelle,” Jonathan said, and I sighed with longing. “I’m happy to see your face, baby, but you don’t look happy.”

  “That’s not true,” I said quickly, smiling at him. “I am happy — to see you. I missed you so much, and — and I didn’t hear from you for so long.”

  “It’s been hard without you, baby,” he said, the crease that marred his forehead deepening. “But I’m afraid if you were here, you would be as stressed out as I am. You’d be holed up in hotel after hotel all by yourself. I’m working 16-hour days on average. If I’m not making speeches, I’m being shown around. I’ve played so much golf, Michelle, that I never want to see another club again in my entire life. I’m not even good at it.”

  I had to smile a little at his litany of complaints. “Too much golf,” I said, pursing my lips. “Poor baby.”

  “If I was there right now, I’d spank that smart ass,” he said, grinning. The crease in his forehead disappeared completely.

  “I wish you were here right now,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I’d let you do a lot more than spank this ass.”

  It was Jonathan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  “Really.” I felt a stirring in me that I hadn’t experienced since my wedding night, when Jonathan and I had consummated our union in the limo on the way to the airport. I’d had zero desire and zero sexuality since then, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was extremely turned on by the sight of my husband… and the sound of his voice when he promised to do dirty things to me.

  Jonathan shifted his position in front of the camera. “I’m glad we’re having this conversation in the privacy of my hotel room,” he said. “I must confess that I have quite the erection.”

  His admission made me laugh and aroused me even more.

  “I’m glad you’re not at a sidewalk café somewhere,” I said. “Where are you, anyways?”

  “Abu Dhabi, on the balcony of my hotel,” he said. “Still not the most private place in the world, but I can adjust.”

  I experienced a brief moment of vertigo when Jonathan picked up his computer and carried it inside. There were a few glimpses of bright sun, glittering buildings, and sand beyond, and then my husband returned in the frame.

  “There,” he said. “I’m safely inside my hotel room now.”

  “And just what do you expect to be safe for?” I asked suggestively. “Can we have a little show and tell, Mr. Wharton?”

  “I think I can work that into my schedule, Mrs. Wharton,” he said. “Why don’t you show me what I’ve been missing the most?”

 
“Why, you’d have to tell me what that would be,” I said, grinning. This was interesting, indeed. I’d never thought to ask Jonathan what his favorite part about me was. It seemed self-serving, but in this setting, halfway around the world from each other, it was sexy as hell.

  “Those beautiful breasts,” he said, licking his lips. “I dream about them.”

  “Well, let me make that dream a reality,” I said. Using the cover to make a stand, I propped the iPad up on the bedside table and started to wriggle out of my pajama top until I realized that I should probably do something a little more sensual than just wriggle. I stopped and met Jonathan’s eyes on the screen. His lips were parted slightly and he was watching me intently.

  “You know, I never really got a chance to give you anything as a wedding gift,” I said, working my pajama top up slowly, revealing my stomach inch by inch.

  “Being married to you is enough of a gift,” he said.

  “I think I’ll unwrap something for you right now,” I said, pulling my top up far enough to expose the undersides of my breasts. I wrapped one arm around them and finished drawing my top over my head, tossing it to the side.

  “Ah, one of those trick wrapping jobs,” Jonathan said, smirking. “Just when you think you have all the wrapping paper off, there’s another layer underneath.”

  “It’s all about the anticipation,” I said, having more fun than I had in weeks. I let my arm drop and hefted each of my breasts in my hands, making sure that my husband saw me getting a handful of something he could see but couldn’t touch.

  “My favorites,” he said, drinking in the sight of me, completely absorbed. I was stunned at how much of a turn-on it ended up being. I was in complete control of what he witnessed. Would I have preferred to have him there with me, touching my breasts with those gentle hands of his? Sure, but this was almost as good. At least he was sort of in the room with me.

  “Do you have any requests?” I asked, lowering my lashes coquettishly. “I think I could accommodate some of your desires.”

  “I was hoping you might be taking requests,” he said. “Why don’t you take one of those rosy nipples between your fingers and squeeze it very softly for me?”

  God. I expelled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and crawled a little closer to the iPad so that my breasts filled the screen. I did just as my husband asked, squeezing my nipple just enough to make me crave more.

  “Beautiful,” Jonathan said. “Now, scoot back. Squeeze it harder. I want to see your face as you do it.”

  I was already aroused, but that simple request made another level of desire blossom within me. I reclined slightly over the pillows until my face came back into view on the screen and seized both of my nipples, squeezing the nubs harder until I gasped. The pain-tinged pleasure electrified me.

  “Tell me how that feels,” he said softly. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”

  “It hurts,” I said, choking on my words. I’d never done anything like this before, and had no idea how erotic it could be. “It hurts, but it feels so good. It’s — it’s making me want to touch myself… elsewhere.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Jonathan said.

  “My pussy,” I whispered. “I want to touch my pussy… for you.”

  “That’s a good girl,” he encouraged. “Better unwrap that pussy of yours for me, first.”

  It was almost a disappointment to let go of my nipples, but I knew everything was only going to continue getting better. Just as slowly as I’d taken off my top, I slipped my pajama bottoms down over my ass and thighs before giving my husband quite the eyeful as I kicked them off.

  “Very, very nice,” he said. “God, have I missed that pussy. Stroke it for me, would you? Tell it not to forget me.”

  “This pussy could never forget you,” I purred, drawing small circles over my labia before parting them to run my finger up and down. I could see myself doing it in the little square on the bottom corner of the iPad, and it was enormously sexy.

  “Tell me,” Jonathan said softly. “Tell me everything.”

  “My lips are so soft,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m imagining that it’s your finger, not mine. You know my pussy better than I do.”

  “I know it very well.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, dipping my finger shallowly into my entrance. “I’m already so wet. I… like touching myself for you. Letting you watch me.”

  “I think we’re going to have to find some time to exploit this when I get home,” Jonathan said, chuckling. “I think you’re a little exhibitionist, baby. I think that all started when we first made love out under the open sky, where anyone could see us.”

  It was a sweet memory, one that made me smile. “No one was going to see us. There was only you, only me.”

  “You never know,” he said. “I think you’d like an audience.”

  “I think I like you as an audience,” I said, using some of my own wetness to lubricate my journey back up between my labia. “Oh! It’s so slippery. It feels good when I move my finger over my clit. See how I’m doing it? Around and around.”

  “Move the camera closer,” Jonathan said, his voice so low that I had a little trouble understanding him. I sat up and turned the volume up on the iPad before settling the device between my legs. I had the best view in the house of Jonathan’s eyes widening as I stimulated my clit, but it was as instructive as it was arousing. I’d never seen myself like this from this angle, and I was fascinated by the twisting of my fingers over my own body.

  “It’s the most beautiful pussy in existence,” Jonathan said. “I wish I were there so I could bury my face in it. I would lick it like an ice cream cone. I would never stop.”

  I groaned and arched my back. His quiet observations were turning me on terribly. It had been so long since I’d so much as masturbated that every nerve ending in my body was primed for release. I pressed and pressed against my clitoris from every angle, bucking my hips a little as my hand circled it.

  “Finger yourself,” Jonathan commanded. “But very, very slowly. Use your pointer finger.”

  I liked that precise direction. Giving my clitoris a much-needed break, I did as he’d asked, plunging my pointer finger into my pussy with excruciating slowness.

  “In and out, baby,” he whispered. “In and out. Just like I’d do it.”

  The sensations I was giving myself, coupled with the fact that my husband was encouraging me to fuck myself, were incredibly intense. I had to hold myself back. I wanted release right there and then, but I didn’t want to jump the gun.

  “Add your middle finger,” Jonathan instructed. “Carefully. Don’t stretch yourself too suddenly.”

  Damn. I wormed my other finger inside my body alongside the first. It added bulk and increased the contact of my little pulsing thrusts. I continued to finger myself, bucking in counterpoint. I built a nice rhythm, moaning softly.

  “Stop,” Jonathan said, surprising me. I had been almost there, almost ready to reach my pinnacle.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice thick with arousal.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he assured me. “I just want to see your face when you come. Move your camera up by your face. Turn on your side. Don’t close your eyes. Watch me the entire time.”

  I gasped and hurried to comply. This was it. My husband wanted me to stare into his eyes while I came. The thought made my heart swell with both love and lust. The fact that he wanted to see the range of emotions cross the expanse of my face instead of my fingers plunging in and out of my pussy told me everything I needed to know. My husband loved me.

  I positioned the camera as he’d asked and rolled to face it. It was almost as if we were lying in bed, side by side, husband and wife. If only it were him making love to me instead of my own fingers. I knew I couldn’t be too choosy. This was our reality, for now. This was what we had to do to make things work.

  “Do it, baby,” Jonathan told me, his blue eyes intense. �
��I want you to come for me. Only for me.”

  “Only for you,” I affirmed. “Always for you.”

  I worked my hand between my legs, pushing in and out of my body with two of my fingers while rolling my clit around with my thumb in tandem.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” Jonathan said. “I want to see you.”

  I realized my eyes had been fluttering closed. I was close — oh, so close — and it was a struggle to maintain eye contact. It was terribly intimate, terribly difficult, terribly erotic.

  “God!” I cried out, fighting to keep my eyes on my husband. “I’m coming, Jon! God! Yes!”