Haha…I think you know better than that.
Like I said, forgettable.
I wait, grinning and looking for a response but it doesn’t come. And for a minute, I find myself frowning as I wonder if I crossed a line from flirting into just being a bitch. But then I’m rolling my eyes at how ridiculous I sound worrying about bruising that man’s ego.
I’ve given up on a response, the phone laying on my lap in my bed, when it suddenly buzzes again as picture message lights up the screen.
And very quickly, there’s nothing forgettable about what Hunter’s packing between his legs, because there, on the screen, is a big, high-definition picture of his cock. His hand is wrapped around the base and it still looks huge, and I’m suddenly wondering how he managed to fit that thing in the frame.
I’m also suddenly very, very wet.
The raw need for him is burning hot between my legs as I bite my lip and carefully send my reply.
Nice fake.
My photoshop skills aren’t THAT good, doll.
His first message is instantly followed by a second that has a shiver running up my back as the heat blooms between my legs.
Your turn. I want to see what’s underneath.
And for a second, I’m actually considering it. I can’t even believe who the hell I am around this man that I’d actually consider this for even one freaking second, but it’s there, like a hot coal burning in my head, sizzling straight through the layers of carefully cultivated control I’ve been clinging to so desperately.
That is, until I remember to breathe and shake the absurd thought of sending nude selfies to my damn stepbrother right out of my head.
Instead, I grin as I kick the covers aside, pull my sock off, and giggle as I snap a picture of my foot with the phone. I’m literally laughing out loud as I hit send.
Cute toes, but not my thing.
Oh well, too bad. I had you pegged for weird shit.
You have no idea,
The text back buzzes in my hand, and I bite my lip as the follow-up arrives a second later.
It was actually something further north than your feet I was looking for.
I grin and start to pull up the camera on my phone when he sends another one.
And I don’t mean your knees.
Yeah, no kidding. I know exactly what he wants, and for another brief second, I can’t believe that I find myself actually contemplating it again. What am I, insane? The flirtation and the little games we’ve been playing — not to mention the sordid history — is one thing. But physical evidence of our little indiscretions like actual photographs? Please. I’ve seen enough tabloid headlines to actually shudder at the thought of something like that leaking or being compromised publicly.
‘First daughter Adams sends topless pictures to her own stepbrother.’ It’s cringe-worthy to even think about, and I’m quickly shaking my head at myself, and how inappropriately far I’ve let this get.
Guess you’ll have to make due with toes, time for bed!
And with that, I turn my phone off and pull the covers back up to try and sleep Hunter Ryan off of my brain.
Of course, that last look at his picture message one more time before turning in doesn’t exactly inspire restful thoughts.
17.
At the end of the next day, I’m sitting back in my room, pulling my tie off and still waiting for a response. But I’m not going to get one; not from this girl.
And I’m still sitting there on the edge of my bed just toying with the fucking phone five full minutes later before I angrily shake my head and toss the phone back on the bed as I flop back onto it. What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s literally never been a time in my life when I’ve been that guy; the douche that sits in his room waiting for a girl to fucking get back to me.
Fuck that.
I don’t wait for girls, they wait for me. I don’t sit around like some pussy-whipped loser, ever.
Yeah, except here I am, and it’s all because of her. Before I can stop myself, I’m scowling as I reach for the phone and type out a text to her.
What, I still don’t get anything back after what I sent you last time?