Page 42 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“Faster,” I rasp, unzipping my fly, dragging my cock free and wrapping my fingers around it. “Pretend it’s my hand. Curl your fingers the way I did when I made you scream in the bathroom.”

Her breathing stutters, turns ragged. The muffled sound of her fingers fucking herself comes through in wet little pulses that make my vision darken. She whimpers, throat catching on my name, then bites down on the word Daddy like it saves her.

“Come for me,” I command, and she keens—a raw, helpless sound. She sobs my name, legs trembling, breath shuddering, every sound a jagged plea. I stroke faster, fist pumping, thumb dragging over the head of my cock while her orgasm crackles through the speaker. I picture her hips arching, her body spasming, her fingers coated in cum and shaking as she uses them to ride the crest.

“Feel that?” I snarl. “That’s me praising you. That’s me watching you fall apart because I told you to.”

She’s still quivering when she whispers, “I want your cock now,” and the guttural hunger in it knocks whatever composure I was pretending to have into dust. I tighten my grip, jerk harder.

“Tell me how you’d take it if I were there.”

“I’d climb into your lap,” she gasps, voice shredded, “and sink down on you until you were buried deep, I’d hold your shoulders and ride you slow, then grind faster, slide up and slam down, fuck, I’d milk every drop out of you.”

“Keep talking.”

“I’d lean forward and bite your throat,” she whispers. “I’d tell you to keep holding mine, to keep me still while you drilled into me, I’d beg you to come inside, Nathan, I’d make you mess me up⁠—”

I let go with a guttural growl, heat blasting through me. Cum spills across my fist and stomach and steering wheel while I ride the release out, every muscle locked. I don’t try to hide the sound I make. She exhales on the other end, soft and satisfied, like a woman who just watched proof of her own power.

“Next time,” she says quietly, still breathing hard, “you show up at my door and do that with your mouth, not your words.”

The line goes quiet after she says it. I keep the phone against my ear for a beat, then I end the call and set it face down on the seat.

I sit there with the engine still running, shirt tugged half-untucked, belt undone, tie loosened. I wipe my hand with a crumpled napkin from the glove box, then tuck myself back in with efficient movements that don’t match what’s still burning under my skin.

Athena’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She doesn’t take so much as she gives, and that’s apparent even in what kind of sex she enjoys. I pick up the phone again and scroll to the photos Cindy sent.

Athena laughing up at me, hand in mine.

Athena leaning in like she already decided.

I don’t delete them. I save them to a secure folder and lock it down, then I take screenshots of the message timestamps and Cindy’s number. If she wants to play games, I’ll keep receipts. I’m a man with a career built on pressure, and I know how to hold a line.

I start driving again, slower now, and I take the long route back toward my side of town. The road clears. The city settles. My thoughts keep moving anyway.

Cindy can call HR, the board, even donors. She’ll act like she’s protecting the hospital while she enjoys the burn.

I’ll be ready. I’ll remind them that I’ve spent my entire career dragging strangers back from death while they sign forms and call it leadership.

Cindy won’t get Athena through me.

That part is already decided.

Athena doesn’t need saving, but she does need a man who stays. A man who doesn’t treat her like a placeholder while he shops for easier options. A man who doesn’t punish her for having a spine. Nate never was that man.

He had her loyalty and her patience and her love, and he treated it like it would replenish itself forever.

I pull into my driveway and cut the engine. I rest my hand on the steering wheel and breathe until the edge comes off my pulse.

My phone pings again. Nate.

Grimacing, I unlock the screen.

Nate: Morning tomorrow? I’m coming by for breakfast.

I stare at the message for a minute before typing back.

Nathan: 9.