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When I see “virgin” used like it turns him on, I have to press my legs even tighter together. I’ve touched myself thinking about him before, loads of times this past year. But this is different. I never saw his huge manhood before. I never saw him up close, at the party and earlier. My fantasies have so much more fuel now.
YOUR beautiful virgin?
Who else? he replies.
No, I’m just saying… Do you think I belong to you or something?
When I bend you over and bury my hands in your big, juicy rump, when I bite your creamy ass to make you turn red for me, when I lick your sticky, needy, ignored pussy, the pussy you want me to touch so badly, then you’ll know you belong to me.
My fingers move quickly before I can overthink it. Or maybe that’s just an excuse. You’re making me excited at work.
What’s “excited” code for?
I seriously never thought I’d be smiling like this. My cheeks ache, my head getting hot and heavy, my world clouding, honing down to this moment and nothing else.
You know what I mean.
Maybe I need you to say it.
Horny, Colt. It means I’m getting wet thinking about you.
This is crossing way more lines than I already have. The only thing stopping me from touching myself is the fact Ralph works here. I think I’d risk it if it were anybody else, a random boss I never knew beforehand. I wouldn’t want anybody to catch me, but maybe I’d think I could sneakily get away with it.
How messed up is that?
It doesn’t matter. Even if Ralph is at lunch, I’d never risk him catching me doing anything. I’d rather puke. I’d rather die. The idea is just gross.
But I can’t do that here.
Do what, Lexi?
What do you think?! Before he can send another message, I follow up and say, But let me guess. You want me to say it?
You read my mind.
My thumb is shaking, trembling like nerves are cutting through me. I remind myself to remember how tough, capable, and steady I’m supposed to be. I can’t stroke my pussy, Colt, okay? I can’t rub my clit thinking about you.
Have you done that before?
Yes, I admit. I’ve been thinking about you. Call me crazy.
You’re the one making me crazy. I’m going wild, but later, I’ll try to be a gentleman. I’ve got some work stuff to take care of. I’m going to leave this phone behind. Texting you is addictive.
I guess it’d make being, you know, professional at work easier. However, I do like driving you crazy.
In high school, I was the gruff outsider, watching as girls lost their minds over their crushes, hanging on every word, desperate for every little insight into their lives. I never mocked or bullied, but it always seemed so weird. Yet now, my chest gets tight thinking about being unable to text him for a few hours.
You’ll drive me crazy even when we’re not texting. Just thinking about you is enough.
Okay, see you later, Colt.
I try to continue my work, but it’s difficult to think. I keep getting my phone out, looking at the photo of his hand holding his truly massive dick. There’s something about the tightness in his hand like he’s hungry and wants to guide it into me.
Closing my eyes, I breathe, trying not to glance at the clock or count down the seconds.
CHAPTER 16
Colt
I do another demonstration with Shadow; it’s a good way to spend the afternoon. If I didn’t have this to occupy me, I’d just be thinking about Lexi, my virgin. I didn’t mean to unload so much. I definitely didn’t plan on sending a photo, but it’s like she casts a spell on me and makes me drunk.
After the demonstration, it’s time to pick up my woman. I still haven’t planned anything. I’m just burning to see her. Every inch of me aches with it.
I’m waiting outside, I tell her, sitting in my car and looking across the street at the bright business, all the windows reflecting the light. It’s almost like a symbol of what Lexi means to me. That’s how I know she’s special. I’m thinking about symbols.
When she finally emerges, my dick floods with stiffness again. She tugs on her skirt, adjusting it around her hips. The thickness of her build appeals to me on a deep, primal level. I’m getting ready to feast on her curviness. I climb from the car and approach her, forcing myself to be slow and seem calm.
She stops a few steps short, mouth slightly open. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “Real life is harder than texting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, “but it’s easier with you than anybody else, Lexi.”
Her smile is so appealing, how it shyly spreads across her face, and her perfectly contrasted eyes dance with the moment.
“I’ve just thought of something better than hit-matched,” I tell her.
