Forgive Me, I Sent Pics. Stage Lights, #4

Eli is lying in his downtown loft with his phone in his hand, playing her breathy whisper on repeat. "You were there, your hands... Fuck, I was so wet..." He hasn't slept. His cock twitches at every dream image of Mira. He bursts through the glass doors of the lab at dawn, fevered and desperate. Obsession that starts on a screen and bleeds into every room. He writes her emails with his fingers flying like he's fucking her with words, hits send, and clamps his hand around his shaft.
A laundry room where he lifts warm cotton from the basket and the faint musk of her hits him like a hypothesis he needs to test. A back porch where she wrestles a push mower out of a pickup and he watches from across the yard, fingers twitching on the rail.