Page 15 of Sexting the Boss

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That threat unravels something deep inside me.

Me: Please. I’ll be good.

Ethan:I know you will.

Tell me how it feels.

Me: Full. Hot. I can’t think.

Ethan: Perfect.

That’s exactly how I want you. Blown open and dumb for me.

Now circle harder. Think about my hand replacing yours.

I do. And it’ssoeasy to imagine—his fingers rougher, surer. That voice in my ear, gravel and silk.

Ethan: You want to come?

Me: So bad. Please.

Ethan: You’ll ask properly.

I bite my lip. My free hand shakes as I type it.

Me: Please, sir. Can I come for you?

I hold my breath.

Ethan: Say who owns this pretty cunt.

The words slam into me like a hit of pure voltage.

Me: You do.

Only you.

The pause is long enough to wreck me.

Ethan: Come. Now.

I let go with a choked sound, hand still working as my body bows into the orgasm. My legs shake, thighs clamping around my wrist, and everything blurs into heat and relief and him. Him.Him.

My vision fuzzes out for a second.

The next message is waiting.

Ethan: That’s my girl.

And I feel it everywhere—shame, heat, want, ownership. Every nerve in my body sings with it.

Me: What now?

Ethan: Now you clean up, fix your hair, and sleep.

Me: Just like that?

Ethan: Just like that.

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