Welcome to another episode of Bedtime Stories with Salty Vixen. Tonight’s story is titled Phantom Heat. Dear Sir, The air hangs thick with what's unsaid, Your nearness hums inside my head. A glance, a touch, a held-back sigh, Ignite a flame that climbs so high.

My skin remembers where you've been, A phantom ache, a lust unseen By others here, but known to you, This silent, fierce and wanting hue.

Do you want to fuck me? Or just finger me? Make up your mind, Sir…. Let’s begin…

The way your eyes lingered on my collarbone sent a shiver that had nothing to do with the evening chill. It was a slow burn, a deliberate exploration that made the air thicken between us. Each glance felt like a whispered promise, a silent acknowledgment of the pull that had been humming beneath the surface for weeks. My own gaze kept drifting to the strong column of your neck, the subtle pulse visible just below your ear. A warmth bloomed low in my belly, a heavy, insistent thrum that echoed the unspoken tension coiling tighter with every shared breath. I could almost taste the forbidden on my tongue, the reckless abandon that a single touch might unleash.

The brush of your fingers against my hand, seemingly accidental as you reached for a glass, sent a jolt straight through me. It was fleeting, yet it left a phantom heat in its wake, a tingling reminder of the skin-on-skin contact I craved. My breath hitched as your eyes met mine again, this time holding a knowing glint that mirrored my own burgeoning desire. The polite conversation around us faded into a muffled background noise, the only real sound the frantic beat of my own heart. In that shared look, a silent language passed between us, a raw and urgent yearning that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.