A phone call

Three days passed without a word.

Emily didn't text. Didn’t check in. She told herself she wouldn’t break first—not this time.

Then, just as she was closing her blinds at the end of the workday, her phone lit up.

MICKEY - CALLING…

She answered before the second ring.

“You alive?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Barely,” he muttered. “She’s still freaking out. I’ve had to be home every night. No privacy. She won’t stop asking questions.”

Emily leaned against the window. “You hold your story together?”

“Mostly. I told her it was a bartender in town I hooked up with a few times. She thinks I’m just… young and dumb. Keeps dropping these subtle guilt bombs. It’s exhausting.”

Emily smirked. “Poor baby.”

“I wanted to call,” he said. “Just… couldn’t.”

“I get it.” She let the silence stretch. Then: “So. You coming back to campus after Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah. Gonna be with my mom for the holiday first though.”

Emily’s breath hitched slightly.

“Oh?” she asked, sweetly. “Gonna see your aunt?”

There was a pause.

A long one.

“…Yeah,” he said eventually.

She smiled slow. “You gonna give her a good Thanksgiving stuffing?”

He exhaled. “Jesus.”

“Maybe offer her a hand in the pantry,” Emily purred. “Slip in behind her while she’s putting away the dinner rolls. Slide your hands up under her sweater. Tell her you’ve been starving for her.”

“Fuck,” Mickey groaned. “Natalie…”

“Not Natalie,” she whispered. “You’re with your aunt, remember?”

He swallowed hard. “Right.”

“She acts shocked at first,” Emily continued, her voice dipping low, velvet over heat. “Pushes you away with just her fingers. But you pin her between the shelves. Pull her pants down just enough. She’s not even wearing panties, is she?”

“No,” he rasped.

“She knew you were coming. She’s been wet for you all week. Maybe she even rubbed one out thinking about the last time you bent her over your mom’s couch.”

“Jesus, I’m so hard right now.”

“You slide your cock into her—bare, thick, hot—and she moans, all quiet and ****. Begs you not to get caught. But you can’t stop. Not now. Not after you’ve tasted her.”

“Fuck—”

“Her legs start shaking, right there in the pantry. She’s dripping on your cock. Her tits are pressed against the canned yams. You grip her hips and fuck her deeper.”

Mickey’s breath was ragged now. She could hear the slick rhythm of his hand stroking.

“She cums first,” Emily whispered. “Biting her hand to keep quiet. And you finish in her, don’t you? Right inside your aunt. Right where she wants it.”

“God—yes—Emily!”

He groaned loud, long, helpless—like the sound was ripped from his chest—and she smiled, lips parted, listening to him fall apart.

A moment of panting silence.

Then: “I missed your voice,” he breathed.

Emily’s smile only widened.

“Wait till you hear what I’ve got planned for Christmas.”