"That's why you wanted to video chat—so you could get me naked."

"No, it isn't. I wanted to see your beautiful face, but then I sniffed your knickers right before we connected and now I've got a massive hard-on I need to do something about. I could really use your assistance here, babe."

She's laughing at me. "You sniffed my panties?"

"Yeah. I stole some you'd worn because I'm so fucking addicted to the smell of your snatch." She's looking at me with what I think is disbelief because I've said those words to her. "You and I both know I'm a dirty bastard, so you don't even have to say it."

"Yeah. I love you—and your snatch is part of you—so there's not a damn thing wrong with me loving it too. And I do. Wholeheartedly." I can see that she's leaving the kitchen table. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I can't very well strip naked in my kitchen. And I need jams. You know I have to have sexy-time music if I'm going to get naked for you."

Oh, fuck yes! "Whoa, wait a minute. I'm in my office and I need to lock the door because I will fire anyone who walks in here while we're getting busy."

"You do know we won't actually be getting busy, right?"

"Baby, I have an imagination and I'm gonna use it," I call out as I get up and walk over to lock the door. I turn the knob and pull on it for reassurance. This is not an occasion when Mrs. Porcelli needs to come in and quiz me about what I want to eat.

I'm back at my desk with one raging hard-on and she hasn't taken off a stitch of clothing yet. "I'm ready when you are."

I hear a slow, seductive song begin to play in the background, but I don't see her. A moment later she reappears and begins to slowly sway to the music as she sheds her shirt over her head. She tosses it somewhere in the room and I recognize the white lace bra she's wearing. I know the matching knickers—string bikinis with the tiniest scrap of material to cover her.

She reaches around to unfasten her bra—something I always do for her—and she lets it drop to the floor. Her tits are so damn beautiful. I haven't seen or touched them in a week and it's killing me. "Touch 'em for me."

She takes her hands and grasps them from the bottom and sides to push them together. Her teeth graze her bottom lip as she uses her thumb and index finger to roll her nipples. "You like that, don't 'cha?"

"Indeed I do, but I like it so much better when it's me doing it."

This brings a grin to her face. "Me too." She moves her hands slowly down her stomach until she reaches the button on her jeans and pops it open. "Oops. Look what happened there." She slides her zipper down and begins to shimmy out of her pants and undies. "Tsk. Tsk. I hate when my clothes fall off like that."

Mmm. She's so fucking hot standing there naked for my eyes only. I can't help myself. I have to get some relief so I unzip and start doing what Laurelyn would do for me if she were here. "Touch yourself and pretend it's me."

"You're ordering up some extra dirty with a side of kink today," she says as she walks backward to sit on the bed. She slides back and spreads her legs so I have a perfectly clear view when she touches herself. "You want to see me touch this?"

"Oh, yeah. That's it." I watch her rubbing herself and I remember exactly what it felt like when my fingers did exactly what hers are doing now. "This has to be the sweetest torment I've ever endured." I start wanking off faster because I just need it to be over. I never thought I'd feel that way, but I'm in misery.

"I know that face," she teases. "I think my boy is about to come."

"I damn sure hope so because I'm about to fucking…die…here." It's only a moment later that I come hard and fast, just the way I need to. I lean my head back against my office chair and enjoy my release. It's not what I get when I'm with Laurelyn, but it's the next best thing. I'll take what I can get at this point.

"The boy has rounded third and…yes! We have a home run, ladies and gentlemen."

I laugh because I don't know another woman who would coach her boy on like that. And I definitely don't know who would get naked and touch themselves so someone else could get off. "Thank you, babe. You don't know how much I needed that."

"I bet I do. I may or may not be putting the Bullet to a lot of use these days."

I don't know how I feel about that. "The Bullet's fine, but don't use the other one. I don't want anything inside you but me."

"You're being silly. A vibrator could never replace you."

I hope not but I don't want to take any chances. "It won't if you don't use it. I hear that women can become desensitized to normal sexual touch when they use those things too much. They can't orgasm with a man, and I don't want that to happen because I plan on being the one to make you come. A lot."

"I want you to make me come so you shouldn't worry. I'm not a fan of anything being inside me except you."

"Perfect. That's exactly what I want to hear."

Six weeks down. Six weeks to go. And it sucks. Major.

Life on the road isn't at all what I thought it would be. I wasn't naïve. I knew traveling all the time would be brutal, but I imagined the love of the fans would make up for all the negatives. Don't get me wrong; they're great, but home isn't a rolling tour bus or a different hotel each night. This life doesn't cut it for me.

Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I didn't know the love of my life was waiting for me to come to him. But I do know, and it's making me miserable. It's getting worse every day and I feel like I could be falling into some kind of depression.

We talk every day without fail—and sometimes have a little naughty time via video chat—but it doesn't make being apart easier. I'm terrified he's going to grow tired of what we're doing and decide he doesn't want to continue with our long-distance relationship because he needs something tangible and I can't be that from so far away. He seems okay with the way things are—for now. I know that won't last forever, but I don't need it to last for much longer.

I only need six more weeks—forty-two more days—and we can be together forever.

Seven weeks down. Five weeks to go. And it still sucks.

Five shows a week, a different city every night. I'm exhausted and I hate what I'm doing, but it's a commitment I agreed to fulfill. I want to be a rat and walk out on the band, but I won't because that's not who I am. I love these guys and I want to see them succeed. If I walk out now without a replacement, it could ruin them. I won't do that as long as Jack Henry agrees to wait for me. If he says he's done before I can make it to him, then I'm done here. I won't sacrifice us or our love for Southern Ophelia or anything else.

Eight weeks down. Four weeks to go. Still sucking.

I'm worried about Jack Henry and me. He didn't call last night. When I finally reached him this morning, he said there was a problem at Chalice and he had to leave immediately. But he could've called during the drive there.

It's Audrey. She continues to make herself present in his life and that's a problem for me because I'm not there to know what's happening. He allowed her to be the reason we didn't talk, and I'm uneasy about that.

Nine weeks down. Three weeks to go. And it's worse this week.

I missed Jack Henry's call last night. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep waiting for his call and didn't wake when he tried to reach me. His words were cold this morning when we finally talked. He asked me what I was doing last night, as if he suspected I might be up to no good.

This isn't working, and I'm beginning to fear what our future holds if I don't go to him soon.

Ten weeks down. Two weeks to go. And today is the worst yet.

Fourteen days. I can hang in there because I know there's light at the end of the tunnel, but Jack Henry doesn't. I can tell he's getting close to being at the end of his rope. I want to walk away from this now, but I remind myself that I can do that soon enough all while keeping my word.

I can do this. I just have to keep telling myself that over and over.

Eleven weeks down. One week to go. I'm going to make it now and we're going to be fine.

I can't wait to talk to Jack Henry tonight. He doesn't know it, but I'll be back in his arms in seven days. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes I'm home. For good.

I just finished a show but thinking about being with him in a week gets me turned on, so I think it'll be a video chat night instead of a phone call. I send him a text to let him know I'll be contacting him in ten minutes and he better be ready for me.

When we make a connection, I see he's in his office—the place that's become our sexual playroom since it's usually morning for him when we talk. "I hope you have the door locked because I'm feeling particularly naughty."

"Baby, I need to talk to you about something serious."

Shit! I don't like the sound of that. "What's wrong?" Something has happened. I don't know what it is but my mind spins with thoughts of him finding another woman or telling me we're over because he can't do this anymore. "You're scaring me."

"What?" Please don't let him tell me he tripped and fell into bed with someone else. My heart is racing in my throat and I suddenly feel nauseated. I'm terrified of the path this conversation is heading.

"Audrey was in the house again."

Oh, hell to the no. "You are kidding me!"

"I wish I were. I came home from work yesterday evening and had dinner alone like I always do. I had a couple of coldies while I watched TV and went to take a shower before bed."