Finally, Yours by Elizabeth SaFleur


Julianna never believed herself to be a phone sex girl. Then again, she’d never had a hunky, ex-security guard, British hottie living next door to her before. A man who wanted to be a podmate.

“You first.” His low growl did things to her – heat-raising, tingly things.

"I went first last night.”

“And, in my book, Miss Morgan, you will go first every night.”

She let herself release, and as she was coming down from her—quite frankly, spectacular orgasm—her mind sifted through the last ten days like sand through her fingers.

Ever since their dinner when they’d declare they would form a “pod,” where they'd have no outside contact with anyone else, she’d turn into a hormonal teenager. Only two more days to go and their forced solitude would be over. She’d be free to leap over the fence separating their two beach houses and finally get that hug.

Though the way things had turned, quickly, she was going to be getting more than a hug.

On the first day of their two-week self-quarantine, she’d placed an epic food and wine order at the local grocery store. The kid who delivered it asked if she was throwing a party. "Oh, no, just hunkering down for a bit," she’d replied. She didn’t know what Gerard’s food tastes were yet, so she’d stocked up on pasta, pork, chicken, fish, crab legs and lobster tails she could freeze. Then there was the butter, seasonings, bread crumbs, sauces. Add some yellow corn, potatoes and as many greens as she’d dared to get at once. Her refrigerator door nearly didn’t close once stocked with her haul. She’d wanted to be able to cook for him once they were released from their self-exile.

It was on day two that their mostly-platonic relationship had taken a turn. She’d cracked open the slider, and the rush of salt air and wave sounds from the ocean 200 yards away crashed over her. She'd felt good. She had something to look forward to. Yet, the ocean called to her. It’d been the first twenty-four-hour period she hadn’t been down to the beach to put her toes in the sand, and it beckoned.

She’d texted Gerard instead. “Can I at least walk on the beach or is that anti-pod behavior?”

“Not if I come with you – to protect you from others.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Don’t trust other men getting a look at those legs.”

“So possessive.” She’d been joking with that last line.

“You have no idea,” he’d replied, and told her to meet him at the end of the walkway.

She did exactly as he said—and had so ever since.

They took a lot of walks at twilight, only to return to their respective houses to sleep alone. But on the fourth night, Gerard called just as she was slipping into bed. He’d asked her if she was a flannel girl or a lace girl.

“Neither,” she’d replied.

“Oh, good. I was hoping it was nothing but your skin.”

Their banter escalated from there. Tonight was day twelve of doing more via mobile phone with a man she knew for less than three weeks than she’d ever done with her ex-husband in person.

That was another thing. The man presented himself to be so easy-going—and he was—except when it came to sexy times. There, he was downright dominant.

She loved it.

She adjusted herself so she lay on her side. “It would be so much nicer if I could see you.” Yes, she was pouting. She was so done with this quarantine period.

“Care to move to video?” He practically purred.

She flopped to her back. “Um, not yet.”

Not yet? He’d made her do unspeakable things to herself, from touching herself to even spanking herself one time, and she was afraid of him seeing her body? Why, yes, she was.

She hadn’t had a man see her squishy bits in some time. She felt the need to do so under the cover of darkness at first and something told her he wouldn’t take to a dark video call. No, Gerard was a man who’d want bright lights and would probably stare down at her and…


She really did love how he said her name. “Yes?”

“You overthinking things?”


He chuckled. “Stop. Put your hand inside your panties. Feel your wetness.”

She did what he asked.

“Now.” The man was so certain she’d done what he’d directed. “What do you taste like?

“I don’t know.

“Then, do it now.”

Oh, my. She’d made quite a show of sucking on her fingers.

“Well?” He was breathing hard.

“A little salty. A little…”

He groaned. “In forty-five hours I’m going see if you’re right.”

“I thought it was forty-eight.”

“You left at 9 p.m. on August 19th.”

Oh, he’d been counting the hours, too. “And then in forty-five hours—”

“You’ll get that hug.”

She laughed. He didn’t return her laughter. Oh, was he serious? Because if that was all she was getting after what they’d been doing, she just might explode.

She swallowed. “Yes. A hug.”

“And, know that I have a very, very wide definition of what constitutes a hug.”

Oh, thank God.

It’s amazing how much you can find out about a person when all you had was each other to talk to. The need to share, just let out your own thoughts to someone, grew so strong in both of them, they’d end up spilling their hearts out to one another fairly soon in their self-enforced quarantine. Now, she was half in love with this man.

It was going to be a long forty-five hours. But once over, she would explore all the ways Gerard liked to hug.