Page 129 of Sexting the Boss

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“That’s the instruction.”

I scoff, but my feet move anyway. He watches me pass this time, eyes slow and unreadable, and the lack of reaction feels like a challenge I didn’t agree to but fully intend to win.

I climb the stairs, pulse climbing with me, and I don’t close the bedroom door. I sit on the edge of the bed, still in my dress, heels kicked off somewhere behind me, and try to calm my breathing like I didn’t spend dinner imagining his mouth on me.

My phone buzzes.

Ethan: Go back against the headboard. Dress stays on.

I swallow and do it. The fabric rides up my thighs when I lean back, and I don’t fix it. I let my legs fall open, just enough to feel exposed, then wait.

Another vibration.

Ethan: Take off your panties. Slow. I want to know you’re listening.

Heat crawls up my neck. I slide my hand under the hem, hook my fingers into the fabric, and ease them down my legs, letting them fall to the floor.

Me: Done.

There’s a pause long enough to make me restless.

Ethan: Are your legs open?

I glance down, then widen them a little more.

Me: Yes.

Ethan: Good. Don’t touch yourself yet.

My body doesn’t appreciate that instruction, but it follows it anyway. I shift, thighs tightening, breath turning uneven, and stare at the ceiling like it might help.

Another message lights up the screen.

Ethan: I’m still downstairs.

I picture him there, jacket gone, sleeves rolled, leaning against the counter like he’s deciding how far to push me.

Me: I noticed.

Ethan: Did you? Or are you too busy thinking about how wet you are?

My cheeks burn. I don’t deny it.

Ethan: Tell me.

I hesitate.

Me: I can feel it. Every time I move.

His reply comes immediately.

Ethan: Slide your hand along your inner thigh. Stop before you reach where you want to touch.

I do it, fingers dragging slow, stopping just short, my hips lifting without permission. A quiet sound slips out of me before I can stop it.

Ethan: Hold it there.

I hold.

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