There’s a pause. A beat that makes my pulse start to climb all over again.
SlowBurn69: You’ll see.
But here’s a hint… I don’t just want you on your knees this time. I want you on your back, legs spread, begging me to keep going even after you come.
I throw my phone face down on the bed and drag a pillow over my head.
Fuck.
Friday can’t come fast enough.
EIGHT
LOGAN
My phone buzzeson the nightstand again.
I don’t even have to check to know who it is.NoNamesNeeded.He’s been messaging all week.
Dirty. Bold. Sometimes flustered. Always eager.
I smirk and roll onto my back, grabbing the phone and thumbing open the screen. Another message lights up.
NoNamesNeeded: I’m gonna be thinking about your mouth all damn day. Is that what you want?
My grin widens.
Hell yeah it is.
We’ve been texting nonstop since Monday night. After that first exchange, he couldn’t stop. Neither could I. He’s anonymous, DL, and exactly the kind of distraction I didn’t know I needed—especially withCaptain Repressedconstantly trying not to eye-fuck me in the locker room.
I scroll back through the messages, just to remind myselfhow wild it's gotten. The kind of messages Ishouldprobably delete. But don’t.
Me: If you’re still sore when you show up tonight, I’ll know you followed my instructions last night.
NoNamesNeeded: I might’ve already come twice. Doesn’t mean I won’t come again.
Yeah. He says shit like that now. And I fucking love it.
Me: You still want your mouth used first? Or do I fuck you open the second you walk through my door?
NoNamesNeeded: Both.
Whatever you want.
God. That’s the thing about him.
Hewantsto give it up. To let go. I can feel it in every message—the way he responds to control, the way he begs for it without ever saying the word.
And yeah, I know it’s probably a bad idea. Could be anyone behind that profile. Could be some frat guy looking to get his kicks and ghost me. Wouldn’t be the first time.
But something about him feelsreal.
There’s this tension in his words, like he’s crawling out of his own skin every time he types. I know what that feels like. I’ve lived that in high school. Which is probably why I haven’t shut it down. Why I’ve kept replying.
Why I can’t stop imagining him.
Whoever he is.
