Rachel is grading midterm papers when her phone rings. She's surprised to see it's Eleanor, but picks up anyways. "Hey."
"Hello, Rachel."
Silence stretches between them.
Rachel isn't sure where to take this conversation, but that's because they haven't talked all week long. "Uh, how's work?" Ever since starting her own company, well away from the Young Corporation, Eleanor's been working like a dog. She never tells her what the hell she's up to. Then again, she's always been a fairly secretive person, so Rachel doesn't dare push it.
"Fine." The older woman sounds distant. Sure, she lives across the world and they mostly chat via phone, but now there's a kind of coldness in her inflection that makes Rachel's heart flop. "And how are your classes?"
Rachel pauses, before responding with, "Good." Eleanor's only reply is a noncommittal hum. She doubts that the older woman is actually paying attention to her, despite Eleanor's incredible knack for multitasking.
Whether Eleanor likes it or not, Rachel is going make damn sure she does. It's been a whole week since they've spoken, and it would be a shame for her not to take advantage of it.
"You know," she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I've been thinking of you a lot."
There's an undeniable inhale on the other end. Oh yeah, she's gotten her attention now. Rachel slips a hand past her pants, her underwear, and sighs into the phone.
"Is that so?" Eleanor asks neutrally enough, but her interest is evident.
Rachel nods, then remembers that Eleanor can't see her. "Mhm." She carefully flicks a thumb against her clit, her hips twitching in response. "Oh, fuck. " That last part ends in a soft whine.
"Tell me what you're," Eleanor's voice is hoarse, and she clears her throat. "Tell me what you're wearing."
Rachel grins, pleased that this idea of hers is really working. "The La Perla lingerie you sent me, and some sweatpants." She draws her fingers back, so that her touch is feather light on her already dripping folds. It's tempting, to grind against her hand as roughly and quickly as she can until she comes. However, the opportunity to tease Eleanor is too good fo pass up.
Rachel takes the silence on the other end as a sign of her approval, and continues to circle her clit, keeping her movements nice and slow.
"How does it feel? Tell me."
"Really good," Rachel says breathlessly, and presses hard for a moment. Her hips roll, instinctively seeking more contact. She bites her lip and with much effort, maintains the leisurely pace of her strokes. "I wish you were here."
"Mm." Eleanor chokes that sound out, and Rachel wonders if she's getting herself off too. The thought is almost enough to make her come, and she shuts her eyes to regain control, small stars already going off in her head. It's too soon for that. She pries her hand back out, digits glistening and wet, and with a moment's hesitation, begins licking them clean. They're not bad, but she very much prefers the way Eleanor tastes.
"Well?" Eleanor demands. "Don't tell me you stopped, just now."
"So what if I did? I wasn't sure if you wanted me to keep going." Rachel sucks on her index finger. She's never done this before. Tasting herself, fucking herself over the phone, or deliberately antagonising Eleanor. It's all pretty great, she thinks, as her tongue laps up her sticky fingers. She releases them with a small, audible 'pop.'
At this, Eleanor growls.
"Something wrong?" Rachel asks innocuously. She moves her hand back to its original position, and arches into her own touch. Not enough pressure still.
"Yes. This isn't even remotely fair."
"Is it because you're jealous? You want to be the one driving your fingers up my cunt, tasting me?" Rachel finally slides one finger in, and moans. God, her underwear is drenched.
Eleanor makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.
Rachel pouts. "Poor Eleanor. Maybe you'll feel better if you touch yourself. Can you do that for me, pretty please?"
There's a haughty sniff. "No," she snaps, sounding a little bit like herself again.
"I guess you didn't hear me clearly. I'm not asking, Eleanor, I'm telling you to." Rachel doesn't know where this is coming from, but she keeps talking anyways. "Touch. Yourself. Slowly, only two fingers, don't go in until I say you can."
"Uh-huh." Eleanor's voice is strangled now, barely recognisable. "I was already doing it."
"Good girl," Rachel cooes. She's thrusting herself a little now, and her hips rock in response, threatening to come at any moment. Being this close, yet so far away from climax is like some kind of sweet limbo. "You're doing good. You want me to tell you how good you are?"
Eleanor's definitely whimpering.
"I think of you all the time. At work, at home, you name it. And I can't stop thinking about how good your mouth felt against me, that last time on your bed in Singapore? You remember that?"
"Y-yes."
"Then I fucked you and how many times did you come? Four?"
"Five. It was five." Eleanor is almost hyperventilating now. Rachel leans back further, and withdraws her hand before re-entering with two fingers this time. She arches against the couch, gasping. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Eleanor cries out then. "Oh."
"Don't go inside yet," Rachel warns her. "I didn't say you could."
"I already did," Eleanor wails. "I just came, and I'm about to come again."
With her admission, Rachel digs her palm into her clit, where she's sensitive and swollen now.
Her vision flickers.
"You know what I would do, if you were here?" she rasps. "I'd be fucking you against the wall, only using my teeth and tongue."
Eleanor is practically sobbing. "Yes, yes, yes, I'd like that." Maybe it's just that Rachel's delirious, but her words blur into one another, sounding like a totally different person. That clipped, polished voice is reduced to a high, desperate cry.
Rachel pants. She can barely hold the phone up to her face now, it feels like she's burning up. "Oh, Eleanor. I'm... going to come now." She drives three fingers into herself, rising up and arching against the couch. Lights go off behind her eyes, and she sags back, breathing heavily. She spends the next couple of minutes trying to wind down from her orgasm.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
Oops. Rachel almost forgets that she's still on the phone. She fumbles with her sweatpants, tugging her hand out. "Uh, yes?"
"Do you have any idea how torturous that was?" Eleanor's voice is sharp. "Having to listen to you, getting wet and not being able to do a single thing about if?"
Rachel may have just come, but her thighs clench at the sound of the older woman's cool, ineffectual voice floating through the phone.
"Worst of all, I'm exhausted after coming so many times," Eleanor says, almost conversationally. "A whole day of work is going to be lost because I'm incapable of focusing on anything but that. You really think I'm going to be able to forgive you for this?" Her tone can only be described as vicious.
Rachel can't stop her fingers from nudging past soaked curls, delving back into her labia. "Hhng," is the only thing she can say, spreading her legs apart.
"And you're touching yourself, aren't you? You already came and you still want more. You're being greedy, Rachel."
Rachel kicks off her sweatpants and tosses them onto the floor. She unabashedly humps her hand, moaning, and her head rolls back. There's a slight burn as she parts her legs more. It probably makes her look like a total slut, but it feels so good.
"Just as I thought," Eleanor purrs, sounding downright gleeful. "Stop that, or I'll hang up right now."
"N-no." Rachel gasps as she comes again, making quite a spectacular mess of herself.
"No? No as in you won't stop, or are you objecting to me hanging up?" Her breathing is noticeably laboured, and Rachel can hear her swallow before continuing. "An answer is required."
It's a Herculean task, but Rachel tears her slippery fingers away. "I stopped, I stopped." She doesn't lick them this time, because she doesn't want to. What she wants to do is keep listening to Eleanor's voice and fuck herself into oblivion.
"Oh," the older woman drawls. "Good. Now you just sit there and listen to me. No talking. If you do as I tell you, you'll be handsomely rewarded."
"Please. I'll do anything. I'll let you do anything." Rachel isn't touching herself but her folds still tingle pleasantly. Still wet, and still wanting.
"That sounds promising," Eleanor says. "Now, let's see. I'm sitting on my bed with my legs spread and the curtains closed. I am, well was, wearing that striped suit you're so fond of. It's on the floor now, though. Everything is off, except for the suit jacket and my heels."
"Oh god." Rachel presses her eyes shut.
"I had a feeling you'd like that." Eleanor sounds smug. "Listen very carefully now." Her voice goes down an octave. When it's low like this, it's pure sex. Rachel knows better than to try anything. With even the tiniest bit of contact she'd come yet again, and she has a feeling they'd have to stop after that.
They can't stop, not yet. Rachel has to prolong this as long as she can. It's nice, to know Eleanor cares enough to be upset when she hears that Rachel came without her permission. The world seems right again after a painful seven days of waiting, waiting for Eleanor to call her, unable to find the courage to be the one to do it.
"If you were here," Eleanor murmurs. "I'd tie you to the bedpost with a scarf. Just your arms, and you'd be standing on your knees." Rachel knows she'd use one of her Hermes scarves, the soft whispers of silk that feel like heaven on her skin.
"Then I'd— I'd lie down and taste you." The older woman's voice is hoarse.
Rachel's found that Eleanor's sharp tongue is capable of quite fantastic things. She can envision it, Eleanor eating her out, all while watching her with dark, intent eyes, a drunken half-smile playing across her face.
"Oh my fucking god, Eleanor," Rachel moans, not sure how much longer she can hold out.
Eleanor pants. "Oh." Rachel can see her licking her lips, and closing her eyes, trying to keep herself composed for just a few minutes.
There's no question of whether or not she's touching herself now; she absolutely is.
Rachel would kill to see those long, elegant fingers pumping in and out, wantonly spread against those luxurious bed sheets— Her artfully pinned hair cascading down her shoulders in dark, messy waves.
"Oh, Rachel. " The way Eleanor says her name is breathless, reverent, warm.
Rachel comes with a silent cry, her body shaking as she rides out every wave of pleasure that hits her, without even a touch, because of Eleanor. It feels hot, and cold, and wonderful.
Eleanor's still making these whining noises when she flies back down to planet Earth, sounding almost in pain.
"I love you," Rachel tells her. "I want to hear you come already."
"I- Ah!" She yelps, her voice low and rough. "Oh," Eleanor moans, and Rachel's frantically rubbing at her own clit with her knuckles, this time coming so hard that her whole fucking hand gets soaked.
The older woman's breaths are shallow as she gulps for air again. "You— why haven't we done this before?"
Rachel has been thinking the exact same thing. "I don't know."
"Well." Eleanor sounds bemused. "We need to do that again."
"Now?!" Her phone reads as 10:00 PM now, and she has work tomorrow. Plus, she really wants to take a quick shower and go to bed already.
"Absolutely not. Goodnight now."
Rachel is dumbfounded, probably the result of too many orgasms within such a short period of time. "What?" She can practically hear Eleanor's eyeroll on the other end.
"I love you too."
She's even more confused now, to the point where she doesn't know what to say in response.
"Earlier you said you loved me," Eleanor explains slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "I feel similarly."
Rachel's heart warms, and she can't help but smile. "Aw, you're such a big softie."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Eleanor Sung, you old sap."
"You Americans say the stupidest things," Eleanor declares, and hangs up.
Rachel stares at her unlit screen for a moment, then flops onto her couch with a giddy laugh, burying her face in the cushions.