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“Pretty sure that’s mission accomplished.”
“Pretty sure? Why don’t you find out? What are you wearing?”
“A sundress,” I said, swallowing.
“Show me.”
Nate had only been able to send one pic all week, but it had been a doozy. He’d been in the middle of a workout, his sleeveless tee showing a very nice pair of muscled arms. I, on the other hand, was becoming fairly proficient at selfies.
And had an idea.
Instead of taking a pic immediately, I reached under my sundress, pushed my thong aside to discover I was indeed soaking wet, then took a pic and sent it.
“Fuck,” he said. “You sexy fucking girl you.”
Why was that such a turn on?
“Pretend those are my fingers, Zoe,” he said. “Working your clit endlessly. Up against the wall, your hands still held together. Close your eyes. Can you see it?”
“I can,” I moaned.
“Now, don’t you fucking dare hold back. I want to hear the sounds you make when you come for me. And you will come for me, won’t you, Zoe?”
“Yes,” I managed, moving my finger and my thumb just right. “I will.”
“You better.”
“Mmm, I love when you talk dirty, Nate.”
“Oh yeah? In that case, you fucking better come for me right now. Come on, Zoe. Fucking come for me.”
“Oh God.”
“No, Zoe. Say my name. Call my name.”
I was getting so close. “Nate,” I said. “Nate,” I said again. “I’m gonna come.”
“Mmmm.” He made a guttural sound deep in his throat. “There you go. Just like that. Come on, Zoe girl. Come for me.”
I did.
Moaning, nearly forgetting I was in a public restroom, I came. As easily as I ever had before, which was absolutely absurd given the circumstances.
“Holy shit, Nate.” I pulled my hand out, washed and dried it, then took a deep breath. “I can’t believe how easily I came.”
“For me.”
“For you.”
“Good,” he said. “Timing is just right too. Gotta jump. But. . .” He paused. “Welcome to New Orleans. I hope your trip is off to a good start.”
“Understatement,” I said. When Nate had to jump, he didn’t have time to chitchat. “Talk later.”
“Later, Zoe girl.”
And just as quickly as he came, Nate was gone. Leaving me to wonder what in the hell just happened. Had he really made me come in the middle of Pat O’Brien’s in my first hour in New Orleans?
Why, yes, he had.
