I press my cheek to the pillow and smile into the phone. My voice goes quiet and warm like I am already next to you. Breathe with me. Slow. Feel how close I am.

My nails trace the hem of my hoodie while I look straight at you in my head. I tilt my chin and whisper your name like a secret. I let the zipper catch just a little so you can hear the tiny sound it makes when I tug it. I see the way you look at me, I murmur, dragging the zipper down and letting the fabric part. I know exactly what that does to you.

It is alright, I do not mind. Keep watching me. I slide one shoulder free, then the other, and lay back so the fabric opens more. I talk you through how to touch yourself with the same unhurried rhythm I use on my lips. Two fingers. Slow circles. Stop. Start again. I tell you how I arch when I get a little greedy. I tell you how I bite my bottom lip when I want praise.

My hair spills over the pillow. I laugh softly because I know you are staring. I kiss the mic so you can hear how close my mouth is. My hand goes under the waistband of my panties and I make a sweet little sound right in your ear. I tell you what I would do if you were here, where I would put your hands, how I would guide your hips, when I would whisper good boy.

You get one rule. Match my pace. When I breathe in, you edge. When I breathe out, you glide. I roll onto my side and whisper one more time, lips brushing the phone like a kiss you can feel. Keep watching me. Keep going for me. Do not lose my rhythm.