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Not two seconds later, my phone buzzed.
Nate was up for the morning.
I stared at his, “Hey there, Zoe girl,” realizing I was totally and utterly screwed. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Not once had I ever, ever, nearly jumped out of my skin at a text from Erik. Or any other man, for that matter.
Totally.
Freaking.
Screwed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
nate
I got ready to text her. It was a slow day, but since New Orleans, our conversations had gotten more intense. Turned out, Zoe liked dirty talk, and I was all too happy to provide it. But there was no way to find any privacy in the immediate future, and I’d already made more than one uncomfortable walk from the gym to the chow hall. There were too many people around at the moment. Besides, I didn’t want to be one of those guys who became addicted to rubbing one off every chance he got. Every once in a while, sure. But I had a job to do here, and that was my primary focus.
I thought about two weeks ago in New Orleans. I still couldn’t get the picture of her, legs crossed on the wrought iron chair in front of her, hand down her pants, out of my mind.
Mainly because I’d looked at that picture, and others, more than once or twice. Later that week, when I teased her about zooming in to peek down those jeans she’d been wearing, Zoe had sent a lingerie pic, which I hadn’t been expecting. Out of the blue, I woke up one morning, opened my phone, and there she was in a black lace bra and thong.
Instant wood.
I’d told her so, too, and that particular text thread had been one of the best yet. Since then, she’d been teasing me with more to come, though I was rarely able to reciprocate. After I’d been able to snap a quick selfie one morning while working out, Zoe had declared that when we met in person, she intended to lick every single spot visible on the pic. Then she said it would be time to move south and, as she put it, “suck you dry.”
Fuck. And now I was hard thinking about it.
She beat me to the punch.
Busy day?
I could not perpetually operate in this state. So after a few deep breaths—and thoughts of puppies— I had myself under control.
Eh. You?
Was just flipping through pics of New Orleans. I especially love the one of the nighttime Riverboat Jazz cruise. You know, the one where you made me come without me even touching myself?
I still wasn’t quite sure I believed her, but if it was true, that had been quite a feat.
Not even a little touch?
In front of all my friends and a five-piece jazz band?
LOL. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a sexy fucking little thing, Zoe Harrison? Because that’s hot.
Hot is telling me you were going to lick me from back to front and fuck me into the bed so hard I wouldn’t know what hit me.
Not taking those words back.
Don’t want you to. Dammit, Nate. I don’t want to talk about touching you anymore. I want to do it for real.
You and me both, Zoe girl.
Any word on that front?
As a matter of fact, I think it’ll be sooner rather than later. But no date yet.
Seriously?
