You’re in your room, tangled in your sheets, half-asleep when your phone lights up again. It’s him. You roll your eyes and pick up.

“What now? It’s almost 3am,” you groan, your voice laced with irritation.

There’s nothing but deep, ragged breathing on the other end.

“Hello? Zach? Seriously?”

He finally speaks—his voice is rough, low, almost growling. “Y/n… you have no idea what you do to me.”

You sigh, “Are you drunk again?”

“No,” he replies, darker this time. “I’m hard. And all I can think about is you.”

Silence. Then he exhales shakily.

“You’re in bed right now, aren’t you? Just laying there in that little tank top… or maybe nothing at all.” You say nothing.

“Y/n… you make me want to do things. Dirty things.”

You bite your lip. “Just say it already,” you whisper, breath catching.

“I want to pin you down, spread those thighs, and lick you until your legs are shaking and your voice is gone. I want to feel you lose control on my tongue.”

You gasp softly, but he keeps going.

“Then I’d flip you over—hand on your throat, body pressed against yours—and sink so deep inside you, you’d forget your own name.”

“Zach… stop—”

He chuckles darkly. “You don’t want me to stop. You want me to keep talking… until you’re touching yourself just like I imagined.”

You can’t even speak now.

He exhales again, deeper this time.

“I’m not hanging up until I hear you moan my name.”

And then… silence, except for the sound of his breathing and yours.