I licked my lips, and I typed: "Yeah, in bed now."
I sent it. My face went on fire.
It was a total come-on.
I fidgeted two minutes—no reply.
Regret gnawed. Was I too thirsty? I should have played coy. My fingers itched to backpedal when—
"Whatcha wearing?"
I stared at those words, my breaths shallowed, and my bare legs rubbed together, restless. I lied: "Black slip dress."
"Wanna see."
My breaths hitched, the room sweltered, and my body woke up— a strange itch bloomed low.
I bit my lip harder, I paused, and then I hammered out a dare: "You send one first, maybe I'll think about it."
I hit send. My pulse thundered, regret and thrill churned. It was reckless as hell—what was I doing? A stranger, a bad-vibes stranger... but the risk? It cranked the heat, and my skinprickled with gooseflesh.
"Typing..." hung forever—longer than before. I watched, and my breath trapped.
Finally: "Playing with fire, little reporter."
Then—a pic loaded.
My eyes bugged, and my throat turned Sahara-dry. His selfie was a fresh snap, dim light. He propped on pillows, black silk sheets half-draped over his chest, and they bared ripped pecs, a tease of ink, abs carved deep, and skin dotted with shower beads like he had just stepped out. His hair was damp and messy over his forehead, his hazel eyes bored into the lens—raw, hungry want. The smirk crooked, sinful, like he dared me to crash and burn.
My face scorched, my fingers shook as I zoomed in. Oh god. He was perfect. That lethal pull yanked me in. I pictured his skin scorching, his breath scorching... my nipples peaked under the worn tee, they scraped rough cotton into sweet sting.
Every shift of my body sent a sharp, tingling jolt through me, mixing pain with this twisted pleasure that made my breath hitch. I stared at the photo on my phone, Alexander's wet hair clinging to his forehead, those dark eyes piercing right through the screen, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. God, he looked like sin wrapped in silk sheets, all muscle and menace, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.
I played with them at first, just lightly, my fingers brushing over the stiff peaks through the thin cotton. The fabric was worn and scratchy, rubbing against the sensitive tips in a way that made me whimper softly. I circled one nipple slowly, feeling it pebble even harder under my touch, then pinched it gently between my thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth. A spark of heat shot straight down to my core, making my thighs clench together involuntarily. I switched to the other one, giving it the same attention, tweaking it until a gasp escaped my lips. The room felt smaller, hotter, the air thick with my growing arousal. But it wasn't enough; the teasing only built the ache, leaving me wanting more, craving something deeper to satisfy the fire he'd ignited with just a single photo.
Heat pooled low in my belly, insistent and demanding, a throbbing need that I couldn't ignore. My hand trailed down slowly, deliberately, over the soft curve of my stomach, fingers trembling slightly as they skimmed past the hem of my worn-out panties. The anticipation made my skin tingle, every nerve ending alive and buzzing. I imagined it was his hand—those strong, calloused fingers that had lifted my chin earlier in the club, now exploring me with that same dangerous intent, possessive and unyielding. In my mind, Alexander's deep voice whispered in my ear, urging me on, telling me how much he wanted to see me come undone for him.
I hiked up the T-shirt with my other hand, bunching it above my breasts and exposing them to the cool, stale air of the dingy room. The sudden chill made my nipples tighten even more, standing out like hard little peaks, aching for relief. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, but my focus shifted lower, where the real fire burned. I slipped my hand under the waistband of my panties, feeling the damp heat radiating from between my legs. Fuck, I was already soaked, my arousal slick and ready just from looking at his picture and replaying our encounter. My fingers brushed over the swollen nub of my clit, sensitive and begging for friction, and I started rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. Each pass sent jolts of pleasure racing through me, making my hips twitch. I thought of Alexander's voice in my ear, that low, magnetic rumble commanding me to touch myself for him, to show him how wet he made me.
"Oh, God," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room, my hips bucking up involuntarily against my hand. In my fantasy, he was right there, watching me with those intense brown eyes, dark with hunger and approval. "Alexander..." His name slipped out like a desperate plea, fueling the flames inside me. I pictured his lips curling into that predatory smile, the one that promised trouble, urging me to go faster, to give in completely. My rubs turned firmer, faster, pressing down harder on my clit and sending sparks shooting through my core, building that sweet, agonizing pressure. But it still wasn't enough. The ache deepened into a frustrating emptiness, a void that begged to be filled, my bodyscreaming for more penetration, more of him—even if it was just in my imagination.
I couldn't hold back any longer. With a shaky breath, I pushed my panties aside completely, exposing my wet folds to the air. The coolness hit my heated skin, making me shudder and gasp as it contrasted with the slick warmth dripping from me. One finger dipped in tentatively, sliding easily into my tight, slick heat, the sensation making me moan low in my throat. I imagined it was him—Alexander's finger, thick and commanding, probing me deeply, stretching me just right with that confident, dominant touch. "Fuck, Alexander," I moaned louder this time, my voice echoing off the cracked walls of the empty room. The pleasure hit hard, waves of it crashing over me as I thrust the finger in and out, curling it upward to hit that sensitive spot inside that made my toes curl and my back arch slightly off the bed. It felt so good, so filthy, pretending it was him invading me like this, claiming me from afar.
But one finger wasn't satisfying the growing need; I craved more fullness, more intensity. My free hand went back to my breast, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint marks. I imagined his voice again, rough and insistent in my mind: "Play with those tits for me, little reporter. Pinch them until it hurts, show me how much you want this." God, yes. I obeyed the fantasy without hesitation, rolling the sensitive bud between my fingers, pulling and twisting it with increasing force. The sharp sting blended with the building ecstasy below, heightening everything, making my pussy clench around my thrusting finger. Meanwhile, my other hand worked faster between my legs, the wet sounds of my arousal filling the room—obscene, desperate, and utterly intoxicating.
Desperate for more, I added a second finger, scissoring them inside me to stretch myself wider, feeling the delicious burn as my walls adjusted. In my head, Alexander was growling commands, his voice a low rumble: "Fuck yourself harder, Anna. Imagine it's my cock filling you up, pounding into that tight little pussy until you can't take it anymore." The thought sent me spiraling further, my mind lost in the fantasy of his body over mine, those tattooed muscles flexing withevery thrust. My palm ground against my clit with every inward push, the dual stimulation driving me wild. I pinched my nipple again, harder this time, the pain shooting straight to my core and blending seamlessly with the mounting pleasure until I couldn't tell where one sensation ended and the other began. My body was on fire, every movement building the tension higher.
My breaths came in short, ragged gasps, chest heaving as I chased the edge. "Alexander... please..." I chanted his name like a mantra, hips lifting off the bed to meet my own frantic thrusts, driving my fingers deeper. They plunged in and out relentlessly, curling and retreating over and over, hitting that perfect spot each time. The pressure coiled tight in my core, a spring wound to its limit, ready to snap at any moment. I imagined him pinning me down, his large frame heavy and unyielding on top of me, those strong hands holding me in place while he took what he wanted. "Come for me," his voice echoed in my fantasy, dark and demanding, laced with that dangerous edge. "Scream my name, little one. Let me hear how much you need this."
That pushed me over. I went wild, utterly lost in the moment, my fingers slamming in and out with reckless abandon, the heel of my hand grinding hard against my throbbing clit. My other hand kneaded my breast roughly, nails digging into the soft skin, twisting the nipple until the pain was exquisite. The room spun around me, heat exploding from my center in a blinding rush. My clit pulsed under the relentless pressure, and suddenly, everything shattered. "Alexander!" I cried out, my back arching high off the bed, muscles clenching tightly around my fingers in powerful, pulsing waves. Pleasure ripped through me like a storm, hot and unrelenting, flooding every inch of my body with ecstasy. I rode it out, hips grinding against my hand as the aftershocks trembled through me, leaving me trembling, soaked in sweat, and utterly spent.
Finally, as the waves subsided, I slowed my movements, pulling my glistening fingers free and letting my hands fall limp to my sides. My body hummed with satisfaction, every muscle lax and heavy.
Once everything settled, I sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, my breaths still ragged. My pussy throbbedwith the remnants of ecstasy, lips parted slightly, the cool air brushing over them in a stinging, soothing way.
I realized I'd just done something monumentally stupid, shame flooding in like a tidal wave.
Anna, you're fucking insane... What the hell are you doing?
